The ugly night stretched on where the moon was covered by a string of clouds. An ugly shape like a murder of crows, or if Norman squinted hard enough, clots of blood. Swollen like leeches with moisture, they would weep tomorrow. And Mother would probably be crabby tomorrow.

Norman's gaze went nowhere, too engulfed in his thoughts. His mind as dark as the night, a darkness that the soft glow of the motel porch light couldn't diminish. There, he started to question himself again and again. 

Why not defy Mother? Why not leave her to rot in the house? 

The footsteps of the approaching guest joined the tempo of his pondering.

"Hello there. Are you looking for a place to stay?"