That rusty old gate–doesn’t really keep anyone out, does it? It is easy for them to hop over or go around, easy access to me. You think the spikes on top will deter them? No, nothing does. They come at night, every night, and as long as I can stay awake I’ll be fine, my house will be fine, we’ll ALL be fine. But the time will come when I’ll be gone, some emergency somewhere, some call making me leave the gate unattended. I need to find the “ONE”.
You think it is a legend, a made up story I speak of? You think the past disappearances of young children is only a scary story handed down by generations? Do you think the rust on the gate is just from the weather and rain?
You know nothing. You haven’t seen the horrors that wait on the other side of the gate at night. You haven’t heard them snarling, gnashing their bloody teeth.
I’ve heard them, seen glimpses of them. I’m waiting for the “ONE” to take my place. The children will be safe as long as I don’t fall asleep, on my watch, my vigil, and my years-long protection.