She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders, quickening her pace. The house was just ahead. The leaves rustled quietly against the stone steps and brushed her skirts.
She was told that they would be expecting her, but it seemed as if no one was home. She banged on the door again with her first. The night seemed too still; besides the whirling leaves, no sound could be heard. Not even the sound of crickets or bats.
She turned to gaze back down the empty road. Indeed, no one had followed her. Still, she felt an unnerving sensation being out alone, especially at such an hour.
The air suddenly smelled foul, like sour breath. She spun around to find a man standing in the opened door, leaning so close to her that their noses brushed when she turned. His arm reached out, grabbing hers and keeping her from falling back.
“Come in, Darla,” he said.
