Tryst

'. . .would like to go back to your house with you.'

If Samantha's eyes gaped a little wider at this, her quick mind soon recovered from the surprise. 'But my parents would be home, Alfie. C'mon. . .I've got a better idea.'

She grabbed me by the hand, slinging her other arm around my waist, and we walked down Goosefluff Lane in the shimmering moonlight.

'The night is splendid,' I said, '. . .but where are we going?'

'Don't you worry about that,' said she, quietly. 'I have a place.'

I didn't know if that's what I had meant.

As we neared the far end of Goosefluff Lane, the houses grew larger, statelier, and more heavily shrouded in shrubbery. Around the houses a forest grew tall and wild; the architecture was, of course, Victorian; and the night was saturated with an air of mystery normally reserved for films based on books by Steven King.

'This way,' Sam said.