Scratching at 3:17

Attention. Something followed me home from that abandoned barn last Tuesday.

I live in rural Iowa where the nearest neighbor is three miles out. That night I heard

scratching on my bedroom window. Second floor window. I grabbed my flashlight and saw nothing

outside. Just endless cornfields swaying in dead air. No wind.

The scratching moved to my door. Then my closet. I called the sheriff. He found muddy handprints

on my window. Small hands. Child sized. But the prints were facing outward.

Like something climbed out from inside my room. He checked the attic. Found a nest of

rotting corn husks arranged in a circle. And my missing childhood photos placed in the center.