The world is quiet.

Then:

Whuff

If I strain my ears I can hear the sound of a hoof hitting the ground, then another. Another exhale of breath, no louder than the rain on the roof.

The night is dark and silent. Dove’s attention remains fixed on the last point where the sound came from.

Mist hisses over the roof. Water drips down off the edge of the metal, one drop, two drops at a time, making a soft, barely audible sound when it lands on the ground. Somewhere far way, I hear what sounds like a car engine, maybe. The wind teases the hay. There’s nothing from the other side of the wall.

Dove jerks to attention.

Looking in the side of the lean-to is a long black face.

It is the devil.

It takes everything in me not to whimper. The creature is black as peat at midnight, and its lips are pulled back into a fearsome grin.

It still stinks like the ocean. Like low tide and things caught on rocks. It’s barely a horse.

It’s hungry.