It came at sundown from the forest, as it did every night. A blur of fur and fangs, and the sort of howl that, in time, could drive one mad.
By then, we were all locked away, safe within our homes.
Except for you.
You were banging, desperate, at my heavy, reinforced oak door. Screaming at the top of your lungs, begging me, before it found you, to let you in.
In time, your screaming ended.
Perhaps there’d have been time, before it got to you. I was afraid to risk it.
Why couldn’t you obey the god damned curfew?