Ben came in from the woods filthy, covered in mud and dirt and blood. He wouldn’t tell us what had happened. All he would say was “The foxes…”

We washed him off and checked him all over, but it wasn’t his blood. He wasn’t injured. Only terrified, and repeating “The foxes. The foxes.”

Now, whenever the foxes wail in the forest, Ben looks up from whatever he’s doing with wide eyes, shaking, suddenly unable to speak. And ever since that night, the foxes cry and bark more and more, and closer and closer, and Ben only cries

“The foxes…”