“It’s the window,” she said. “The inside .”
“Listen,” she said.
The call came at 3:47 AM, which is the hour reserved for drunks, liars, and bad news. On the other end, my tenant, Mrs. Gable, spoke in a whisper that somehow managed to be shrill. broken double pane window
Mrs. Gable followed my gaze. “That thing’s been in the wall for six months. You think it… what? Got mad in its sleep?” “It’s the window,” she said
Tink.
I pulled up to the duplex in my truck, coffee cold in my gut. Mrs. Gable met me on the porch in her floral robe, clutching a flashlight like a weapon. She didn’t point it at the house. She pointed it at the empty air. “It’s the window
Tink.