Eva's Eye

Introduction

It was a Wendy house.

A tiny house with red windowsills and lace curtains. He halted a short distance from it, listened, but heard nothing except the dog panting by his side and a gentle rustle from the old apple trees. He stood there a moment longer, feeling the dampness of the grass seep through his shoes, listening to his heart, which had changed its pace after the chase through the garden. The dog looked up at him and waited. Saliva poured from its great jaws, it sniffed the darkness tentatively, its ears quivered. Perhaps it could hear sounds from within that he couldn’t detect. He turned and looked back at the detached house behind them, its lit windows, its warmth and coziness. No one had heard them, not even when the dog barked. His car was down on the road with two wheels on the curb and the door open.

She’s frightened of the dog, he thought with surprise. Bending down, he grabbed it by the collar and approached the door with slow steps. There certainly wouldn’t be a rear exit in a little house like this, or even a lock on the door. It must be plaguing her now — if it hadn’t the moment she’d shut herself in — the thought that she’d fallen straight into a trap. No way out. She didn’t have a chance.