by A. M. Yeager
Within the old walls covered with yellow and rose colored paper that enclosed the bedroom came the sound of scratching. She could hear it at night, a constant scratching that entered her dreams and roused her from dead sleep. She never heard it when the sun was high in the sky. The sound would always happen as soon as twilight stretched over the house and fields.
She had to do something.
Her first thought was an animal. Maybe the poor thing is trapped inside there wanting to be free, she told herself. Maybe a bird or a squirrel.
She told her father, but he said the thing would die soon and it wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She didn’t want that. She wanted to help it.
Father never reprimanded her in such a way before when he discovered the hole. He was far from…
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