CHAPTER ONE: The Worst Storm

                                                        — Chapter One — 

             

                                                               

                                                   The Worst Storm

 

England has always seen more than its fair share of cold, wind, and rain. But today had been different and very unusual for this time of year (being the beginning of summer). All morning black clouds had been gathering over the city of London, threatening to unleash a tumultuous tempest upon both the tourists and local folk alike.

    Everyone supposed it would be so, for the day preceding it had been a gloomy one, full of strange forebodings and ominous omens — it was just a matter of time — and the people of London prepared for the worst as best they could; but they could not have fully foreseen what was about to come.     

    The dark clouds slowly churned above the city, hanging over it like some precursor to an as-of-yet-unnamed doom, and the people regarded it as such.

    That day they were definitely expecting heavy rain and, from the sound of it, at the very least, loud thunder, unwelcome winds, most likely lightning, and maybe — just perhaps — if things went sour, even a flood.

    Folks talked about it in hushed whispers, of some strange sensation of peril, of wanting to drop everything suddenly and leave the city and not come back. Though there were thoughts of packing up their belongings and departing, they did not abandon the city. So rather than leave, they stayed, but still they felt, or rather somehow sensed, that there was some kind of underlying unnaturalness about the oncoming storm.

   On the news, there was even a sort of quiet discord about it. The news readers had predicted a downpour and warned that everyone prepare for the worst, but they were perplexed and admitted they had no idea where the storm might have originated. The previous day, there had been no rain at all (even though London weather was notorious for changing at a moment’s notice). According to the satellites, there was every indication that it was going to be a bright and sunny summer day.

   When the storm came, people hurried home at a frantic pace, locked doors, shut windows, unplugged all electrical devices, and lit candles in fear that their computers and appliances might explode, or at the very least, conduct a nasty shock. No one lingered outside for very long, and all the while, the storm grew ever more rapid and rapacious.

    Many of those who drove cars sped home more quickly than usual; some drove madly, steering about wildly, and many accidents were had that day, for with the heavy cloud cover that canvassed the sky, it became unusually dark much, much earlier than was normal.

    Then the rain began, and as they say: when it rains, it pours, and so it did.

    To the dismay of everyone throughout the city, the rain did not start with a sprinkle, but it came down all at once in buckets, gushing, and everyone who was outside ducked and dashed for cover. Anyone who had been smart enough to have an umbrella with them, with a sigh, opened theirs up and went (for a while anyway) about their merry way. As for the rest, they went running; some even held newspapers over their heads, but a wet newspaper isn’t much better than a wet noodle when confronted by a fierce storm and, after all, didn’t really allow for much protection.

    Still others just gave in completely and let themselves simply be wet. But as everyone would discover, the rain was the least of it; soon the clouds grumbled again, and then the winds came, and when they did, they came so suddenly and forcefully that many people were swept off the pavement. Some were even picked up and lifted right out of their shoes. Many other people lost their hats and cursed, and those who had opened their umbrellas were pushed backward and pulled forward and nearly blown away.

The wind hollered and howled while the rain thumped against the ground. Then at half past noon, the lightning erupted from the heavens, flashing downward and striking anything while the thunder rippled and cracked sharply.

    The rain and the wind picked up pace and became more aggressive. The storm was more brutal than ever; even the elderly Britons who had experienced the worst kinds of weather scurried about and ran inside, muttering to themselves as they shuttered and locked their doors and windows, and only peeked outside when midmorning came the next day and the worst of it had subsided.

    People would later say, “It was the strangest thing I ever did see.” Or, “It had been a terrible, barmy storm.” It was at least agreed upon that there was something unusual that had happened that day. Even the animals could sense something was odd; they started acting very strangely — dogs barking loudly, cats hissing at their owners, then scurrying under the sofa to hide and not be seen again until the storm had well passed.  

   All the animal shelter staff and veterinarians and pet shop clerks were in a dither, running back and forth, trying to calm all the pets.

    In the London Zoo, havoc erupted — the zebras bucked, and elephants turned violent; the monkeys screeched and scrambled around, fighting each other, trying desperately to squeeze through the bars, looking for any means of escape.

    The big cats looked as if they were still in the wild and on the prowl again, roaring, pawing, and lunging at anyone that moved near enough to them. The wolves howled all day, and the hyenas cackled, hunched over, pacing nervously in their cages as all the keepers and visitors scratched their heads in bewilderment as to why all the beasts had suddenly gone berserk.

