Мгла
The Coming of the Storm.
Ithadresolveditselfintoacrazilyspinningteacupbetweentheloweringblackskyandthesurfaceofthewater,whichhadgonethecolorofleadstreakedwithwhitechrome.Thelakehadbeguntolookeerilyliketheocean,withhighwavesrollinginandsendingspumeupfromthedocksandbreakwaters.Outinthemiddle,bigwhitecapsweretossingtheirheadsbackandforth.
Watchingthewater-cyclonewashypnotic.Itwasnearlyontopofuswhenlightningflashedsobrightlythatitprintedeverythingonmyeyesinnegativeforthirtysecondsafterward.Thetelephonegaveoutastartledting!andIturnedtoseemywifeandsonstandingdirectlyinfrontofthebig-picturewindowthatgivesusapanoramicviewofthelaketothenorthwest.
Oneofthoseterriblevisionscametome-Ithinktheyarereservedexclusivelyforhusbandsandfathers-ofthepicturewindowblowinginwithalowhardcoughingsoundandsendingjaggedarrowsofglassintomywife’sbarestomach,intomyboy’sfaceandneck.ThehorrorsoftheInquisitionarenothingcomparedtothefatesyourmindcanimagineforyourlovedones.
Igrabbedthembothhardandjerkedthemaway."Whatthehellareyoudoing?Getawayfromthere!"
Steffgavemeastartledglance.Billyonlylookedatmeasifhehadbeenpartiallyawakenedfromadeepdream.Iledthemintothekitchenandhitthelightswitch.Thephoneting-a-lingedagain.
Thenthewindcame.Itwasasifthehousehadtakenofflikea747.
