 There's a saying I've heard a lot growing up on the shore, red at night, sailor's delight, red sky morning, sailor's warning, the gist being that red sunsets forecasted clear weather while red sunrises meant a storm. In my family, we have our own third verse, when the sun downs green, you must stay unseen. The sky was never completely green. It was subtle, a little emerald at the edges of the horizon. In 32 years, I've only seen it happen four times. According to my granddad, those green nights happen once or twice a decade and have stuck to that pattern going all the way back to when our family moved to the area. You probably haven't ever seen something so weird or even heard of it. That's understandable. As far as I can tell, the phenomenon is only observable within about a mile radius centered around our farm. Rare as they were, my folks took emerald sundown seriously when I was growing up. The second any of us saw the slightest jade tint at dusk, we moved fast. The farmhouse windows were locked and shuttered, doors bolted, and all lights extinguished. We would head to the basement and lock ourselves in for the night. Dad even hung a thick drape of padded cloth over the door to keep any sounds from leaking down. There were no games for us kids, no lights, no conversation. Everyone went to bed and stayed in the basement until dawn. I was never told why we performed this ritual, I guess. No one told me what we were hiding from or why. All my grandma told me once was that they were outside, but that we were safe as long as we didn't invite them in. My dad always had that hard look when it happened, so we all followed. We all listened. And after the farm became mine, I stuck to the tradition. Eleven years passed between green sunsets, with the phenomenon so infrequent and hard to predict. I'll admit that I let my guard down. In those eleven quiet years, I got married, brought Katie back to the farm, and we had a daughter, Olivia. They knew to keep an eye on the horizon in the evening, but I don't think I made it real enough. I don't think I scared them the same way my dad scared me, which means everything that happened a week ago is my fault. I was driving home much later than usual. I'd been mending fences all day in the July heat, so I'd swung by town for a drink. The sun was already three quarters drained into the ground. By the time I made it to the edge of our farm's property line, I glanced at the horizon more out of habit than anything else. When I noticed the faint smear of green light on the low clouds, my stomach nearly exchanged places with my windpipe. I immediately floored it and pulled out my phone. Katie, are you and Olivia in the basement? We're watching Paw Patrol. My wife replied. Why would we be in the basement? How did you remember to... Katie, Christ, look outside. I don't understand. The sunset. I heard Katie moving, likely to the nearest window, and then there was a pause. Oh shit. She said, yeah, look, I'll be there in three minutes. Turn all the lights off, lock everything and head to the basement. Another pause from Katie. Matt, are you sure? I know we've run the drill and it's a family tradition, but do we really need to drop everything and run to the basement? I turned down the dirt road that would take me to the farm so fast that I thought my truck tires might lift off. Katie, please just trust me. Lock up, lights out, be quick. Alright, see you in a few. I sped home, a wake of dirt and dust kicked up behind me in a rolling cloud. Ribbons of pale green stretched out across the dark sky. The wind was picking up, an odor like charcoal and moss on the breeze. I'd never been out at night during one of the events. By this point, the whole family should have been safe and tight in the basement. There was still a sliver of sun peeking above the horizon, but it would be full night any minute. I parked the truck and got out at a sprint, almost tripping over the new welcome mat Katie had bought the week before when I reached the porch. Apparently, I was dragging mud through the house. Shit, I said at the front door. I'd left my keys in the truck and Katie should have locked the door. I tried it anyway. The knob turned. Olivia was still seated on the couch watching TV. The lights were off, but not all of the windows were shuttered. I heard Katie moving around upstairs. For a moment, I was angry, bordering on furious. Then I reminded myself that this was my fault. I think a part of me hoped that now that it was my farm with my family, whatever old curse or shadow came with the green sky might simply move on. It was my fault I didn't prepare. I didn't really know what to prepare for. But I could imagine my dad's eyes, that hard look he got. And I knew he'd be disappointed, maybe even scared. Katie, I called up the stairs. We got a head down. We got to go now. I scooped up Olivia and turned off the TV. Katie's light steps