    If any of the newscasters or tourists had stopped to take note, they would have noticed the day before the storm that there was a flurry of fowl at Trafalgar and Piccadilly.

    Early that day and by midafternoon, the myriad of gray pigeons that had always been abundant, nestling on statues, and that normally made their home amongst the spires and ancient landmarks of the various London antiquity could not be seen anywhere. All birds had taken flight and fled beyond the borders of the city.

    By the actual day of the storm, the strangest report was that the tempest did not sweep in from the wide waves or wily wind currents of the North Atlantic (which was normally the case), but the meteorologists instead reported that the most mysterious thing about this particular storm was that it seemed to just suddenly appear out of nowhere. According to the news, the forecasters said it hung all but exclusively over Greater London.

    Witnesses to the event said it was as though the darkest of veils had been stretched across the city, and while everyone was wondering where it had suddenly come from, the black clouds smothered what little sunshine there had been and the daylight gave itself up in earnest sometime around three o’clock in the afternoon.

   When all was black and not even one star could be glimpsed, a strange purple cast was seen throughout the sinister cloud cover, and when the lightning did flash, it was not the usual thin white sparking beams of power that normally accompanies such bedlams of nature.

    Instead, these were weird thick and wild things, iridescently bright, turquoise in color, and wide as redwood trees. The strange shafts forked down and struck all over the city, and although it became impossible to tell when the day had ended and the nighttime began, the storm, with its eerie intensity, continued all through the day and deep into the pitch-dark long hours of the night.

It was well past the witching hour on this particularly wind-worn and rain-riddled night when out of the blackness, there was a crashing noise that came louder than any one rap of thunder or flash of lightning. Less than a minute later, it was followed by a tremendous BOOM that seemed to shake the heavens, although to those in the surrounding neighborhoods that weren’t in the immediate vicinity, it sounded more like just another thunderclap, only louder.

   Lightning appeared, crackling in a kind of frantic lattice of energy, but this lightning was white, and not from the sky — it happened to occur in the middle of a tunnel. The air sparked with electric intensity and almost seemed to solidify itself as if pregnant with something that was entirely new to this existence. It was as if something was about to burst its way through into this world, and then … something did.

   A circular patch of air within the lightning lattice wobbled and warped, then seemingly from nowhere, a long white train shot forth right out of thin air and went screaming and speeding like a bullet into the night. 

    It appeared onto a set of tracks already present, and if there had actually been anyone to witness even this strange event, they surely would have told you that this was no ordinary train.

    It flew noisily down the railway at an alarming rate as if nothing in this world could stop it, and it had a strange luminescent quality about it and glowed as though it had been supercharged by the very lightning itself.

   The train passed a number of stops, ignoring them all as if mindful and resolute of its purpose and determined in its duty and destination.

    It was unusually late for any train on the Underground to be running in London, especially on a night like this, but it urged itself onward, and it was a lucky thing that the Tube stations were all emptied due to the storm because if there had been anyone on the platforms they surely would have been swept aside in the wake from the speed of the oncoming locomotive and its aura of electrical energy.  

   As it neared its destination, the steel of the train shook and vibrated spasmodically as if trying to brace itself, and not without trouble, it slowed as if this feat alone took some great effort.

   In sight, above the London streets, there stood a small lone platform with a green awning stretched atop it, its edges flapping, being beaten and harassed by the wind and rain.

Finally, as the great engine ambled and slowed, it at last came to a quiet halt next to the platform under the station canopy. It eased in but was hailed by a violent sound of a high-pitched screeching of metal against metal, and then, as if on cue the mysterious train braked, letting out an ear-piercing squeal, which was soon followed by a SSSSHHHHAAAHHHHHhhhaaa.…  

   Then the sound came of air being released under great pressure as if the train itself had made a great sigh and was relieved at coming to the end of a long and difficult journey.

   As it slowly pulled into the nearby station, there was a final clamorous CLUNK when the train came to a halt, completely stopping.

   For a singular moment, the train stood there with nothing happening; the storm continued to pulse, the rain beat down, but the train and its strange aura seemed unaffected. Soon a door on the side slid open with a sudden WHOOSH, and a pleasant mechanical voice boomed out, sounding as if it were being broadcast, amplified a hundred times through some sort of a magical megaphone and, despite the rush of wind, exclaimed clearly and loudly:

                       “MIND THE GAP, PLEASE!”

