Two a.m. and outside the window
Someone is yelling in the half-lit lot
Not loud but loud enough
An irregular owl or a drunk perhaps
The urge to peek out is hard to ignore
Until an overwhelming sense of
Plummetting dread overtakes
There were those stories growing up
Of skin walkers luring out the unsuspecting
Stealing away children
Consuming soft parts
Taking the faces of loved ones
To better mingle and hunt among us
So listening to that rhythmic hooting
Sounding like no night bird or mating fox
But more like an unpracticed impersonation
Of a human
I lay down to hold myself awake
Until morning can arrive