CHAPTER 3...Hard Wood and A Pair of Taillights

The hinges creaked under the strain as Phil closed the large, windowless front door, as though the door itself were suddenly responsible for the weight of the entire world's sins, and he, their eternal tormentor.

Then, the moment passed, and the door seemed just like a door again.

He ran to the window watching hesitantly as the van's taillights disappeared down the winding street. Then silence. 

Only the relentless ticking of the mantle clock disturbed the stillness that had descended on their modest, split level home. 

When the phone pierced the veil of condemned souls and paranoia, it was almost a relief except for the annoying ringtone it had used.  Upon hearing the rather outdated boy band's lyrics sing through their phone, it was like a spell had been broken and only now would they be allowed to reanimate, nervously laughing at the horrendous song. 

Lightning Lad answered the phone, as per usual, lighting fast, and whispered... lightning... quiet. 

Meanwhile, Phil and his mother, Betty, decided to investigate the contents of the mysterious package.

How could you best encourage a blogger to blog?