   A single mud-caked black boot appeared out of the doorway and, with some trepidation, tested the slick new environment, then after but a moment’s hesitation deciding that it must be safe, the owner of the boot stepped forward.

   It was a cloaked and hooded figure, a woman dressed all in dark blue clothing; she stepped fully out onto the wet and lonely platform and looked about quickly, making sure she was quite alone.

   If any of the people who regularly stood at the station platform had seen her, they would have thought her movements strange and her clothing odd. It was as if she was from a whole different period of time altogether.

   Above the black boots, the mysterious stranger was attired in loose-fitting trousers and tunic, and instead of a conventional belt around her waist, she wore a sash tied tightly about the middle.

  At her neck was a dark flowing cloak clasped by a silver locket, and a wide and shadowy hood hid her face well within — the only part of her face that could be seen was the very bottom portion of her jaw, and on either side, twin bushels of long gray hair fell limply over her shoulders.

   But her choice of garb was not the only curious thing about her; cradled in her arms was a bundle securely wrapped in a cloth knitted from many colors, the brightest thing this woman seemed to own, and she held it to her as if her life depended on it.

   Walking slowly, she was heedful of it as she investigated the platform, and as she did, the train moved suddenly, gaining speed again.

   As the train flew forward, the wind kicked up even higher; her cloak whipped around her as sparks flew and the weird lightning cascaded.

   And as the train left the station behind, the cloaked woman held the bundle ever more tightly to her breast, protecting it from the lightning-wake as it once again rushed by.

   A moment later, the train had passed the station and she could hear a crack in the distance as the same lattice of lightning opened and the same BOOM that had heralded its arrival also marked its departure as the train quickly vanished back into the night.

   Quickly looking around, she saw that there was no one else and was relieved; she expected no one to greet her but was wary of intruders.

    Up above, she saw a large round clock suspended from underneath the awning; it was half past one in the morning, and she exhaled, but just as she did, she sensed a sudden change in the air. Something had shifted.

   The woman’s intuition had guided her in the past and had always served her well. Now it was stronger than ever. Like an alarm going off bright and clear, she sensed a rising tension — something unnatural and foul was afoot this night.

   Then she heard it. Amongst the thunderclaps and tirades of rainfall pounding on the roof there was what sounded like a screech in the night and a great flapping of wings beating against the wind. A moment later, it was followed by a burgeoning cry, an inhuman squawk that penetrated the dark and threatened to shatter the eardrums. The woman already knew what it was that made the horrible noise, but she hadn’t expected it to find her so quickly.

   Most anyone else would have been panic-stricken or frozen with fear by the alarming sound, but her duty had always been clear. She held on to the bundle as tightly as she could, then at once took off running and went down the nearest flight of steps, her cloak flying behind her as she ran.

   She looked back and saw for one terrible instant the horror behind her as it flew into the station — a gruesome thin figure was the source of the unearthly shriek. It was also hooded and cloaked just as she was, but its robes were black and charred and ragged.

    Immense dark wings extended from its back, molting and decayed with bits of bone protruding, but the wings did beat and kept the creature aloft. The hood was hollow and black as pitch, and though she already knew what was hidden within, she was glad that it was covered.

    The creature flew down the steps after her like death itself come to claim her, a strange otherworldly image set against the grimy white tile of the station.

    It moved awkwardly and inhumanly fast, like film skipping frames.

    Black and vaporous, it soared, impossibly thin leather-bound arms stretched out with three skeletal claws moving at incomprehensible speed, scraping at the air and ripping at the walls, sending flakes of plaster and bits of tiles and cement crashing down.

    Straps of worn and tattered leather hung from its body and dissipated into black swirling smoke behind it as it flew after her. A sickening creaking-snapping sound emanated from it as it flexed its bones, but the sound could barely be heard for its shrieking was so loud and deafening it shattered glass and plastic alike, cracking frames of posters and notices that hung all along the station walls.

    Sparks flew out from a fluorescent light overhead. The rest quivered, sputtered, and flickered, partially lighting the way and making it hard to see, and while the speed of the creature was great, she felt as if everything — herself included — was moving in slow motion.

