The House

A man approaches an eerie house.

Last summer, I was driving my car along the highway in Eastern Quebec.  The purpose of my trip was to visit my brother, Peter, who was a carpenter living in Gaspe.  As the sun set, the farmhouses along the road faded into twilight.  Since I was traveling alone, I turned on the radio for company.  Traffic was sparse along this lonely stretch of road.  Suddenly my car jerked to the side.  I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop.  My hands were shaking. 

I got out of my vehicle to inspect what had happened.  Sure enough, I had a flat tire.  Just then, I remembered that I had lent my tire iron to my neighbor in Montreal and had forgotten to get it back.  I would not be able to change my tire!  I did not own a cell phone.  Feeling foolish, I decided to walk back to the isolated house I had past about half a mile back.  There, I hoped to phone a mechanic.

The approach to the house was eerie.  It was a big old house.  There were no lights on, inside or out, except for a small illuminated window on the second floor.

The End

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