[ WP ] Set in the American Dustbowl , You and your family are trapped in your house during a vicious dust-storm and you 're fairly certain there is something else lurking out there amidst the churning grey sand .

The candles flickered as another heavy gust rattled the house. The window pane groaned under the weight of the churning wind and, dusty soil. Ryan squinted his eyes, looking out into the murky scene, hardly able to see the ground beyond their crumbling front porch. Sometimes it just looked flat, but sometimes shadows swirled with the wind, and every now and again something solid would stand rigid in the midst of the storm. 
 
 A creeping itch worked its way up Ryan's spine as he caught a glimpse of the mysterious shape. The wind was greedy, and did not give up many details. Out there in the front yard, about the height of a man, and about the shape of one too. Fabric whipped and tugged in the wind. A cloak maybe? Ryan's fingers worked nervously on the handle of his hammer, splinters prodded at his other hand as his grip tightened around the slab of ply wood. 
 
 `` Well you gona' cover it up or what?'' 
 
 The voice caused Ryan to gasp and turn, heart racing and sweat cold on the back of his neck. Only his wife, her face shadowed by the dim light behind her, the bridge of her nose, her left eye, and the highest point on her cheek bone lit gray by the light of the window. `` Y-Yes. Darling.'' He replied. 
 
 Her eyes narrowed as she turned towards the window. `` You seein' something?'' She asked, quiet enough so that the children would n't over hear. He could n't tell if her tone was concerned, or skeptical. 
 
 Either way, he shook his head, eyes darting back out towards where he saw the form out in the wind. Perhaps just a bit of tarp caught on one of the dead Cherry Trees. The wind obscured things, that way. `` No, nothing.'' He said. He and his wife both gasped as something skipped up off the front porch and pinged off the window. Just a pebble. `` Better cover up.'' He grunted, finally lifting the plywood over the window. He nailed it in using the same old, well worn holes. Just another storm, that's all. 
 
 *An hour later... * 
 
 The wind still howled eerily by the time they sat down for a meager supper. Rations were even lower than normal. The storms were more frequent, giving them less opportunities to scrounge for supplies. 
 
 The children complained of empty stomachs, Ryan felt it too. He ought to have been worrying about where their next meal might come from. However, he could n't shake his thoughts from the window behind him. Even covered up, he felt like something was watching them. 
 
 He kept his back to it, did his best not to alert anyone else to his suspicions. His wife's eyes lingered on him, though. They had been through hard times, but she knew him better than anyone else. There was no hiding his concern. But maybe she might mistake his fears for more rational ones. He locked his gaze with hers, tried to pass along an unspoken word of encouragement, everything is okay. 
 
 Her eyes were questioning. But what did they ask? *What did you see? * Perhaps. Or perhaps even more likely, *Are you losing it, Ryan? Can we depend on your anymore? * 
 
 *Another hour passes* 
 
 Putting the children to bed early helps them to forget their small portions for dinner. Ryan spent his time pacing the house, reading over the same faded text of the newspapers they had used to insulate their walls. 
 
 `` Ca n't you sit still?'' His wife asked. `` You're making me nervous.'' 
 
 `` I'm sorry.'' He apologized. He joined her at the kitchen table, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. `` Just feel trapped is all. In this house. And these damn storms.'' 
 
 She frowned, candle light casting dark shadows on her face. Little black rivers trickled from the corners of her lips and eyes. A year ago, even, she still had the smooth skin of youth. `` Maybe it's time.'' 
 
 He nodded wordlessly, his fingers tapping on his dusty trousers. 
 
 `` Ai n't much better, at Aunt Beth's, but we ca n't live on like this.'' She said, always with a hushed tone. 
 
 `` You think they're taking in?'' He asked back with a whisper, `` Ca n't imagine we're the first ones to think on it.'' 
 
 `` The children, at least.'' She replied, eyes cold, barely any life left in them, cheeks sunken in, as she adjusted her hair away from her eyes he saw how frail her fingers and wrists looked. `` They wo n't turn away our boys.'' 
 
 `` You supposing we leave'em, if it come to it?'' He asked sadly. Did n't want to think about it. But, as his wife said, it's about time. 
 
 `` I think...'' She whispered, `` We'll have to do whatever it takes. Ai n't got no choices left.'' 
 
