Maybel took a deep breath and headed towards the house. She was full of purpose. She was full of clarity. The Shaking continued to build in her guts as she walked away from the well. Her legs were a little wobbly but she made an effort to steady herself.
She opened the screen door on the backside of the house and then steadied herself against the jam. The fall light was dimming fast and they had less than two hours before full dark. She desperately hoped the visitor would be here after dark. Full dark usually brought screams from the well so high and loud that you could hear them in the house.
Maybel took a step into the kitchen. The old linoleum floor made a plastic crinkling noise as she walked across. It hadn't been waxed in two or more years. The kitchen smelled familiar and comfortable and normal. Nothing like the Shaking. The Shaking was like being overcome by some external agent; some kind of drug or some kind of spirit or some kind of force in the whole wide world.
Maybel never cared what it was, exactly, only that she could be free to ride it like the languid beast it was.
She made her way across the old matte wooden floor that creaked and sagged in places until she reached the front door. It was the original door from the century old home and its glass had never been replaced. It rippled and distorted the image from the other side. Even so, Maybel knew Dale Barrymore no matter how distorted he might look.
Maybel opened the door and then smiled what she hoped was a smile free of the tremors that were continuing to grow within her.
Dale was thin and lanky and his white t-shirt and jeans hung from his frame like a sail in the wind.
"Dale?" her voice squeaked a little and she raised a hand to smooth her hair.
"Maybel," his visage transformed - for less than a split second - into a leering pervert. Maybel could see it clearly. His lips flush and red. His breath hot and humid. His eyes clinging to her round breasts and hips. And then it was gone and he was just her cousin again.