Black Evening by David Morrell Read Free Book Online

circumstances, a house could be loved enough that a person might develop a mystical bond with it, to the exclusion of everything else. The house, which I continue to remember fondly, is described in this story.
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The Hidden Laughter
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    There's a line somewhere in an Eliot poem, "Burnt Norton" I think, about unheard music and leaves being full of children, hidden in excitement, laughing. I have sensed that music, almost seen those children, not in leaves it turns out, in a house, though, where I used to live, except that all this was so long ago that now I think of "I" as "he" and how he turned to see her walking toward him.
    She was looking very puzzled. "Something's funny at the house we sold," she told him. "All the neighbors say there are children inside laughing."
    What was odd, of course, was that he'd locked it when they'd moved out, and besides, there were few children in that neighborhood, all of them accounted for. "I think I'd better look," she said. She had a key, you see, until the new owners came to take possession, just in case some trouble happened in the meantime, and she loved that house, the one that she'd been married in, so she was going back to take a final look. He didn't think she ought to, but he couldn't talk her out of it. Because he was working on some bookshelves, he just told her that he'd wait to hear about the laughter, which he knew would be imaginary. So she left, and that's the last he ever saw of her.
    This happened in the morning. He postponed his lunch and waited for her. Finally he ate. He figured she was visiting some friends in the old neighborhood, and after all, the kind of marriage that they had, they both were free and easy, so he didn't worry. Then the evening came, and it was time for supper. Still she didn't come, and now he did begin to worry. After he made a meal and fed his children, he began to phone, but no one at the old neighborhood had seen her. Not since lunch at least.
    She'd checked the house, he was told, and as he had expected, there was nothing. Then she'd visited some friends, again as he'd expected. After lunch she'd gone back to the house, just to see it one last time, and people in the neighborhood had gone on with their business. But yes, wait a minute, yes, her car was still parked in the driveway down there, and she must be with some other friends. When he made more calls, however, he learned that no one else had seen her, and he worried even more. He thought that maybe she'd had some trouble with the car and left it. But she would have phoned him then. That much was certain. He got a sitter for the children and drove over.
    The house was much the same as he'd left it. Oh, the grass was somewhat long, the shrubs in need of a little trimming, but except for that and dust on the outside windows, it looked as if they still lived there. As he stood at the curb and surveyed the place, he felt a yearning: for his youth, for the days when he and she were just beginning. Don't mistake. The place was not impressive. Oh, acceptable but nothing more. A single-story ranch house with a lush maple tree on the right, a stunted plum tree on the left, and in the middle an overhang that formed a porch. What they used to call low-income housing when a house was something that ambitious, saving people could afford. A lot of things had changed since then, more money and more complications. That moment as he stood there, watching, brought back fond memories of early days and innocence.
    He walked up toward the house, and of course the door was locked. That was exactly like her. She had felt so close to what the house had meant to her that she would never have left it unsecured. He had a key as well, though, and he turned it, going in. There was an echo off the bare walls and the floor. The cabinets that they'd built, the hardwood floors that they'd varnished, these brought back a sequence of quick images, the two of them starting their marriage.
    He waited,