A masculine scream wakes me in the middle of the night. I immediately sit up in my queen-size bed, feel a layer of sweat glaze my chest, and listen to the soft sounds of thunder in the distant clouds. The abrupt scream resembles that of someone being murdered. The noise is horrendous, resonant within the night. It’s origin wafts from Rutger’s Cape Cod, through the narrow plot of woods, and enters my Tudor’s open bedroom windows.
Sweat-covered and still, I turn my view to the digital alarm clock by my bed and see that it is 3:45 in the morning. The night is pitch-black beyond my windows. It is the time of day when light sleeps, like humans. Nothing moves during this hour except evil things that slip out of hell.
I decide to climb out of bed and investigate the unnerving scream at the Cape
