But the dark looks back.
The old house on Hemlock Lane had one eye always open. ilook for windowblind
I arrived at 4 PM, toolkit in hand, and let myself in. The house smelled of wet wool and old tea. Dust motes swam in the staircase light. The third floor was a single room at the end of a creaking hall—door ajar, as if expecting me. But the dark looks back