The Eye in the Wall

The shape was clearer now. It was compact, dense heat. Brighter white in

the center, fading to red at the edges. It wasn't a pipe. Pipes don't move

lateral distances of three feet. Pipes don't slide down walls. I stared at the

screen, my breath catching in my throat. The heat signature was stationary.

I took a step closer, my boots squeaking on the hardwood. On the screen, the heat signature

didn't change. I reached out with my left hand, trembling slightly, and touched the

wall where the glowing spot was. Cold drywall. But on the screen, my hand,

a burst of white heat, was touching the anomaly, a duller orange.