Something Wicked That Way Goes — Greg Evans

Fourteen year-old Stella Rose would sit up rigid, startled with a compulsive shiver from underneath her woolen blanket with each fulmination that mocked and jeered and maneuvered closer to her house. The lights flickered and the telephone pinged as the sky lit up and faded into darkness. Sable shadows like thick, heavy charcoal sketches protruded from the drywall like thorny stems or giant ebony talons scattering the blinding glassy electric light before dissipating back into silent darkness, except for the little lamp that gave off inadequate reading light.