 Ryan frowned. Then the hair on his arms stood on end. A scratching, beneath the floor. Wind sometimes rattled down there, tossing pebbles around. But this sounded different. It felt..*alive*. A rat? A snake? Something else? Something more sinister? He swallowed and looked to his wife, who was staring thoughtfully to the floor. Perhaps she thinks it's a rodent. Her gaze shifted up to him, a look that asked, *can we catch it and eat it? * `` No choices left.'' He nodded his head, `` We'll leave when the storm breaks.'' 
 
 *Time passes... * 
 
 Damn the storm. Howling away, no signs of losing its breath. Its hands gripped their house and was trying to uproot it from the ground. Was it morning yet? Night again? Ryan was losing track. They were all locked up in a house with no windows. 
 
 One of his children was sitting on the floor, whimpering. He had no tears left, the storms had dried those up too. He felt his instincts telling him he was failing as a father. His family was withering before his eyes. 
 
 But there was always... *something*... beyond the walls. Beneath the floor. Crawling over the roof. Wind, just wind. Just dusty wind. But does wind tap? And scratch? The shutters. The rocks being blown around. That must be it. He looked towards the window. It was no cherry tree. It was no tarp. He knew it. He had n't lost his mind, not yet. 
 
 *More time passes* 
 
 `` Just need to see, just need to see.'' Ryan said. He could n't stand the candlelight anymore. The dancing shadows. Faces creeping through doorways out of the corner of his vision. He stumbled towards the door. 
 
 `` What are you doing?'' His wife asked. 
 
 `` Just got ta' look outside. Make sure it's-'' He licked his lips and met her gaze. There was fear in it this time. At him? Or what's out there? Perhaps she felt it too. Or maybe his churning thoughts had got him mumbling again. Maybe she thought he was going mad. He took a deep breath, `` Maybe we can get out, now.'' 
 
 She stood from the table and planted her hands on the table, she spoke slowly, `` That would be foolish, and you know it. The storm will pass. We just need to keep it together.'' 
 
 Ryan shook his head, `` We ca n't linger here much longer. Just let me look.'' 
 
 `` Ryan-'' 
 
 `` Just let me look!'' He edged closer to the door, `` Make sure the way is clear.'' 
 
 `` Poppa!'' 
 
 The house shuddered, groaned. Another heavy gust of wind. More scratches beneath the floorboards. 
 
 `` Just need to look.'' He whispered. The door handle was cold to the touch, sent tingles up his arm. 
 
 `` Do n't open that door. You know what's out there.'' His wife was n't whispering anymore. 
 
 The door swung open. Ryan stared out into the churning dust. The beast had already devoured them, swallowed the house whole and plunged them into the raging belly of terrible, moaning wind. It shouted and shook the roof. And it sent whispered whizzing by his ears. Terrible, demonic whispers that he could n't understand. He could n't hear his family screaming behind him as his entire world was filled with swirling shadows and rushing air filling his eyes, nostrils, throat and ears. His skin was pelted by microscopic projectiles, his torn and ragged clothes whipping over his body. They needed to get out of there, if it was not already too late. 
 
 *The storm passes* 
 
 A once black car, now stained brown, red and gray puttered down the road. The two men inside stared sadly at the battered house, front door hanging limply upon its last remaining hinge. 
 
 `` Think they moved on?'' The passenger asked, fitting his wide brimmed hat to his balding head once he stepped out of the vehicle. 
 
 `` We'll see, I suppose.'' The other replied, a man much older than the passenger. 
 
 They approached the house, feet crushing across loose dirt and rocks. The older man swept a hand over the rail of the front porch, his fingers leaving an inch deep line in the dirt. 
 
 `` Ah, hell.'' The passenger said, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. A skeleton lay just beyond the front door, half buried in the dust that whipped through. 
 
 The older man sighed and stepped beyond the creaking front door and removed his hat. It was an unsettling sight, the skeleton sitting upright against the far wall, table and chairs upturned in front of it. The blouse that had slipped off the bony remnants of the deceased shoulders hinted that this one was the wife of the household. 
 
 `` Second one like it this week.'' He heard his partner spit behind him. `` And I'll be damned. I saw Ryan no more than a month ago. Two weeks, maybe!'' 
 
 The old man grumbled sourly to himself, eyes finding yet another, smaller, heap of bones curled in the middle of the room. Scattered about as if they had all died suddenly. He glanced back to the door, odd for a man to die of hunger standing at his doorway. Usually those types would be found in bed. Furniture scattered about, toppled over, hard to say if anything was missing these days. People had pitiful bounties for looting. 
 
 `` What the hell happened.'' 
 
 `` God only knows.'' The old man said, `` Or the devil.''
