And in the Calmest and Most Stillest Night [Open]
Trout Run Road was not such a long distance from the house he'd purchased on the edge of Roth Cemetery. And though it was probably not the wisest of ideas, Bill decided that a trip towards the ruined site of the old psychiatric hospital might shed some proverbial light on the mystery that was York, Pennsylvania. Whilst he could have driven and been there in a matter of minutes, Bill opted to take a more cardiovascular approach to his evening jaunt. He walked.
It was a clear evening, with only a few clouds hazing up the star-dotted sky. The air was chilly with the approach of winter, but not so cold that he felt the need to wear anything more than a long sleeved shirt. He had the benefit of having a certain immunity to the cold, what with being dead and all. He wouldn't be uncomfortable in the outdoors until it started snowing. And, even then, he could have still gone out sans a jacket and still lived to tell the tale. No, the cold had little effect. It was the heat that stirred emotion in him. Perhaps because he had become so unaccustomed to warmth in his second life.
The road was quiet. Since crossing a long field from across the town, he had yet to see a single approaching vehicle. And, once he stepped upon Trout Run, it was as if all life itself seemed to cease. No humming sounds of automobile engines. No nightly calls of owls or other nocturnal beasts. Even the air was still, as if the wind itself had been sucked into a void of nothingness. Bill glanced back in the direction from whence he came, but the lights of the small town were concealed by rows of oak trees. Had he not known that there were the makings of a community behind him, he would have imagined that nothing existed out in this abandoned countryside. His shoes echoed on the pavement. A gentle tap-tapping of new soles. He removed his cell phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. No new messages. His heart sunk a little.
Well, you can't expect her to call you. Not after your last meeting.
But he had hoped she might have been ready to forgive him. He had hoped that soon she will text him or call him and tell him to come home to her.
He checked his voice mail, just in case. Again, no new messages. He grumbled and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
Up ahead he saw a shadowy overhang of an iron gate, and he paused. He thought back to the young girl in the library and how she had feared trying to approach the gates. Wasn't this where the bogeyman should have jumped out at him? He continued to stand across the street, arms folded over his chest, and he waited. Five minutes passed, and nothing happened. And though his mind told him it was safe, there was a feeling in his stomach that told him to remain alert. And that feeling was confronted by entirely different sensation. A sensation that seemed to pull at the fibers of his inhuman being, daring him to come closer.
He took three more steps out into the middle of the road.