    She could feel blood trickling out of her ears. She wanted to stop, to put her hands over her head and crawl into a corner, but she couldn’t — she just had to keep moving, had to reach her goal, had to reach … sanctuary.

    Looking up, she saw two signs. The smallest and farthest along was illuminated in yellow with an arrow pointing to the left that stated: WAY OUT.  It was exactly what she was looking for.

   She glanced at the larger nearer sign and did a quick calculation in her mind, took a gamble, and leapt past the last segment of steps, jumping to the bottom of the stairwell, catching her balance just as the creature swooped overhead, missing her. It squawked in anger and frustration that shook the walls like an earthquake causing dust and decades of dried mortar to fall. It knew it was too late to change its course and was almost caught up by the first hanging sign, which read:

              District and Piccadilly lines westbound platforms 1 and 2

    As if wanting to avoid the collision, the creature suddenly vanished in a puff of black smoke.

    Pain from the leap shot straight up to her knees — she hadn’t done that kind of activity in decades, and it hurt deeply. She was also out of breath but was engaged to finish what she’d begun, so she kept on.

    She didn’t need to look back to see that her gamble had paid off. She knew if it hadn’t, she and her bundle would now be in the clutches of the creature, but she also knew she had only a slight reprieve. It would be delayed only momentarily; she had to take advantage of this before the creature reformed and continued its chase. She turned down the corridor and found her escape blocked by a row of ticket barriers leading out of the station, but while the creature was gone, it was all she needed to at least flee out into the downpour.

   Taking a breath, she scrambled quickly but climbed careful enough not to drop her precious package, and when she cleared the barrier, she hit the floor at a run and sped out into the stormy night.

   Behind her the creature was back. It looked around, confused, then flew out after her, enraged that its prey had gotten this far. It let out a bloodcurdling shriek that was so horrifyingly loud that it shook and reverberated like a shockwave throughout the neighborhood, shattering glass, fracturing brick, and bending steel.

   Those inside the houses and buildings could hear it even over the thunderclaps, lightning strikes, and wailing wind of the roaring tempest, and more than one person that night sat bolt upright, wondering what the cause could have been.

   The wave of sound hit the woman, and she fumbled, falling forward onto the pavement; quickly she picked herself up and ran, counting herself lucky. She knew that her bones could have been shattered just as easily as the brick and stone around her.

   A flood-filled street stretched out before her like a long thin river, and she knew she did not have much time. Through the heavy curtain of rain and darkness, she could just make out a black shape, which she knew to be a small park on the other side of the road. Her goal was beyond it, and she was going to have to traverse the sodden street and inundated park to get there.  

   It was not a large park, but in the pitch dark of night and raging storm, it might as well have stretched on for miles.

   Without stopping, she made her way across the street. The water welled up past her ankles as she splashed and struggled her way into the park. The wind and rain was against her, but it was also against her adversary, and for that, at least, she was thankful.

   The woman found her footing and ran for all she was worth. More than once, she scraped her arms and hips along the way on the rough bark of thick trees that dotted the path and that were just as black as the darkness around her.

    She knew she did not have far to go, but she prayed she would make it; she had only to reach the sanctity beyond the borders of the park. After that nothing else would matter.…  

   The creature flew overhead. She continued to run; she could hear its flapping wings as she heard the frantic beating of her own heart.

   The phantasm closed in, and she stumbled. She fell again but this time twisted so that her back hit the soaked and mud-slicked ground, protecting the precious bundle.

   Again, she picked herself and her package up and took off running.  

   In this terrible wind, no natural creature with wings could ever hope to fly. Yet it gained. The woman looked back once again to see if the monstrosity was advancing on her with its supernatural speed. She knew it was there, but in the black of night, she could not make it out. Her heart beat faster still, and she ran as fast as she could, but the next moment, she could sense the monster was almost upon her.

   She could no longer hear its scream and knew what that meant — like being in the eye of a hurricane, all sound was drowned out, and she realized it was now near enough to grab her.

   She looked back again and stared right up into its shadowed hood as it descended and, in the all-consuming blackness, saw nothing except for the glint of two large black eyes. She was thankful for the darkness for hiding what she already knew must be there. She could smell its putrid breath and almost feel the leather-wrapped talons around her and knew that once it had caught up with her. As exhausted and as weak as she was, there would be no getting away from its steely grip.

