Is There a Man Behind the Fence?

The man was still there, his hands crawling over the top of the fence again. He kept muttering similar phrases over and over, beckoning us to come over to him. The scratching continued to get louder, I could even hear the wood chipping off under his fingernails as his voice gradually became more frustrated. My girlfriend wanted to continue our walk, but I was adamant about not going home. To the man behind the fence and the pitch black, let's not meet.

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