Tuckamore Bay

Mutant Rodent

Bill backed away from the General Store, turned the truck around, drove across the small parking lot, across the narrow cobblestone road and down a slight incline to the front of the lighthouse.

He sat in the truck and looked at the lighthouse.

"Absolutely beautiful," he gasped, as he opened the door of the truck and stepped outside.

He turned and looked back across toward the General Store. He laughed slightly at the fact that he could have probably walked to the lighthouse faster, than the time it took him to drive. But his whole life was in the truck, so it was a necessity.

Bill looked to his left and saw a stone path that led to a smaller cottage style house, about a hundred or so feet pass the lighthouse.

"Must be my neighbour," he commented aloud. He made a mental note to visit the neighbour, once he got settled.

Bill reached back into his truck and pulled a keyring, filled with keys, from the center console. He closed the door to the truck and examined the keyring, that Dave Wells had given him the day before.

He walked to the front door of the house, while examining the keys.

"Which one, I wonder?"

One by one he looked at the keys, but neither seemed to be a match for the old style lock on the front door.

"Well that sucks," he spat, popping the keys in the pocket of his sweatpants.

He pushed gently on the door, but it did not budge.

"Now what will I do?" he wondered, as he walked around the corner of the house.

"Maybe there is a window open."

The first window he tried was solid, but the second one swung open easily.

Bill smiled. "Well I'll be damned."

Though the window was open, the lowest point of the window was near Bill's upper chest and given his complete lack of physical dexterity, he decided that to avoid an embarrassing situation, he would have to find something to stand on, to get to the window and hopefully be able to crawl inside.

He had hoped to find a ladder, but that was not to be. Instead, he did find a small wooden barrel, near the far corner of the house.

"Perfect," he smiled, as he walked to the barrel.

Bill bent down and attempted to lift the barrel, but it would not move. Bill noticed the grass growing tightly around the perimeter of the barrel.

"Looks like this has been here a while."

He pushed it with his hand, with no result.

He then gave it a gentle kick.

Nothing.

He kicked a little harder.

Still nothing.

"Give me a fucking break," he barked in anger, as he gave the barrel a solid kick.

"Fuccccckkkkkkk," Bill screamed as he hopped around on his left foot, trying to keep the extremely painful right foot off the ground. He had learned a lesson in not kicking wooden barrels while wearing running shoes. Unless of course they had steel toes.