Every click or crack heard from outside caused Amy and Patrick to flinch. Worse yet, Norman had yet to return with the kids. “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Lambert, but there isn’t a soul in that house,” the sheriff said. “No signs of forced entry either. Truth be told, it even looked as if they cleaned up and shut down for the season.” Patrick, Amy, and the sheriff stood on the Lambert’s front porch. The sheriff’s previous skepticism to the whole ordeal (which, for a fleeting moment earlier, Patrick hoped was gone; he and Amy had finally managed to convince the sheriff that something foul was indeed afoot, and perhaps Sheriff Holmes might actually find something beyond the tip of his whiskey-reddened nose) was now back. Back and seemingly fixed in steel, going nowhere. “Shut down?” Amy said. “Sure,” the sheriff said. “Summer’s gone, autumn’s here, and more than half the folks around the lake will disappear until decent weather returns. Gets cold and dark up here sooner than you’d think.”
