Something Dragging Along the Canvas

Chapter 1: What Moved Beneath the Tent

The first time something touched the tent, it moved slowly enough for us to hear every inch of it.

A dry, dragging sound began near my feet and traveled along the canvas toward my sister’s side. It sounded like a hand being pulled across the outside wall.

Neither of us moved.

“Did you hear that?” Lucy whispered.

I could see only the pale oval of her face above her sleeping bag.

“It’s probably a branch.”

“There aren’t any branches there.”

She was right. Our little tent stood in an open patch of grass directly in front of our parents’ caravan. Dad had chosen the spot because it was flat and sheltered from the wind. The nearest tree was several yards away.

We waited in the warm darkness, listening.

Something brushed the canvas again.