Sins of the Demon

My driveway was long and winding—a slog of well over a quarter mile. It opened up into a broad area in front of the house that could conceivably hold half a dozen cars but had probably never held more than three at any one time. I wasn’t exactly known for throwing wild parties at my place. I lived in a single-story Acadian-style house that sat in the middle of ten acres of woods and on enough of a hill to allow me to have a basement. It couldn’t be seen from the highway, and I liked it that way, since my “hobby” of summoning big, scary, supernatural creatures probably wouldn’t go over too well with the Bible-belt mentality of south Louisiana.

 

I’d had new gravel put down the week before, which made the trek to the highway more challenging since it was like walking in shifting sand. I was usually a lazy-butt and drove to the mailbox, but I knew if I did that I’d earn an intensely withering look from the demon. Plus, she’d probably make me run ten times the distance in penance.

 

A chill wind wrapped around me, bringing with it the tang of pine and damp. Tugging my gloves back on, I cast a look up at a sky that had gone from light grey to dark and yucky in the past hour. The tops of the pines that surrounded my house swayed with a rising wind acco

Diana Rowland's books