The sound of a auto scraping clay outside jolted him awake however " awake " slightly described the state he was in. His skin drilled, every hair standing, because the house knew. It always knew. He pressed against the wall, lungs tight. The garret, the hallway, the shifting stairs behind him each breathing with hunger. But outdoors someone was then. Someone real. A knock at the frontal door — polite. unknowing. mortal. " Hello " a voice called. manly, calm, distant. The house moaned behind Thomas. Its wood modes bucketed in expectation. The voice outside stirred commodity