The door to Harrison’s front porch cracked open, letting a small stream of light flood into what was usually otherwise a dim and lonely hermit’s foyer. A wary grey eye peeked out from behind the sliver of space and scanned around. Deciding it was safe to leave, he stepped outside.
Before he could make it down the stairs, he stopped. A sudden realization hit him. The world was eerily silent, completely dead in the light of day. He turned his head to the left, back again, and then to the right. There wasn’t a soul in sight. No people. No animals. No cars.
He waited. A soft wind rushed by as if it too were in a hurry to vacate the area. The trees rustled in the breeze, but there were no birds nestled amongst their branches.
There was an unspoken set of rules which the people here lived by. Don’t go into tall grass. Don’t go into thick woods. Don’t go into deep water. Don’t go into dark caves. Don’t go into long alleys.
Don’t go outside when the birds aren’t singing.
The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up one by one. He stepped backwards, receding into the safety of his home before gently shutting the door. It locked with a soft click.