This morning, I stepped out onto my porch
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened right where I stood.
The object looked torn, wet, and oddly shaped, like it didn’t quite belong to this world.
Every guess I made only made it worse: some unknown creature, a disease-ridden fungus,
a warning left by someone who wanted me afraid. I walked circles around it, searching for tracks,
feathers, blood, anything that might explain why it was on my porch and not somewhere deep in the woods.
Eventually, I turned to neighbors, then to the internet, sending photos and describing every unsettling detail.
The answer, when it came, was both relieving and disturbing. It wasn’t supernatural at all, but brutally ordinary:
a piece of deer skin and meat, dragged in by a hungry coyote under cover of darkness.
The horror wasn’t in the mystery anymore, but in realizing how close that wild struggle had come to my front door.
