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.