The girl was wearing a light-colored, nondescript dress. She was leaning forward, her dark hair obscuring her face. She did not look up when Glenn’s feet crunched on the gravel.
The girl was sobbing. Glenn wondered what might be wrong with her. But even more, he wondered what she was doing here, standing on his front steps at this hour of the night. He could not see her face, but she did not resemble any of his younger cousins, nor the children of any of his friends or acquaintances. She was a stranger to him, and vice versa.
Glenn took a few more steps in her direction. The night was eerily still except for her sobbing and the sounds of his footsteps. The cicadas and the crickets were silent, which struck Glenn as odd. They had been going at it like mad only a few minutes ago, as was typical in June. But now it was as if he and this little girl were the only living things within miles.
Provided that she is a living thing, Glenn thought.