The House on Sprucewood Lane
Chapter One
This is a love story, of sorts. Perhaps passion play is more accurate, except that the classic passion play finishes off with a clear, ringing moral, which is missing here.
I was not present that Halloween night in Connecticut, nor the following morning. I was not inside Melanie's head, nor Jared's, so what you've just read is the view from my mind's eye: Jared, isolated in his fury, frightened; Melanie, frightened as well, struggling to control her own instincts. I think I've gotten it right. I believe this partly because recording shards of human behavior is my job, partly because I know these particular people in my blood and bone. They are (and the cozy oatmeal-and-bananas feel of the word can still turn to glue in my mouth) my family.
When it happened, I was an ocean away from them, six years out of contact. I ... read full excerpt from The House on Sprucewood Lane ebook
