Day 410

It all started when summer came and the doors were left open.
The night was too humid and the bungalow felt like a sunken coffin.
The damp air seemed to cling to every surface, it was so hard to breathe.
Opening the doors changed it, for the better?
Perhaps.

First came the wind so cold it left frost on the glass table.
It blew in sudden sharp gusts, disrupting everything and all inside.
The cat was found later the next evening frozen stiff.
At this point they thought it a freak accident.
It grew from there.

The second night brought whispering voices on the iced wind.
All of them sounded so familiar and so far away.
They sounded so worried, asked where they were, why they were.
Sometimes they seemed to say go to the beach, or was it so out of reach?
They soon brought company.

The third night was the hardest to ignore.
The voices found hands to use in the local graveyard.
Their whispering became chanting became yelling became howling.
Became clawing and screeching and sudden stillness.
Bloody hand prints and frost covered the corpses found the next day.