They came in the middle of the night, nothing but a rag of dark strands floating in the air, looking for someone to snatch, take away, and pull into the penumbra of the starless skies.
We knew they were coming. They do every year. And like every year since I can remember, our parents have left us outside with nothing but a candle. We huddled around it, burning our eyelashes, trying to stay out of the dangerous night. Last year they took Carlitos, the baker’s son. The year before they took Lucy, my best friend.
This year was my turn.
Alex V. Cruz is a Dominican speculative fiction writer and recent graduate of Clarion West. Discover the writings of Alex V. Cruz on Instagram and Twitter @Avcruzwriter.