I have to get the idea down….from a lucid dream the other night.
Southern Ontario doesn’t hold much evil, not the way the original North Americans tell in their cultures – stories that help things go easy in the middle of the night. And we haven’t yarned any better since from our minds creativity unless you can count the heinous crimes of Lucan Township – even then, a few bad farmers bent on destruction is not the gut-wrenching experience of malfeasance. We have our Grandview, and off course the odd psychopath to remind us to lock our doors at night, but not much more. That’s probably why when the wind blew in the window at night Bill didn’t wake at all, and Eileen merely startled at the noise of the door swaying shut, banging more than once. Had she looked over at the door framed by the half lit hallway she would have noticed the tiny hand on the knob, pallid – even grey, dripping wet, slamming the opening shut, again and again.