Shifting shadows by a slatted wooden door. The family inside huddling together, shivering with fear, tears dripping down the children’s faces. If the creature outside wants in, it’ll come in. There’s nothing sturdy about this door. It’s only meant to keep out the cold.
Heavy breathing, scraping sounds. Rustling.
And then nothing.
The family stays inside, what feels an unbearable stint, cowering and tense as they wait for its return. But it doesn’t come.
When they finally work up the courage to first glance outside, then open the door, they find that they’ve been marked. The door has three stripes scratched in it.