Getting into the house was easy.

A high metal fence locked the place down, but with just a hop over, they had access to the building—and the garage, though they had no interest in that.

“Let’s go,” Giselle said.

She reached out and grabbed the Grifter, the family leaf dog.

With the dog out of hand, Barry was able to climb over the fence. It rattled as his pant legs dragged on the metal links.

Giselle put Grift down. The little thing did leaf-dog things.

An odd sight if you grew up around a normal dog; his little toenails became pins that dug into the dirt. The dirt disappeared in his back.

His ears were small, growing in size, storing sap his body was making from new dirt he hadn’t seen before.

“Gaz, letting him eat is a bad idea. Grift likes to be noisy when he is full.” Barry said, struggling as his pants were stuck to a spike part of the fence.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fine.”

Grift’s eyes grew wide as his ears got bigger.

“You’re the one making noise right now,” Giselle said.

She had to help Barry, a grown man, get loose from the fence’s finger.

The crescent moon of the night was lighting the backyard, its vivid blue leaving bending shadows as they approached the door.

Giselle led, reaching for the black-painted door handle. With a pop, it was open.

The two together stepped in, Grifter pulling dirt along behind.

The inside was normal, as far as normal could be.

Enough light to see without grabbing the Gas torch that was always left of the door inside.

In the same direction, to that left, was a living room; Bare, empty for its size, with a piano and a cushion for one to rest or play.

No Blue Gas picture box, it is well known Dr Fletch had no interest in them.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? The doctor helped discover Blue Gas and its use but hates it with all his heart…” Barry said.

Before that room was the hall, the entryway that stretched to the door at the back, moonlight coming through the glass windows on the door.

Stairs just before the living room, of course, all townhouses with a second floor had that fixture.

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To the right was a dinner room, decorated far better.

And beyond it to the back of the house, an archway to the kitchen.

Giselle touched the railing to the stairs. She had a slight shiver; it was cold.

It was late at night during fall, after all.

As she looked up, too dark, a place she had no interest to explore.

The room of a dead man, and his ‘murdered’ mother and father.

Barry wandered to the dining room, where something caught his eye, a picture frame high on a shelf.

It was far up on the wall, above a bookcase that was painted green, holding plates and other pictures, trophies, and roads.

No interest in this or that, just that one at the top. He reached up, standing on his toes tips, looking a little drunk while trying to grab the picture frame.

As his two owners stared at the dark picture, Grift sniffed the air, looking for a mud box like the one at home. There was nothing like compost or even rotten meat after four paw-fulls of dirt.

Giselle went to the living room to reminisce and wander.

Barry got the picture after a fight, looking at the people in the picture.

It was a strange time in their life the picture was taken, a decent but sad one. After their parents passed, an Airship accident was a common thing fifteen years ago.

Dr Fletch lost his mother and father in the same way.

That brought about his first invention, then eleven more, all to help with airship safety to prevent crashes.

At the right of the picture were two kids, young, a girl with bleach blonde hair and a rich tan, giving a bright smile. At her feet was a boy half her size, pale and sickly, with dark hair; They only shared their dark eyes.

Nine kids plus the two were in the frame, all orphans of the small town of 2000 people. Each lost their parents in a similar way.

At the center of the frame, an adult taller than the rest, with dark-brown hair, round glasses, and a little feminine in the face; Dr Fletch without a smile, a normal sight, his eyes empty to the present, lost in thought.

“Where is Grifter?” Giselle said.

The sound made Barry jump, his neck and knees locked.

Barry sighed, saying nothing about the shock. “I don’t know…”

They heard panting pass by in the dark close to the floor, then tapping root toes.

“Barry, grab him before he makes a mess.”

Barry placed down the picture frame, turning back to the entryway.

It was too late to prevent a mess, mud was tracked on the floor, down the entry hall to the right, and to the kitchen around. To the dining room, he passed them, then up the stairs.

Giselle grabbed the picture, listening to the stairs creak. She touched the frame, looking at the girl and two geeks, both the kids and the man.

Thinking of times both good and bad.

Dr Fletch was a complex man, to say the least, always a leap away even when she was standing by his side.

That’s why she did not doubt the narrative the news sold, which was true. Or was it the rambles of the drunks in the street after work that was right?

His death was never a normal thing, diseases, injury. No, it was always murder, suicide, or death from ‘cult activities’.

She placed the picture back on the shelf with little trouble, finding the book Barry placed the frame on.

One of the Doctors’ failed ambitions; a book of great mind and vision.

The cover read, “Why Do I Experience”, leather-bound, dried, and cracked.

Her curiosity made her pick it up and flip to the very back.

Barry’s adventure up the stairs was quick, with one or two slips on muddy paw prints.

Holding the Gas torch which he had to use another match to light.

“Grift, come here! I’ll get you some crows blood…” Barry said in a whispered shout.

A hallway with a bend to the left the shape didn’t fit the house.

Only one door was open where the mud stopped.

The first to the right, Barry was quick to make the turn.

A bare room with a bed painted murals on all the walls, and a window letting enough light in to see the dog.

Lap, lap, lap.

Grift was licking away at the clean, carpeted floor.

Barry grabbed the pup and back out into the hall, moving the torch to his left hand.

Something was off, different in the hall from before.

A shadow stood where no person did, no one should have been in.

No door made a noise, and each was latched, painted red, perhaps there was another room down the hall’s bend, but a room could not fit, no.

The shadow was still, a man tall.

Barry turned to see the surprise window in the hall. It was just him, his shadow, he hoped. There was nothing behind, not even a shelf or picture frame. That window was just a false hope that the mind tried to draw.

Then he looked at the torch in his hand. It was just a trick of the eye and an illusion that spooked him made by his own hand.

It stood tall in the light, made from the dark.

Ruff ruff ruff!

Three barks in Barry’s ear. He looked down at Grift; it was not him.

The dog had his full, plump ears perked up; looking around.

Grift swung a muddy wood paw, and for the first time in his life, he gave Barry a scratch.

Barry let go and Grift ran forward and started to lap.

Lick lick lick.

Getting closer to the shadow.

Grift walked through it, over it, licking it on the ground, his tongue the only sound around.

The shadow overlapped above and underneath.

But when the torch moved, it was still no change in shape.

It stood still and tall in the dark hall. Broad in shoulders, never did it shrink or grow.

Do shadows have mouths? Barry had to ask himself.

The shadow began to flow, its mouth becoming wide, no teeth, no lips, but he saw what he saw.

It looked like it was about to sing, its mouth wide.

“Haaaaaa!”, A sigh. A warm wind brushed Barry’s left side.