The night is thick, that darkness not banished by streaks of fluorescence from scattered streetlights whole.
The light brings no comfort, serving only to strengthen that already claimed by shadow.
The night is heavy, pregnant with the fears of those that dare traverse her, a fecundity that beckons to those who would inhabit her.
The dark breathes, promising malice. The wind whips, and the very trees quake, rasping warning to all that would hear: