The Simpsons' houseboat, alone at the Terror Lake dock, bobbed on the still, glassy water. The only sounds were crickets and the occasional car as it drove nearby; Bob took care to keep himself concealed by laying under a blanket on the floor of the Simpsons' convertible. As Bob spied on the solitary boat and waited for all of the lights to go out, he stared up at the stars and recalled his attempts to stargaze as a boy. His parents had bought him a telescope for his eleventh birthday, but Bob's pleasure hadn't lasted long. All of the light pollution had prevented him from truly seeing and appreciating the constellations. Out here, in this small town in the middle of nowhere, the stars were much more visible.
It really was a pleasant night, not too dark or too chilly or too noisy. In Springfield and Capital City, Bob often heard gunshots or drunks at this late hour. Here, it felt far more peaceful, to the point where Bob almost fell asleep. He pinched the back of his hand to snap himself out of it and stroked the handle of his machete, to remind himself of what he came here to do. Lifting his head, Bob saw that only one light remained on. Bart's room, perhaps? Was the boy too anxious to sleep without a light? Bob let out a dark chuckle at the thought, trying to forget that when he'd been very young, he'd needed a nightlight. Bob grew out of that when he realized night was never truly dark. There was always a light somewhere, whether it came from electricity or the stars. Bob almost considered just staying here to keep looking at the tiny glowing spots in the sky.
The last light went out, and the moment passed. Bob sat up, jumped over the side of the convertible, and headed for the water.