Arthur pressed his face close to the dirty glass, shielding his eyes from the glare of his flashlight. He aimed the thin, powerful beam through the grime. Inside, the garage was a cavern of shadows. Rusted tools hung from pegs like medieval implements. But in the center of the floor, sitting directly over a massive, dark stain that covered the concrete, was a large, irregular shape draped in a heavy, dusty blue tarp. The black ooze seemed to be originating right from beneath it.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light cut through the darkness from the main house next door. A flashlight beam was moving behind Henderson’s kitchen window. Someone was inside the house. Panic seized him. Arthur stumbled off the crate, dropped his clipboard into the dirt, and scrambled blindly back through the broken fence, tumbling onto his own lawn just as the back door of the Henderson house began to creak open.