14 THE NIGHTMARE BOX
Spying through the trees, one can see a man in a black hat and trench coat walking the solemn streets of an idyllic American neighborhood. From a distance he can be tracked happily wandering aimlessly from one side of the street to the other, wobbling in a frantic shuffle. He can be seen whispering to himself, his eyes widening with every syllable spoken.
Finally, he stopped in front of a house that was obviously built in the nineteen-fifties with a modern porch built on. The man extended his arms, sighed. He had found his journey's end.
The strange man murmured to himself, giggled. He opened the screen door to the porch, eloquently, if not prissy, walked to the front door. He rang the doorbell, jumped as if a hand had touched his shoulder. He looked around, giggle
