The Watcher of Villisca
Summer
I often wondered what it would be like have a family.
I loved to observe children playing together, hear their squeals of laughter and their parents’ firm but tired admonishments when it was time for bed.
The children went to bed first that night, as they had every night since I'd begun watching over them.
One hour later, the parents followed, turning the lights off one by one in the elegant two-story house.
On Sunday, June ninth, 1912, shortly after the grandfather clock struck midnight, the sound echoing from the house out into the forested dark, was when it happened.
I remember the night far too well, although many long, lonely years have passed since then.
I’d settled down to wait, as I did most nights. I couldn’t pinpoint the moment my surveillan
