Midnightcreptacrossthebrickwall.Watching.Waiting.Notknowingwhatwas comingherway.Shekeptherearsperked,hereyespeeled,herfootstepsassilentasa whisper.Why,shedidn’tknow.Allsheknewwasthatshefeltthatsomethingwasn’t right.Wonderingifshehadbeenmistaken,sheturnedbacktothesafetyofherloving houseandleapeddown,startingthejourneythroughthetallgrasstotheoldVictorian that served as her home. BeforeMidnighthadgottenfarhowever,sheturnedback.Shewasneverwrong aboutthesesortsofthings.Maybewhoeverwascomingwasjusttryingtothrowher off-guard.Well,itwouldn’twork.TherewasnowaythatMidnightwouldletsomeone outsmart her. Narrowinghereyesasshegotherselfallthewaybackupontothewornbricks, shesurveyedthesceneinfrontofherforanyonewhomightbetheintruder.Inthe mostlyemptyfield,thelong,wheat-coloredgrasswavingwiththefaintestbreezeinthe stillnighttimeair,nothingseemedoutofplaceorotherwiseamiss.ButMidnightknew thatsomethingwasgoingtohappen,shejust​knewit.Shehadn’teverbeenwrong before, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now. MinutesturnedintohoursasMidnightsatonthewall,whiskerstwitching,eyes shiftingbackandforth,sweepingthearea.Shedidn’tevennoticethatshewasfalling asleepuntilshestartledawakethenextmorning,buteverythingwasthesameasshe had last seen it. Humbled, she walked inside, her pride bruised.