The rooster screams at midnight, and all the dogs lift their heads at once. Ma says it's bad luck to look outside when that happens.
But I always do.
There's something in the cornfield counting windows.
And it always gets the number right.
Morning starts with Ma yelling prayers and pans. She says it's holy to wake the dead; I say it's rude.
The twins fight over socks again, though one of them swears he didn't wear any. Dad stomps outside, muttering about "voices in the tool shed." He keeps a shotgun there. But it's not for people.
Breakfast is loud. Grace won't eat eggs because she says she saw one blink. Ruth talks to her plate until Ma tells her to stop making friends with food. The milk sours quick here but we drink it anyway. Builds character.
Outside, the sky always looks like it's thinking too hard. The corn sways without wind, and the scarecrow's hat keeps changing sides.
Ma says the Lord provides.
Dad says we should move.
The house just groans, like it knows we won't.