Parking Lot Siren

Two a.m. and outside the window

Someone is yelling in the half-lit lot

Not loud but loud enough

An irregular owl or a drunk perhaps

The urge to peek out is hard to ignore

Until an overwhelming sense of

Plummetting dread overtakes

There were those stories growing up

Of skin walkers luring out the unsuspecting

Stealing away children

Consuming soft parts

Taking the faces of loved ones

To better mingle and hunt among us

So listening to that rhythmic hooting

Sounding like no night bird or mating fox

But more like an unpracticed impersonation

Of a human

I lay down to hold myself awake

Until morning can arrive

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