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The Witching Hour

That’s what this time of night used to be called. The time of night when only witches and beasts were said to be out.

Yet here I am, outside, on the porch alone. It’s dark enough to obscure things from me but not enough to hide the shadows of the things that go bump in the night.

A rustle from the bushes to my left!

I jump unexpectedly and turn to find the source of the sound. I can’t see a thing, except vague shapes of what I hope are the normal bushes and trees that belong there.

A creak from the right!

Oh my! Please let that be the old dying tree moving in the wind!

In an instant, I make out a movement in the shadows. It is way too large to be a stray cat or dog! I take a few steps back so that I’m touching the house and fumble around for the door handle I know has to be there.

I can’t find the door handle! I can’t get to safety!

In a panic, I turn around to look for the door handle, against my better judgement.

WOOSH

The air leaves my lungs as I get thrown to the ground! Help!

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