Free Strange but True by John Searles Page A

starless winter sky over the small Main Line township of Radnor turns to an inky, fathomless black. The roads become empty and drained of all life. Even the highway on the outskirts of town is soundless, except for the occasional whoosh of a tractor trailer barreling past the exit ramp that leads to Radnor. And when it seems that it can’t get any darker or quieter, the first bits of sunlight break on the horizon. The light comes slowly at first, then more quickly. Outside the cottage at 32 Monk’s Hill Road, a family of crows perches on the dented gutters, twitching their necks and pecking at their oily black wings before flapping away in a sudden rush.
    Melissa doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching her small house, but she wakes to the shhhhhh sound by her front door. Lifting her stiff neck off the ratty arm of the couch, she squints her eyes and looks around to see if Mumu has caught another mouse. But the cat is asleep, purring loud and steady at her feet. Just as she’s about to close her eyes again, she spots a small white envelope on the floor by the front door. She stands and stretches, putting a hand to the back of her neck while glancing out the window for some sign of the person who left it there. Whoever it was is gone. Her first thought is Philip. Perhaps he reconsidered and wrote her a note, or maybe even one of his poems, to let her know that he believed her after all. Mumu is awake now too and sniffing at the envelope. Melissa kneels down, brushing the cat away. She picks it up and pulls out the piece of unlined paper.
    Dear Melissa ,
    I am terribly sorry to have to write this letter, but as of the first of this month, you are seven months behind on your rent. Mr. Erwin and I have been very patient and understanding due to your condition. However, we cannot allow you to occupy the cottage any longer if you are not going to pay the amount we agreed upon when you signed the lease. Please understand that we rely on this money as a main source of income during our retirement. And for that reason, we have no choice but to kindly ask you to vacate the premises as soon as possible. I know this may come as a surprise, but we hope you’ll understand. We regret this more than you know .
    Sincerely,
Mrs. Gail Erwin

chapter 4
    WHEN CHARLENE OPENS HER EYES IN THE MORNING, THE FIRST thing she sees is a spider spinning a web in the corner of the skylight above her bed. Normally, she’d stand on the mattress and squash the little fucker with a towel, but she feels so listless and groggy from the three Tylenol PMs she gulped down the night before that she just lies there and watches its spindly legs moving in and out as it creates an ugly, hodgepodge sort of web. Charlene used to host a children’s story hour at the library, and she liked to read from a picture-book edition of Charlotte’s Web—that is, until one of the mothers complained that the spider’s death on the last page was too sad for the kids to handle. “Inappropriate reading” were the exact words she used. Back then, Charlene had smiled politely at the woman and promptly removed the book from her reading list. But if she was working at the library nowadays and a parent dared pull that kind of nonsense, Charlene would tell her and her daughter where to go. After all, they might as well get used to the cold, hard fact that death is as much a part of life as waking up in the morning and brushing your teeth. Whether they like it or not, sooner or later it will wreak havoc on them too.
    This kind of thinking has become one of Charlene’s favorite pastimes. There is nothing she likes more than imagining what it would be like to tell off the countless people who walked all over her years ago. She loves conjuring up the look of surprise on each and every one of their faces as she lays into them. Her mind goes down this road so often that she keeps a running list in her head that she thinks of as her People I’d