“Odd,” I said. “The house is really very pleasant to live in.” And it was. I found it easy to physically relax while inside, or in the yard. The decor did seem to suit my mood, and I had very quickly adjusted to living there. I even knew some of my neighbors’ first names! The thought of actually purchasing the house and living there permanently had crossed my mind; I could certainly afford it, after all.
Wayne looked at me in what I would later conclude was a decidedly odd way. “Really? No starting at sudden silences, as if darkened eyes staring at you from beyond the windowpane? No sudden waves of chilly wind, washing over your bed at night? Do you never have nightmares about owls?”
I laughed. “Nothing of the sort! Oh, the house is free of squeaking” — Not even a squeak from the mice, I thought irreverently — and I keep a window open for cool midnight breezes. But there is nothing horrid in the house. No. No, I am certain of it.” I forbore to answer his question about dreams of owls; and from Wayne’s flickering look of satisfaction, he noted that lack of response. But it was true; I had been dreaming of owls.