Strange Highways

certain that she and Tommy were alone.
      You're just jumpy because of that maniac jerk on Black Oak Road, driving as if he's guaranteed to live forever.
     When she returned to the kitchen, Tommy was sitting in the chair where she'd left him.      "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.
     "Nothing, honey. The way Doofus was acting, I thought maybe we had a burglar, but no one's been here."
     "Did old Doofus break something?"'
     "Not that either," she said. "Not that I noticed."
     The Labrador was no longer slinking about with his head held low. He wasn't trembling either. He was sitting on the floor beside Tommy's chair when Meg entered the room, but he got up, padded to her, grinned, and nuzzled her hand when she offered it. Then he went to the door and scratched at it lightly with one paw, which was his way of indicating that he needed to go outside to relieve himself.
     "I'll put the jeep away. Take off your coat and gloves," she told Tommy, "but don't you get out of that chair until I come back with your crutches."
     She pulled her boots on again and went outside, taking the dog with her, into a storm that had grown more fierce. The snowflakes were smaller and harder, almost sandlike; they made millions of tiny, ticking sounds as they struck the porch roof.
Undaunted by the storm, Doofus dashed into the yard.
     Meg parked the station wagon in the barn, which served as a garage. When she got out of the jeep, she glanced up at half-seen rafters in the gloom above; they creaked as gusts of wind slammed into the roof. The place smelled of oil drippings and grease, but the underlying sweet scent of hay and livestock had not entirely dissipated even after all these years.
     As she took Tommy's crutches out of the wagon, she again felt that creepy prickling at the back of her neck - an awareness of being watched. She surveyed the dim interior of the old barn, which was illuminated only by the inadequate bulb on the automatic door opener. Someone could have been lurking behind one of the board dividers that separated the area along the south wall into horse stalls. Someone might be crouching in the loft above. But she saw no evidence of an intruder to justify her suspicion.
     "Meg, you've been reading too many mysteries lately," she said aloud, seeking reassurance from the sound of her own voice.
     Carrying Tommy's crutches, she stepped outside, pushed the automatic door button, and watched the segmented metal panels roll down until they met the concrete sill with a solid clunk.
     When she reached the middle of the yard, she stopped, struck by the beauty of the winter nightscape. The scene was revealed primarily by the ghostly radiance of the snow on the ground, a luminescence akin to moonlight but more ethereal and, in spite of the ferocity of the storm, more serene. Marking the northern end of the yard were five leafless maples, stark black branches spearing the night; wind-hammered snow had begun to plate the rough bark.
     By morning she and Tommy might be snowbound. A couple of times every winter, Black Oak Road was closed for a day or two by drifts. Being cut off from civilization for short periods wasn't particularly inconvenient and, in fact, had a certain appeal.
     Though strangely lovely, the night was also hard. The tiny pellets of snow stung her face.
     When she called Doofus, he appeared around the side of the house, half seen in the dimness, more a phantom than a dog. He seemed to be gliding over the ground, as if he were not a living creature but a dark revenant. He was panting, wagging his tail, unbothered by the weather, invigorated.
     Meg opened the kitchen door. Tommy was still sitting at the table. Behind her, Doofus had halted on the top porch step.
     "Come on, pooch, it's cold out here."
     The Labrador whined, as if afraid to return to the house.
     "Come on, come on. It's suppertime."
     He climbed the last step and hesitantly crossed the porch. He put his head in the open door and studied the kitchen with suspicion. He sniffed the warm air - and shuddered.
     Meg playfully bumped one boot against the dog's bottom.
     He looked at her reproachfully and did not move.
     "Come on, boy. You going to leave us in here unprotected?" Tommy asked from his chair by the table.
     As if he understood that his