It was another cold and windy night, and Alma had forgotten a coat again. Her nightgown whipped around her as she lowered herself down from the roof. When she was hanging by her fingertips from the gutter, she let go. She was surprised and pleased when she landed on her feet.
She took the eyepiece from her pocket and gripped it tightly in one hand. She had been relieved to find that the quintescope was still intact when she opened the case that afternoon, although there were a few new scuffs here and there. In her other hand, she held the flashlight. She swept its beam across the mud and the dead grass as she crept through parts of the huge yard she had never set foot in, toward the cover of the woods behind it. The flashlight’s beam was small and weak, however, and instead of making her feel less afraid, the tiny bit of light only made her even more aware of how dark and hidden the world around her was.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, because now that she was out in the coldness, out in the blackness, with thunder rumbling threateningly somewhere nearby, she knew that this was a mistake. “I should go back.”
But she didn’t.
And then there was a rustling somewhere ahead and a small noise like wind chimes.
“Who’s there?” Alma whispered. She pointed the flashlight forward, illuminating a small circle at the far edge of the yard.
She didn’t really expect to hear anything.
But the strange noise came again, a sort of high-pitched pulsing that made Alma shiver.
“Who’s there?” she said again.
And then the circle of Alma’s light disappeared in a wave of red and gold.