   She ran past another tree, scraping her left arm. It slowed her down and also left a deep gash; she could feel the pain and the loss of blood. She was beginning to feel dizzy, her consciousness slipping, but she couldn’t stop — no matter how futile, she had to try and reach —

   Suddenly there was a loud CRACK. A wide bolt of blue-white lightning struck down hitting the tree she had just passed. She screamed in surprise as a shower of yellow sparks flew out — the trunk was cleaved in two and was ablaze, the fire lit up the area and she was splattered with a wave of mud and clumps of grass and earth. She fell to the ground and saw the creature reel back from yet another bolt, and as it did in the Underground station, the thing dispersed in a puff of smoke, but she knew it would not be long before it was back again and angrier than ever.

   And so, once again, she was given that moment she so desperately needed, but she could barely cope, her cloak heavy with rainwater, her legs all but useless, her charge weighing down on her. But what she carried also gave her hope, and that was enough for her to go on.       She found steel inside, and with a twinge of pain, she got up, limping. She pressed on; ignoring the pain, she made her way out of the park, and waded across another flooded street. Relief set in, but only for an instant, for when she reached her destination, she found it was only to be barred by an enormous wall.

   Hurriedly, she felt along its surface. Hardly able to stand, she leaned on it for support, then at last, she found the entrance.

   A large black wrought-iron gate decorated with roses and thorns stood before her; on either side, the wall, which was made from huge gray blocks of stones, followed the whole length of the pavement, stretching on for as long as she could see until it faded into the darkness. And beyond on the other side was a large cathedral-like building built from the same large gray stonework.

   The woman strained to push the gate open and for an instant feared it was locked, but she pushed, and it gave and opened just enough for her and her package to squeeze through.

   She fled into the sprawling yard; before her there was naught but twenty feet between her and her objective, and yet the distance seemed gigantic.

   Not looking back, and though the effort cost her much, she ran quick as she could straight through the yard and right up the front steps to the main doors, but just as she had finally found the object of her quest, there came another sudden flash of lightning and she was met unexpectedly by a ghastly visage.

   The face of a huge gargoyle loomed directly in front of her, and it made her start, but a moment later, she realized that it was not alive. As realistic and frightening as it was, there was no body to speak of, and she could now see that, like the gate, the face was also set in iron and hung flat against the wood grain of a tall door.

    The features were frozen, grotesque yet comical at the same time, which she supposed was the intent. It was very demon-like with horns atop its head, a pointed nose, evil eyes, and a mocking mouth where a large ring hung down from its sharpened teeth.

    For one split second, she allowed herself the luxury to relax and sighed. She had reached the end of her journey, but was it enough? Had she been fast enough, and where was the creature? Was there enough time?

   The door had a twin next to it, as did the gargoyle, only, that one seemed even more comical by its expression.

    Firmly she grasped the ring attached to the gargoyle in front of her and knocked, but … no one answered.

    She knocked again and again, but still no one answered. She looked back and saw the monster was back and bearing down — it had crossed the gated entrance and was coming for her. There was nothing to block it this time, and she knew she had only a moment.             Quickly the woman took something round and silver out from under her cloak, placed it with the bundle, and laid both on the cold stone step in front of the door. Then, tired beyond belief, she took hold of the large knocker and pounded with what remaining strength that she could muster.

   And with one last effort, she swung the heavy ring, putting all her remaining might into it. But just as the last knock sounded on the door, the monster swooped down upon her and this time caught hold. The claws tore into her twisting clothes, flesh, and bone.

   As it gripped her shoulders, she screamed. It lifted her, carrying her up, up, and high over the gated walls and the tall gray building and off into the turmoil of the stormy, rainy night sky.

   The next instant, she was gone, and the only proof that she had ever been was the small swathe of colorful material bundled up tight that she had left on the steps in front of the massive doors.

   On the other side of those tall thick wooden doors, inside the great building there was hardly any sign of the terrible tempest that toiled outside. Inside, a flame flickered in the middle of a large fireplace on the one side of a warm and very comfortable-looking room.

   A plump middle-aged woman with curled silvery-gray hair sat sleeping in a large cushy armchair by the firelight; her spectacles had fallen down her nose, the lenses of which appeared white, opaque from the reflection of the flames.

   One hand lay on her stomach, the other swung limply over the arm of the chair, an old book she had been reading long since having fallen to the floor.

