The Twisted Ones

by T. Kingfisher

I looked through the screen and waited for the thing to get me. Nothing happened. The sun was shining. I heard birds singing. I wanted to scream at them, because how dare there be birds singing when the woods were full of monsters?

Oh, sweet fuck, what if it was alive when I saw it? What if it was hanging in the tree watching me? What if it was just playing possum and laughing to itself? What if it was chasing us when we ran— No. No. It had been daylight. Surely things like that weren’t allowed to come around in daylight, were they? Allowed by whom?