By Michael Laimo
Frank Ballaro, police detective, is retiring almost immediately. Or is he? A path of blood at the diminish open air his residence ends up in an alley the place younger males were seriously mutilated. yet they're now not lifeless. anything retains them alive. within the arms of 1 is a wierd item, whatever he holds onto for expensive lifestyles. anything he calls...atmosphere.
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Additional info for Atmosphere
Gradually, the landscape alters. The road veers around a nonexistent berm, then begins winding through inexplicable curves; on either side, the trees slouch; beneath their twisted boughs, the intermittent houses grow smaller and seedier. Ahead, a three-legged dog squirms through a hedge and barrels snarling toward your right front tire. A crone wearing a teensy straw hat and what appears to be a shroud glances up red-eyed from a listing porch swing. Two front yards along, a little girl costumed in dirty pink gauze and a foil crown flaps a glittery, star-headed wand over a heap of burning tires.
Before the last couple of weeks, Fred would have told you that his wife doesn’t have a fearful bone in her body. She might be just five foot two (“Why, you’re no bigger than a minute” was his grandmother’s comment when she first met Fred’s intended), but Judy has the heart of a lion, of a Viking warrior. This isn’t bullshit, or hype, or poetic license; it is the simple truth as Fred sees it, and it is the contrast between what he has always known and what he sees now that scares him the most. From Avalon he races onto Camelot, crossing the intersection without looking for traffic, going much faster than usual, almost sprinting in- 42 ■ BLACK HOUSE stead of jogging.
No, dwarf mines, dragon treasures, and magic spells are too childish, but when we drop down for a closer examination, we see that a weathered no trespassing sign stands at the beginning of the lane, proof that something is being guarded, even if it is merely privacy. Having noticed the sign, we look again at the end of the lane. In the darkness under the trees down there, one area seems murkier than the rest. Even as it shrinks back into the gloom, this area possesses an unnatural solidity that distinguishes it from the surrounding trees.
Atmosphere by Michael Laimo