Normally he would’ve U-turned in the middle of Sykes Road and gone back to the office to tie in the lines and go home, and he was never more anxious to do so than tonight. He had a lot of apologizing to do, and a lot of arguing and probably a fair amount of begging as well. But something kept the squad car pointed straight ahead, out of the Tunnel and on into the night. Maybe it was the old curiosity. He saw the Danner place often enough: they patrolled the Tunnel and the rest of Sykes regularly even though it was outside city limits, mostly as a favor to the county boys. But he usually had the day shift, and it was different then. Certainly different than he remembered it.

Like most kids from Isherwood, he had gone out to the Danner place once, at night, to see if the stories were true. He hadn’t seen anything—to his knowledge no one ever did—but there had been a certain feeling.

He shrugged off the recollection, dismissing it as the product of a childish imagination. We’ll see, he told himself. We’ll see.

The road past the Tunnel was traveled less frequently. Indeed, this entire area was less developed, less populated, and the Danner legend played an important role in that. The land out there was tainted, some said, and no matter how much evidence you showed to the contrary you could not convince them otherwise. But, ironically, the same superstition which had stagnated suburban growth on this side of town appeared to be the prime reason for future development. Local lack of interest in the land had driven prices way down, and it was those prices that were attracting attention from Bedford and elsewhere. Out-of-­towners didn’t give a damn about local horror stories, not when the bottom line was a good per-acre value. It wouldn’t be long, he reckoned, till Sykes Road would be lined with driveways, the Tunnel would be no more, and the “spreading evil” of the Danner estate would be a housing division with two-car garages and cable TV. There was even talk of rezoning the town and pushing the boundaries out to encompass more. Our town is growing, the mayor and his cronies were fond of saying, a little overoptimistically, Bean thought. But most of the “residents” did live outside the present limits and perhaps it was time for a change.

The Danner land was an actual part of Isherwood. He wished he could be a mouse in the council chamber when that came on the agenda. There was sure to be fireworks.

The gloom and spookiness had lifted once he’d cleared the Tunnel and now it was just another chilly, star-flecked night. It was still decidedly unspooky when he rounded a bend and came to the big iron gate of the Danner place.

There was a car parked in front.