The screaming began at sunset. It usually did. 

“Fuckin’ foxes,” Dan muttered, peering into the night from where he was sitting, swaying gently, on his brand new porch swing. 

Porch swings weren’t a thing you could have in a big city apartment. Neither were porches. Two of the many advantages that he was discovering to country life. One of the disadvantages were foxes. 

They sounded like screaming women. Or dying children. It was revolting. 

Dan closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the noise as he lit a cigarette. Another perk to country life. Though it hadn’t really been the city that had prevented him from smoking as much as it had been his ex-wife’s nagging. But he was living the country life now, and could smoke wherever he damn well pleased.

The screams were getting louder. 

“Fuckin’ foxes.” 

Dan went to get his shotgun. Shotguns were another advantage to country life. 

He stalked into the woods that surrounded his new plot of land. That was another nice thing. He liked going for walks in the woods.  He used to go all the time with his kids. Maybe his wife would let them come over some time, and they could walk through these woods together too.

The screams were getting closer. Dan was practically right on top of the damn pest, and then he’d have his peace and quiet. And maybe a new scarf. He kicked his way through a bramble thicket and found himself in a clearing.

That thing was definitely not a fuckin’ fox. At least, not anymore it wasn’t. 

The screaming followed Dan as he drove all the way back to the city.