14
Thunk. Thunk. The old man kept an axe on a stump near the pump house and then complained when it got rusty. That’s what it sounded like—the axe striking the stump. Except a little bit different. He’d just finished weeding the beans and brushed his hands on his pants before circling the house.
The stump was empty, no axe in sight.
The thick door of the pump house stuck at the base and groaned in protest. It finally came free, and he stepped inside, tugging the string for the overhead light. It felt cool inside. There was nothing out of place, except a few small chunks of insulation near the water tank. Maybe he’d bring the dog in later, see what a canine nose made of it. Dang rodents.
Thunk. Thunk.
He used his full weight to push the door shut before twisting the simple wooden latch