echoed down the stairs. She looked annoyed, then saw the expression on my face. Her eyes went a little wide. She asked, what's going on? Is it a storm? All I could do was shake my head. I carried Olivia down to the basement with Katie on our heels. Once I put my daughter on the old futon in the corner, I went back to check that the door was locked and bolted. I rolled down the heavy fabric that was tied above the doorway, then went back to my family. I'm not sure I got to everything. Katie whispered, Oh, shit. And we forgot Olivia's snacks and her bear. You know, she can't sleep without the bear. I'll just run back. No, Katie stared at me, delicate mouth hanging open. I'd never talked so sternly to her before. Sorry, I said, I'm sorry for all this. It's been so long. We're down here for the night. I walked to the switch and turned off the main light. We kept a battery powered camping lantern in the basement. I dug that out and set it on the covered pool table. I'll pull out the futon for you to try to get some sleep. Remember no lights except this little one, no conversation if you can help it. And if you have to use the bathroom, don't flush. Olivia was watching me as I darted around the small room. It was cluttered and needed a good dusting. We didn't use the basement much. Olivia had big blue eyes and ink black hair, just like her mom. In that moment, my daughter's eyes were fixated on me and wet with undropped tears. You're scaring her. Katie whispered, walking next to me as we paced around the room. Jesus, Matt, you're scaring me too. What are you so? Something shattered upstairs. I waited, unable to breathe. Carefully, I inched over to the table and turned off the lantern. Katie and I stood in the darkness, listening. Someone's in our house. She whispered, voice so quiet, I had to lean towards her to understand. I reached towards her blindly, felt her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. I think it was just a window. I said, they nothing can get in here unless it's invited. So as long as we waited out, we're safe. Jesus Matt, what's happening? I started to say I have no genuine idea. But before I could respond, something knocked on the other side of the basement door. Katie screamed, I would have if I was able to find the air. A long pause. And then the knock came again. Katie had found my forearm in the dark and was squeezing it hard. It didn't make sense. We were supposed to be safe as long as we didn't invite the new welcome Matt. It clicked just as the third knock came. Was the Matt an invitation? Olivia, polite little Olivia must have been scared and confused in the dark. But we taught her to always mind her manners. So when the fourth knock came with no answer, Olivia spoke up. Come in. She called out, no, I yelled, I heard the basement break open, running feet as if from an entire crowd crashed down the stairs. I tried to go to Olivia, but fell over a chair in the pitch black. People were laughing, screaming, pressing all around me. And then nothing. Everyone was gone. No sound in the room other than Katie yelling for our daughter. My hand brushed against the lantern. I turned it on and saw a frantic Katie fumbling towards the couch. Matt, she's gone. I was already moving, taking the stairs two at a time. The sky had fading lines of that same sick green light fading when I ran out on the porch. Stars were thick in the sky and a full moon was rising, plenty of light for me to see my daughter being led by two figures towards the tree line. The creatures were old. They had bloated human bodies, pale wrinkled skin, and both were stark naked. One an ancient man, the other a withered woman. Instead of a face, the man had the head of a ram with black spiral horns. From the neck up, the woman was a wild boar with gray hair and stained tusks. Olivia saw me and smiled. I ran as fast as I could, but all three had disappeared into the forest before I could catch up. I looked everywhere for a sign, nothing. Katie called the police and they found me out there stumbling in the dark. We searched all night. Our neighbors came to help the whole town. It was Olivia's third grade teacher who found her body just after daybreak. The only comfort was that Katie wasn't the one to find Olivia. Right now, the official report is that Olivia ran off and got lost and then animals got to her. The natural resource police are still out there a week later looking for wolves or maybe coyotes. I know that whatever got my daughter won't be found or caught, not until the next green sundown at least. Katie wants us to move too many bad memories, but I need to stick around. There will be another evening when the sun tints the horizon with jade and emerald light. It might be five years from now or 10, no more than 15. And when that night arrives, whatever comes out of that forest, I'm going to invite them in and I'm going to make them suffer.