*EXAMPLE* excerpt from “A Captive Audience”

In mere seconds, I was inside the door and had locked it behind me. I huddled at the door, with one ear pressed against it to listen for movement outside, and the other ear perked to detect any disturbance inside. Sheltered now from the cruel elements, my body began to warm and my fingers regained sensation.

When I was satisfied that nobody was aware of my unlawful entry into the house, and my eyes had adjusted to the augmented gloom, I took note of my surroundings. A kitchen opened up on my right, with countertops and cupboards lining the walls. A large water basin was in the corner near the outside wall, and a coal stove in the far corner. A small two-person breakfast table with chairs stood against the far wall. On my left was a pantry door, with the narrow pantry occupying the awkward triangular space underneath a staircase, which began at the other end of a hallway which led directly away from the door where I was standing.

Even from where I was standing, however, I could see fresh indications of occupation. Rather than a uniform layer of dust on the countertops, I saw handprints and spots where water had recently splashed on the surface. One chair was slightly askew at the table, and the dust beneath the chair was scattered, indicating recent use. A pair of indoor lounge slippers had been nonchalantly discarded by the door.

I glanced down. I was currently standing on a woven straw mat, placed in front of the door for intruders to brush the outside dirt from their boots. If I were to move from the doormat, however, I was sure to leave footprints in the collected dust. While my shoe soles were probably anonymous, my shoe size was not. I’m sure Madigan had many friends, but I was doubtlessly the only one who bought shoes from the children’s section. I kicked off my boots and donned the slippers. They were ill-fitting, but by curling my toes I managed to keep them from sliding off my feet.

I shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hallway, passing the stairs on my left and stopping in front of the first door on my right. The solemn front door of the house stood a few more paces before me, solid and silent. It was bordered on the right side by a narrow, frosted window pane that scattered the pale yellow light from the streetlights outside. A modest crystal chandelier hung above the entrance, and the cable that suspended it ran over a pulley attached to the high ceiling above the entryway and back down to a hand crank attached to the side wall. I hazarded a guess that this was for the purpose of lowering the chandelier to light its kerosene lamps; an inspection of the crank showed that it had not been used in a long time. An empty coat rack stood to the side, seemingly without purpose.

I cautiously listened at the door next to me for any indications of inhabitants, but it was as creepily silent as the rest of the house. I cracked the door open and peered inside to find a small study, complete with bookshelves, a leather- upholstered easy chair, and a large, soft, furry round rug trimming the floor. A large bay window projected out of the room giving a peripheral view of the street outside. This room, however, had none of the signs of usage that I had seen in the kitchen. The seat of the chair was unmolded and looked as if no one had sat in it for weeks, and the arms of the chair had an unbroken layer of dust. I closed the door without entering and turned to face the stairs.

A wrought-iron banister bordered the stairs, with a polished wooden handrail that matched the wood used for the stair treads. As I ascended the steps, I was careful to step on the leftmost edge and hold the banister to distribute my weight, in case any of the stairs creaked. I hadn’t yet made any significant noise in the house, or heard any sounds from any part of the house, but there wasn’t any harm in being cautious, and it felt good to keep in practice.

At the top of the stairs was small landing and an open door, leading to a small indoor lavatory. From just outside the lavatory, I could hear the faint whistling of wind, which likely indicated a small ventilation chimney in the ceiling. Next to the door was a large floor-to-ceiling mirror, similar to the ones in the Price mansion sitting room, but only about four feet wide. I reflected for a moment that this bachelor pad similarly boasted fine examples of glass artisanship, much as the mansion did, but on a more modest scale.

The landing contained just one door - the last remaining room in the house. I approached it with the same caution that I had given every other room, and was rewarded with the same disappointing silence. Behind the door was a moderately-sized bedroom, with a large semi-circular window viewing the street in the front. The bedroom showed no signs of recent occupation, but also no signs of struggle or distress - the bed was made, clothes were hung in the closet or carefully folded in dresser drawers. On one hand, I was glad not to see the dead corpse of my friend; on the other hand, I was disappointed not to find any significant clues. I was starting to think that this home invasion would be completely unrewarding, when a brief flash of movement caught my attention.

A figure was silhouetted in the frosted window pane next to the front door, and from the shape and mannerisms of his shadow, it seemed like he was trying to peer inside the house. I knew this to be futile - the window was entirely opaque, and the interior of the house was entirely unlit. I watched as the shadowy figure slowly figured this out, and moved away, headed down the street.