The Creature We Forgot to Feed by Idyll Wilder
Every Wednesday, my grandmother left a bowl of soup and a silver spoon on the top step of the root cellar under the willow tree. She never explained the reason for the strange gesture. Maybe she did it to pacify the ancient wind gods or feed a cat with no home. The bowl was always empty the next day. She wouldn’t explain the claw marks left on the damp, mossy step or why the silver spoon was always missing. One day in September she died.
First, we forgot the bowl.
Then the spoon.
By October, something started knocking on the other side of the root cellar door. None of us have dared to open it.