The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Hunter briefly considered taking all the jars outside and smashing them but instead hauled them to the pantry and lined them up on shelves. He didn’t know if he could ever face eating them, though. Who knew what they might be tainted with?
For most of the afternoon, he read a Linwood Barclay novel and watched the rain spatter against his living room windows. At times he started as the roar of thunder shook the house or a flash of lightning distracted him from his book. As the hours passed, the events of the morning became less frightening, though no more explicable. Hunter’s mind fought desperately for equilibrium, and soon he found himself almost believing the things that had occurred were due to his own forgetfulness. He tried to ignore the
