Sweat stung my eyes. Trembling, I wiped my brow.

I stood naked at midnight, breathing the humid air, legs cramping, hunting the shadow.

My bed seemed hours behind me but only seconds had passed.

I swallowed, postponing a cough.

Something banged in the kitchen. A pot, perhaps, clanking against another. Surely, the shadow lurked there.

I stepped slow down the darkened hallway, sneaking, sawed-off barrel pointed before me, ready to kill.

I whispered a prayer, held my breath, and swung the shotgun stiff and sure, its aim seeking the shadow.

My bare feet stepped onto cool linoleum.

And the kitchen stood empty.

The screen door banged. Wind whistled, caught it, and banged it again.

Outside, moonlight bright as day; cast a glow across the yard.

I propped the screen door with a foot, poked the barrel out the house, and swept the yard with death.

A shadow, nothing more, dashed across the lawn, and was gone.