We saw it first as a darkness scratching an inky path across a sky gone pale nearing dusk. It swooped down and skimmed our swimming pool, lapping water we’d splashed minutes before. Watching barefoot in the grass, we felt a chill, despite the heat wave and the fact few bats crave blood. We stood transfixed, caught in its grip, a nightmare sinking its teeth deeper. A memory, deathless, it drains the heart still.
Amy Allison is a writer living in California.