Ray Bradbury. Let's all kill Constance (№ 175641)

The time for the events of the night. And certainly not the noon: the sun shines too bright, the shadows wait. The sky radiates heat, nothing under it will not move. Who will intrigue sunlit reality? The intrigue brings midnight, when the shade of the trees, lifting up the hems, slip in a smooth dance. The wind picks up. The leaves are falling. Echo steps. Beams and creaking floorboards. With wings cemetery angel cedida dust. Shadow soaring on Raven wings. Before dawn they fade the lights for a short time, the city fades.
It was at this time born mystery, a Mature adventure. Not at dawn. All holding my breath so as not to miss the darkness to save the horror to keep them on a leash the shadows.