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The sky was getting dark and the wind was picking up.
I should have been home an hour ago.
I had been at my friend Charlotte's house and let the time get away from me.
It was a good four miles to my house by road, but only a few minutes walk if I cut through the woods.
I walked fast.
The wind was whipping the tops of the trees, making them look like giant paint brushes, coloring the sky.
A loud clap of thunder made me jump.
A drop of rain as big as a quarter hit my face.
“Here it comes,”
I said out loud.
I picked up my pace until I came to a clearing in the woods.
This is the part of the trail that we feared, dreaded.
Here in this clearing sat the Sailor's house.
The rain was coming down in buckets.
I looked and didn't see the old Sailor, or his wild dog.
There was another bright flash of lightning, and I swear I felt the heat of it.
Immediately, a loud boom of thunder shook the ground.
The Sailor's wild dog started barking.
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