The dog is curled up on her bed before the fireplace, in this perfectly silent home, at just before six in the morning. It’s still dark outside, and the windows become black mirrors as a result. The only sounds are the ticking clock in the kitchen and the measured breathing of my sleeping son, Diego.
It’s extraordinarily peaceful this morning; however there’s something about the month of October that lends a sinister flavor to everything, so that peace and quiet become “eerie stillness.” This morning I’m teetering between the two, as if I might look up at the back door glass panel and see the figure of a man, his facial features obscured , peering in at me from the darkness.
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