No. Those aren't people outside

Satan

In the horizon, where the dry heat had induced a storm of inconceivable proportions, breaking any world record or historical account of mankind, a spectacular storm brewed. As my father had put it, it was something not of this earth, and was a figure made to be of biblical standard. It was the source of our town's unease.

There were no more scientists or media left to name this creature of a storm. The locals, myself included, named it the "Red One." However, the first name we gave it, as a collective, was less innocent and more demanding of attention. Its glowing red hue at night and its off-putting presence earned its first name, "Satan."

It was humorous the first week. Parents would threaten disobedient children that if they didn't eat their vegetables, "Satan" would come and take them. I wasn't innocent of this tease, as I often said something similar to my little brothers and sisters.

The name grew with power as did the storm. "Satan" did not evaporate or decrease in size. Instead, it swelled until the winds were so strong that there was an endless roar—a constant reminder that even when we weren't watching, it was still stalking towards us.

One day, the military arrived with rations for us. A platoon-sized element, equipped with bolt-action weaponry and clad in soft blue uniforms, came with the supplies.

The element halved when the rations were delivered; they set up camp with canvas tarps and lookout posts, like legionaries on a conquest. While eighteen remained near our little town, the others drove back to the city to fulfill whatever desires of their leading commanders. The remaining troopers lingered, mingled, and watched. The acting sergeants for the two squads left behind.

While there was confusion about their role in our town, there was no distrust or disrespect towards the troops. Many of the families here had recent history or in-depth backgrounds with the military. I, myself, was drafted during the American Border Wars.
It took nearly a month of the storm's endless overwatch of our town for things to take an unexpected shift.

Stories spread, and gossip was exchanged from the people leaving the city to avoid the storm, where there were increasing restrictions caused by the tormenting winds. The soldiers enforced a temporary law that said we were no longer allowed outside during peak hours of the day. No longer free to roam and admire the Red One, this was met with some reluctant protests and disgruntled folk, but as the storm skirted around us, the heat was so intolerable, we didn't care anyway.

One night, under the winds of the Red One, I sat in the family room, listening to tormented howls outside and watching the hurricane-like winds whip the trees leafless and bend the fences down. There were a few soldiers patrolling with their rifles slung and their faces wrapped in cloth. Judging by their relaxed posture and dramatic movements, I knew they were having a good time among each other. Around them, they had a cloud of dust, dirt, and dried foliage. The unholy roar of the winds called out to me as it shook the house.

In the clouds, the soldiers moved on, and I sat still, listening to the voices I thought I heard in the winds. I strained my ears and closed my eyes, listening to the phantoms beating against the windows and walls of my home, so much so that I couldn't hear anything else besides the storm... The fake entry smothered the whispers, and it unsettled me to the point of dizziness. There was something there, and I knew that what my ears were telling was not the full truth.
I stood at the window with my back erect like a strenuous statue and stared outward as the winds carried the dry ground like lost souls. The soldiers, long gone from the area, were only there by memory. And then, where the moon's glow was the weakest, I saw something moving in the shifting branches. A man stood naked and unbothered by the hell unleashed around him. He was too far to study, but in my horror, I knew it wasn't a man but something that merely looked like one, stretched too tall and condensed too thinly.

It went beyond uncanny, and I couldn't look away, no matter how terrible this figure of horror was. We shared this glimpse of each other for a while until it turned and strode out of view.
I exhaled. My body was cold now. My breath was uneasy and trembling. Tears swept my eyelids before they rode down my cheeks. I finally blinked, unaware that almost five minutes had rolled by, and my eyes had begun to lack the moisture my mouth once held.

My parting lips were loud in the otherwise silence of the family room as they opened and then smacked. My tongue clicked, and then I was back in the realm of the living. Had I seen that creature? Or was it some off-putting monster made by my own consciousness?

I considered the last two days of no rest as I lingered by the window, catching my hued reflection. I wasn't weighed down by bags under my eyes, and my figure was lean, healthy, and fully matured. I inhaled and then exhaled. I told myself it was all in my head and now would be a good time to retire from this world for the next few hours.