Visitors at Midnight

"You'll have to drive through trees," the lawyer had told him, "a lot of them." Austin smiled. There they were: rows and rows of Virginian junipers, flanking the road on both sides. It was one thing for his car's GPS to tell him he was getting nearer to his destination; it was something else entirely to see for himself.

Taking off his sunglasses, he drove on, enjoying his new, shadier surroundings. About a mile in, the GPS died, the foliage apparently too dense to allow any signals through. That didn't really matter, though. At this point, all he had to do was follow the road.

Time passed. The road began curving, first in one direction, then in another, then in yet another. Austin slowed down. Within minutes, the route veered again. More time passed. The trees were now on all sides–left, right, front and back; thanks to the unending twists, he was completely surrounded. Every few yards, Austin had to make a sharp turn. His lips flattened against each other, and he exhaled through his nose. Well, that explained why he had the road all to himself. The car was actually going slower than Austin could walk.

The trip went on like that for another 20 minutes. Then, the road made a final curve and–much to Austin's relief–led right out of the forest. He laughed and hit the gas. Now, he was driving by a wide-open field, his path going in a straight line once again, and just at the horizon, he could make out a lone building.

His GPS came back to life and told him what he already knew: that he'd arrive at the building, his destination, in 1,000 feet...800 feet...300 feet...50 feet...20 feet. Seconds later, he pulled over, put the vehicle in park and got out.

There to greet him was a gorgeous three-story house. Hands on his hips, Austin stared up at the wonderful structure, the evenly spaced windows and the peaked roof. He sighed. If only he could keep it. He eventually willed himself to look away and get his bags from the car. While doing this, he happened to glance down the road. No houses or any other kind of building, just asphalt and grass as far as the eye could see. His late uncle's home was isolated in the truest sense of the word.

He made his way around the car and up the stone path to the front door, stopping to admire the decorative columns that held up the porch roof. He shook his head. A lot of love had been put into this place. He pulled a key out of his pocket and went inside.

He found himself in the living room. His face lit up upon seeing a huge fireplace against the far wall. He stepped further in. To his left, he could see a hallway with a colorful, heavy-looking lamp out in front. To his right, there was a kitchen, waiting to be bathed in natural light from the many, soon-to-be-unshuttered windows.

Ever since Austin found out he'd inherited Uncle Jerry's property, he'd wanted to see the house in person, before it and everything in it were sold off to cover the family's debts. He knew he'd be kicking himself for the rest of his life if he didn't do the right thing and help out his many relatives, but he'd also be kicking himself for life if he didn't act on this opportunity. He began opening all the windows on the ground floor. He'd never been in anything nicer than a track house; he'd never lived in anything nicer than an apartment. Now, not only would he be able to say he'd seen a colonial-style house up close but that he'd spent a night in one too. He smiled again. He couldn't keep the place, but, for today at least, he could still enjoy it.

* * *

Hours later, Austin shot out of bed, his surroundings a pitch-black void. Within a second, he realized the shattering of glass hadn't just been a dream. Rapid, heavy footsteps came from the floor below. He grabbed the handgun he'd set beside the bed earlier. As soon as he touched it, he heard a scream.