The Nocturnal Witness
The night was eerily cold. It always was on the farm. Heavy fog from the rain earlier hovers over the ground, cloaking crickets working to fill the silence. A distant hoot from an owl, resonated periodically. This night was particularly windy. A loose barn door drums open and close, startling Margret awake. A troubled sleeper, she groans agitatedly to her husband.