   She wore a uniform, a gray dress with thick sleeves under a wide white apron with ruffles, and she had plain black work-worn shoes, with soles that had seen a fair share of running back and forth and a white puffy cap that sat askew atop her curled head.

   In the reaches of her slumbering mind, familiar echoes sounded under the uneven drum-and-cymbal clashes of the roaring storm outside. And though the din of the storm could barely be heard from inside the thick walls let alone by someone sleeping by a crackling fire, somewhere in her mind, a consistent thumping sound stirred the woman back to consciousness. Half-asleep, she pushed her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose and shook her head to clear her senses.

   There it was, barely perceptible under the muffled din of the raging thunder — she perceived it only slightly for it was now instinct more than clarity of sound that called her. She could almost predict with a preternatural sense when someone was either knocking or about to knock on the huge pair of doors. Such was the mark of a good housekeeper, and she was proud of her trade. She had been in the service most of her life, and she had spent it almost entirely in this place, which was in many ways a home to her.

   With a little difficulty from her own weight and girth, the woman lifted herself up from the chair and ambled out of the room.

   She was about to close the door behind her but thought better of it for the light; she walked down the main corridor as quickly as she could, shaking her head as she went, a ring of ancient keys jangling in her grasp.

   It must be very, very early in the morning at the latest, she thought. Who the devil would be calling at this hour and on such a night?

  Whoever it was that was out there must be in a right state indeed to be out in this sort of weather.

   She remembered the news had advised that everyone in London should stay in, turn off all their lights and appliances, and lock all the windows and doors. Most likely, it was a passing motorist who needed to use the telephone; that was often the case when someone called at this sort of time, and they rarely ever did.

   For whatever reason, most people seemed afraid of the old place, and she had to admit to herself that besides some of its more notorious history (some of which was rather dark), odd things did seem to happen from time to time.

   There hadn’t been a storm this fierce in recent memory, and yet she recalled something familiar, something from a long time ago….

   It was more a feeling than anything, and she crossed herself, turned her eyes upward, and thanked the Lord that the old building had been made of stern stuff; she recalled it had even withstood bombardment during the blitz.

   She said a quick prayer for the people in the small houses in the surrounding neighborhoods, and feeling a bit flustered, she hurried as fast as she could toward the massive doors. Breathing heavily, she stopped, but only for a moment, to regain her breath, stooping at a nearby wall, then proceeded onward to answer the knocking.

   When she at last came to the doors, the housekeeper fiddled with her ring of keys and settled on a particularly long and heavy iron one. She put it into the lock and, with some effort, turned until she heard a loud click. Then with almost all of her might, she pulled back one of the tall wooden doors and at once was assaulted by the howling wind and flecks of rain hitting her face like sparks from an anvil. 

   She looked into the storm through squinting eyes but saw no one.

   From the glow of the light behind her, she could see a dozen or so meters down the path; she cast her eyes around the front yard as much as she could see, to the gate and the wall and back up the front steps, and that’s when she saw it — the small bundle of rainbow-colored material that had been wrapped around … something.

   And just as she was beginning to wonder what it could be, a glint of silver caught her eye.

   She bent down and took out the piece of silver, which turned out to be round in shape and had a thin chain attached to it.

  More curious than ever, she went to see what this strange package was all about. She put her hand on it and felt it wriggle, which made her stop, and she had an inkling that there was something alive within.

   Then ever so carefully, slowly, she unwrapped the cloth, but when she saw what was nestled inside, she stopped and clasped her hands to her mouth.

   “Oh my —” she exclaimed, drawing back, worried and surprised at the same time.

   Looking all around again, she tried to see who could have left such a precious thing all alone, but there was no one to be seen at all. Carefully she scooped up the bundle and shivered more from sorrow and pity and worry than from the cold.

   Finally she locked the door against the bitter wailing wind and retreated inside to the warm comfort and protection of the dwelling.

   Later, recounting it, she would say it was like finding a little starling that had just appeared, having fallen from the heavens, but for the moment, the housekeeper took care of, and kept, the precious little bundle safe.

   Outside, the storm continued to roar and beat against the fortifications of the neighborhood. But the large old house was like a fortress unto itself, and the little gift was now well protected. The woman would make sure of it, and the storm would be gone by the morrow anyway, and everyone would sleep sounder for it.

    Not ever suspecting that one day the storm would return, but it would be at least another twelve more years before she or anyone else would see another one like it.