Then suddenly the hills went silent. But there it was again, so faint I could barely hear it: that thrashing sound of a dying chicken without a head. The branch touches the house again. The haunted wind and those strange and lonely sounds in the hills slowly began to break me down. Despite my creeping uneasiness I got up out of bed and curiously peeked out the window.
Except for two lights in the distance up on the hill, it was otherwise all dark. It
seemed as if there wasn’t a person in the world, so lonely.