He had this constant nervous anticipation that someone would suddenly drive down the road, or worse, he’d be woken in the middle of the night by a knock at the door. It was a ridiculous fear. Nobody, not even the house’s owner, had a reason to make an unexpected visit. Just to be sure, the last time Harold came off the main road and onto the property he stopped and stretched a chain across the dirt road, a plywood sign hanging from the center of it read no trespassing. His fear of an intruder and the dread of a surprise visit had only gotten worse over the past few months. Harold would lie awake in bed at night expecting there to be a knock at the door. Why someone would knock at his door in the middle of the night was a constant source of anxious speculation. Kids had been drag racing on the main road, they got into an accident?Broken and bloody they would limp the mile down the cabin’s road looking for help. A drifter looking to rob the place? He would knock first, if someone answered he’d have a story, he was looking for yard work, or a lost dog.
