supping with satan

Nightfall ushers in its own set of terrors. With every external light ablaze until dawn, I find solace in the illusion of visibility. But every creak, every rustle throws me into high alert, compelling me to scour the house for signs of the looming threat. The dining room becomes my vantage point, a silent sentinel observing the outdoors from three angles. The very shadows that were once familiar now become menacing.
Surprisingly, I find myself longing for the weighty presence of the .357 Magnum, an army relic from my days in Military Intelligence. That very tool I once detested, aware of the devastation it could unleash, now symbolized security. Its potential for destruction was a deterrent I yearned for, a beacon to ward off any audacious intruders, and shield my family from the unknown horrors that lay beyond our walls.