Not an abnormal thing.

Not at all.

Honestly, it’s just a sack of mulch.

That’s it.

“Huh!” I scoff out loud to no one, suddenly realizing how ridiculous I am being.

What was I expecting to find? A scary note? A treasure map? A dead body?

No.

It’s ridiculous.

I am being ridiculous.

“Stop it, Daffodil. Just stop.” The night seems to be listening to me now. “You’re overreacting. Who knows? Maybe Mike just had a bad day. Maybe he just found out his wife has cancer or something. Maybe it was one of those lash-out moments that everybody has every once in a while. A random freak-out.”

Hoooo-hoo.

Even the owl is attempting to provide solace.

I shut the fake red barn door and leave the crowbar on the ground, making my way back into the house.

After the minefield of metal things, I am happily through the back door and happily back inside. Then I am happily up the stairs and happily at my room—

And that’s when I see it.

Chapter 41

It’s as if a trick has been pulled on me. A prank.

There’s even a sort of humor in it.

Yes, I can see that.

A sort of irony.

I was here . . . then I went outside to investigate. And then the sinister thing happened back in here. Where I just was. What? A half hour ago?

Not enough time.

Not enough time to do this.

Physically, you see . . . it’s impossible.

And yet it is done.

Right here before me.

I close my eyes and look again.

Yes, still there.

You see, how to describe it without sounding ludicrous . . . ? Not easy.

So, what it looks like is this:

It looks like . . .

Someone came into the room.

Took all the furniture . . .

. . . and piled it all . . .

. . . floor to ceiling . . .

. . . like puzzle pieces . . .

. . . upside down . . .

. . . all against the back wall.

!

And when I say piled . . . I mean the furniture is stacked in just a way that you would almost have to have planned it. Like a genius test or a Rubik’s Cube or a 3-D puzzle. There is little to no space between the objects, and each balances perfectly, precariously, on top of the other. So that the entire back wall is covered from top to bottom.

I stay there, paralyzed, looking at the thing that cannot be, yet is.

“This can’t be happening what is happening how is this happening how is that even possible who the hell did this what kind of sick joke is this” is what I would say if I could utter a word, which I, most assuredly, can’t.

I close my eyes again.

Maybe it will go away.

But no.

When I open my eyes, it’s just as surreal and inexplicable as before.