The fall moonlight served as a spotlight, drawing him off the main highway.
He paused and got out of his car at the road sign that announced, “You are now entering the hamlet of Centerville, a community in the Town of Fallsburg, first settled in 1826.”
It was obvious that the sign had been recently made, built out of pressured timber. The raised letters were carved in script. This was a community that was very proud of itself.
He stood within the shadows and looked down the relatively straight road that pointed like a long dark finger toward the center of the village. The street was hauntingly quiet, but he bathed in that silence. He barely moved himself. He was as still as the maple and oak.
Anyone observing him would say he looked like someone going into a deep meditation. He had the eyes of someone in a trance. In fact his body felt more than ever like a shell. He had visions of snakes shedding their skins, sliding out of their bodies and leaving their imperfections behind.
He liked it here. There was a stirring within him, a buildup of energy. He welcomed the feeling and welcomed the revitalization of his spirit. He knew that he had a sense of this place already; he trusted his instincts. His search for a new setting had ended. Like a nomad from the underworld, he traveled until he came to an oasis of evil. Here he would pitch his tent and do his work.
He left his shadow behind to mark the spot and went off to make arrangements.