A Quickening

As you sit watching the cold rain pour down, streaking your window with
its liquid hands, you notice a singular figure approaching the tree in
the front yard of your house. Without as much as a sound he kneels down
and starts to mumble something under his breath. You can't make out
the words, but it seems to be a chant. With your hands shaking and your
pulse quickening you discover that a cool sweat has begun to envelope
your body. Trying to calm yourself, you slow your breathing. Something
ominous, some feeling is threatening to break your resolve. There is
no reason for this, as the solitary stranger has not done or said or
even acted as a threat to you in the least; deep down though, you know
that his appearance marks the beginning of the end for you.