The sun was striking down — again — on the white shingles of my home when I awoke. I peeled aside the drapes of my bedroom window and could practically feel the heat radiating through the glass. The mornings should never be this hot.
After much deliberation, the townspeople came to the conclusion that the old shack in the middle of woods must be a place of witchcraft, and they schemed of a way to purge such terrifying acts from their vicinity.