Night.

As I start this, it is 12:45am, Sunday. I am house sitting for my aunt and uncle at their abode, which is located on the northern edge of Forest Park—which is to say, smack dab in the middle of the woods.

It is powerful dark outside.

Outside.

Four times since he got out at 11 have I had to step outside to see if the cat needs to be let inside. Each time I have put on one additional article of clothing (sandals, button-up, sweatshirt) or replaced one (shorts) with another (jeans).
From the glass porch door I can see two things, and two things only: the blinking red security lights in the two cars in the driveway. Everything else is pitch.

Anything could be out there.

Including that cat.
I shouldn’t worry about him; he lives here, knows this area better than I.
But it’s just as irrational that I should look to the end of the tiny beam of light I carry in my hand and be worried that some ravenous, slashing toothbeast should emerge from the darkness beyond, and me without a machete.
I do, though, because inside my mind is still the child who went to sleep every night in a fortress of his own devising (it was made of blankets). Who trembled to look out his second-story window and lest a velociraptor be staring back at him.

Apparently ravenous slashing toothbeasts (teethbeast?) have been with my psyche for a while.

I worry that maybe (probably—definitely—) I’m working myself up over nothing. I’ve stayed overnight in this house before, many times in fact. But never alone, and never with responsibility over the life of a creature who likes to go wandering around at night in woods haunted by probably the souls of the damned.

The dog has yet to contribute her opinion or suggestions as to a course of action.

When the Daystar remained high in the sky, so many hours ago, we discovered a kitten prowling around the house. (S)he was, of course, tiny and adorable and needy, though shim’s presence wasn’t particularly well-received amongst the furred population. Perhaps the interloper returned—I did put out a small bowl of food at the end of the driveway—and Bump, the subject of my turmoil, is out establishing his boundaries.

I feel like I’ve diverged from the amusing ruminations of/regarding terrors in the night and entered the horrifying realm of the real.

I should probably go see if the cat needs to be let it.

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  1. Keegan, I live in north Forest Park. Are your aunt and uncle– MY PARENTS????

  2. related: AM I BATMAN

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