text: I rolled in bed, tucking my blanket under my chin silently. No matter how hard I tried, sleep refused to claim me. My brain attempted to focus on the slight whisper of wind through my partially open window, but it proved to only disturb me. I stood. Awkwardly, as if afraid, I quietly walked towards the small shaft of moonlight to peer out into my wide, tree-lined yard that was barely lit. I watched for several moments, observing the swaying trees and the howl of a particularly strong gust of wind. Somewhere, a barn owl who'd and trilled. I was almost settled on going back to sleep, my imagination hopefully slumbered, but I found that a light caught my eye right as I was turning away. My whole body jerked back to the window, nearly knocking my beloved plants over that resided on the windowsill. Way out on the opposite side of the yard, our small shed light had flashed on, pale as the moon. It was a motion sensor-activated light. My eyes scoured the land before it, scrutinizing every bush and plant and tree. My eyes even swept up to the treetops to see if any bobcats might've scampered past and up to safety. I had no such luck, and after a few moments, the light blinked off and the yard was once more a shadow. Sometimes the trees set it off, I reasoned. Or a pinecone had fallen and the sensor had caught the movement. With one last sweep, I returned to my bed, wrapping the blanket firmly around my shoulders. The owl cried out again. Apprehension crawled around my shoulders and back. Though I'd seen nothing outside of the window, my mind still wandered in its semi-sleepy state. What could've been out there? What set off the sensor? Why am I still awake? I rolled, and, glancing at my phone, found it to be almost one in the morning. A silent groan rolled through me, and I almost missed it. From the slight crack in my window, a rasp reached for my ears and clapped a hand over my heart. My covers were thrown back in seconds without even thinking, my legs awkward with adrenaline as a spike of fear shot through me. Following the rasping noise was that of a quack; my ducks, outside in their pens, were sounding the alarm. Something was outside. The owl trilled before going silent, but a glance out my window revealed an empty yard. The one look wasn't enough, however - from my room, you could see the whole front yard, but the ducks and chickens were stationed to the right of my view. Continuing with painstaking quiet, I shifted out of my room and into the adjacent office. A scant glance to the hallway leading to the rest of the house revealed a room bathed in soft light from a monitor, the blinking light of a coffee machine, and the faint glare of numbers from other appliances that told the time. The house was asleep, and so should I be. I was wasting time. Safely ensconced in the next room, I tip-toed to the window nearest my animals and crouched, peering out with squinting eyes. It was far too dark, the faint smudges of color from my ducks only informing me that they lay crouched in their small pool. I hadn't realized I'd hid myself behind the wall like a barrier before I realized I was waddling away in a crouch that I only stood up from when I thought I couldn't be seen through the window. No part of me could know what was out the window, but my gut was clearly telling me that I didn't think it was good. I winced as my feet stuck to wooden flooring, creating a slight sound as my fear-warmed feet separated from the ground only to press down again. I was creeping out into the living room. The entire house was eerily silent and empty, nothing like during the day when even the lonely living room still seemed lively and welcoming. Now everything was awash in shadows and darkness, a faint peek of moonlight coming from the wide windows of the living room. I was looking for my father's flashlight - his favorite one that could shine all the way across our acreage of yard even on the darkest of night. Problem was that it was safely trapped in the pocket of his jacket, and to get to the jacket, one had to cross only the creakiest of floorboards in the entire house. The warped wood in front of the fireplace. I bit the inside of my cheek, but found that the danger outside was more important than getting caught. Still, my feet were hesitant and testing as I stalked across the floor and towards my father's coat. I shifted the fabric to and fro in the dark, hands searching silently while my ears opened to the noises of the house. My fridge made a slight whirring, the coffee machine trickled some water, a clock clicked the passing seconds. My hand wrapped around the flashlight. I sighed with relief, turning to go quickly. My foot clamped down on the loudest floorboard, the sound of it groaning slipping through the house with quiet warning. My stomach dropped out. Nothing so much as moved. Continuing with much more caution, I found my way back to the office with little difficulty. But still, I found myself crouching before approaching the window, allowing only the barest slip of my face to peer out. In the dark, my eyes still could not pertain anything. Silently, my arm reached up and aimed the flashlight before clicking it on. I had to shield the reflection on the window to be able to see anything as the pens were gathered with light. My eyes scanned hastily, noting the craned necks of my ducks that glanced at the strange light, the reflection of water from the troughs, and the chicken coops devoid of chickens since they slept in their roosts. There was nothing. With the bright light, I could see more than hear that the ducks were still quacking and rasping. I frowned. "The ducks who cried coyote," I muttered, switching the light off with a dull beat of my heart. The adrenaline still rode through me as I returned the flashlight and crept into bed. Once more, I pulled the blankets high, this time cottoning my ears to the faux warning cries of my ducks. At some point before I fell asleep, I noted that the motion-sensor flickered on through my window again. But I was too tired to check this time. *** The next morning, I woke to a massacre. It started with a yawning stretch, my feet swinging off my bed and onto the carpet of my room. I glanced tiredly out my window before beginning to clamber away and get dressed. I paused. Had I...? Turning around, I glanced more closely at my yard. Indeed, I had seen correctly. Beautiful white feathers and down were strewn across the green lawn, a clear path from somewhere to the right of my vision all the way to the shed and the forest beyond. My eyes traced the path in disbelief. Halfway across the yard, the density of the feathers lessened considerably as if the animal had started to weaken. Around that point, a good chunk of blood-washed wing lay clumped in the grass. My heart stuttered - my mind reeled; I wasn't sure I was breathing. Utter disbelief clung to me like a fog as I dashed to the office and looked out the window I had last night. This time I did not crouch; for there was no danger any longer. It had already passed. There, along the chicken-wire nearest to the pond, was a gaping hole clogged with red feathers that should've been white. Two other ducks - the last surviving ones, Donald and Daisy - lay around their water trough and food, sleeping lazily as if nothing had happened. Chickens milled and clucked around their own food. All was normal except for the one missing duck who seemed torn apart across the yard. The motion-sensor. I'd seen it go off. Felt something odd. Even the ducks had warned me of their impending danger; and I'd ignored it all. No, that wasn't true. I had looked out and seen nothing. But had I really looked? Had I glanced around the area surrounding the coup? Had I flashed the light at the smaller upper field to check for the flash of watching animalistic eyes? Had I checked the treetops for a feline figure awaiting its pray? No. I hadn't. And I hadn't even thought to try and wake someone to actually check. It seemed my window of opportunity last night had shut firmly close, and I had to tell my parents of my failure to latch on to it.