“Why the secrecy?”

“They...” she pointed at the barracks, “don’t know.”

“Oh.” I snorted. “They don’t?”

“No ... and don’t you be telling ‘em.” “Scoot.”

I scooted.

I have unnatural hearing. Lodging in a dark dungeon for more years than I care to ... or can ... remember heightens the senses one has.

I can hear.

Really well.

So ... the scurry and shushes at the barracks featured in the annals of childhood memory ... and the whispers ... and the twitch of the blackout curtain.

“He’s coming!”