It began as all bad days do: with a restless itch in the back of his mind like a forewarning.

You’d think so long of having such in tune intuition would have helped him pick up when something bad was coming, but all he did was shake his head in a daze, smooth the prickling fur on the back of his neck, and set about his day.

Even when storm clouds dragged in across the sky and brought a dampener on things, he only thought to tut at the sudden twist in the weather, keeping his hood up. Yet still, he could not settle.

Come afternoon, the air tasted damp with the onset of rain, and the sun had been blotted out entirely.

The air smelled faintly of ozone.

It was as the wind started to pick up that he caught the smell, remembering all at once the unease that had sat with him all day. Suddenly the peace of the morning snapped and bent like a young branch, leaving him with nothing but panic.

He barely got inside before the storm truly began. Winds that had been playful before now howled through the streets, rattling the window panes so hard he feared they’d break, clattering its cacophony through the town. Thunder growled and broke across the sky like waves crashing. His hands thumbed over his ears nervously, hunching down as if to take refuge under the table. Then all the world was white for a moment.

The lightning was accompanied by a crack of thunder that shook the house. Through the sliver of the window, he could see a tree had been struck and caught fire.

The wind roared and the sky shook like the world was ending, and he dove beneath the tablecloth, curling up tight as the foundation of the house began to groan. He feared the building might split apart from the strain; it had before.

Hiding under the table, feeling the storm shake through him, he knew it would be a long night to live through.