Rules That Keep Changing

The survivors’ camp had rules. Don’t make noise after dark. Don’t light fires.

Don’t look at the woods. Simple. Safe. Proven.

Then one night, the monsters didn’t come at the sound of a dropped pan. They came when someone

whispered. We changed the rule. No talking at all. A week later, someone lit a candle

by accident. No monsters. But when they blew it out, something screamed

from outside the tents. Now the darkness was dangerous. This morning,

we woke to a new rule carved into the dirt, in handwriting that looked like our

own: “Today: run.” The trees were already leaning closer, excited to see if we obeyed.