When blackmail comes tapping at the door, get up and open it. There’ll be no-one there. Just the yawn of a black night, with wind in it but no stars. Already there’s wind hurrying through the house, licking the back of your knees as you stare out. Where’s it coming from? That window at the back. Someone’s round there already and through the slender gap like an eel. Already the curtains are whipping up, the doors are buckling, and the floorboards pitch and toss like the planks of a boat.
The wind blows harder and your house begins to move on a sea that was always there, beneath the crust of the land. And you’re afraid, but you are beginning to move with it.
