Dead Ends

The trail has run cold.

I returned to the man with the photograph on his wall of the albino, to discover that he was gone. Seems there had been way too much time to think in my abscence.

In his place was, what I understood to be a Vietnamese family. They did not know the previous tenant. The place was empty and no, they did not have a pot-bellied pig in the back garden.

They were lying.

I heard the thing in the yard, rooting around in the bushes.

 

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