There’s a dim yellow light bulb hanging next to the back door. It paints the back porch and yard in amber streaks with deep black shadows as I stand and gaze around. The leaves and branches of the woods are all tinted the same hue as the grass and porch under that artificial light.

I can still hear it shuffling around in the brush, snapping twigs and crunching leaves. The shadows conceal it, the light is just ruining my night vision, and my own beating heart is muffling the sounds of movement.

Reaching back inside the doorway to shut the switch off, I hold my breath and listen.

My heart pounds in the silent darkness while my eyes slowly adjust. A group of tree limbs rustle, loud enough to be heard over the blood rushing through my ears. I turn my eyes towards the sound and can only see the orange remnants of fading color. I’m blind, in the dark, holding a revolver.

Whatever is out there doesn’t fear the gun or the man holding it. It will take me one night, but I pray under my breath for one more day.