Tales Of Corwin

Mark put on all the winter gear he had, with an empty backpack underneath his coat. He went out the back door, closed it firmly behind him, and walked down the back steps onto the screened porch. The wind was roaring around the house, and a fine mist of snow was sifting in through the screens. He had admired the grandeur of the gale at other times; now, thinking of himself up in that vastly powerful air, it seemed not admirable but merely terrifying. What could he do up there, but get himself dashed to pieces? He went first down into the basement. He didn’t have any ski goggles, like Vicente had for snowmobiling, but he had some safety glasses down there, and he put them on underneath his ski mask. The mask pressed the glasses uncomfortably against his face, but it would have to do. Then he walked on back to Sandra’s basement room. Her spirit lamp was there, still burning on her altar table; the thought that her life’s measure might be no more than the measure of oil left in the lamp made him close his eyes