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