Death in the Shadows

Heavy rain poured mercilessly upon the dark, night-covered streets, each separate drop of water weighed down with some sorrow, some secret misery it seemed unwilling to share. The wind screeched and howled, a horrible sound, touching the heart with terror and dread as it rushed past the barely-lit houses, shrieking like a banshee from old Irish lore, as if warning the citizens of the tragedy that would soon follow in its swift, airy footsteps. The moon, also seeming to realize the impending doom, shone a paler color, pulling the black storm clouds all about her, shielding her eyes like a small, frightened child. Through these bleak conditions, the man strode, his heavy boots thudding ominously against the wet concrete. The common people, asleep or relaxing soundly in their quiet homes, took no notice of the stranger, yet the wind beat on more frantically as he approached the most isolated house in town, crying for the young woman inside to seek safety, though its efforts proved in vain.

Reaching the shadow-shrouded sidewalk closest to the cozy abode, the figure waited, a maniacal grin breaking across his deathly white face. Silently, unblinkingly, he watched the house, waiting until the door cracked open a peek, allowing a small, furry animal to scurry out from its inner depths, a feminine voice calling to the dog from the doorway. The man's grin broadened; this was his chance. He inched closer, not making a sound. Suddenly, a low growl caught his attention, and he looked down to see a little dog, tugging violently on his pant leg. Glaring at the creature, he realized this little annoyance could stand between him and his ultimate goal. He lifted a sharp, metallic blade from his jacket’s inner pocket, the light from the moon reflecting on its grim surface, and…

A loud whimpering echoed throughout the night, and the owner questioned the dog loudly if it was all right, hearing its tiny footsteps padding against the pavement. Stepping out the door, looking all around for her missing pet, she gasped and stumbled backwards as the menacing image stepped closer, a trace of scarlet gleaming on a bright, silver surface.

The dog, licking its superficial wound in the privacy of the property’s surrounding forest, lifted its head as it heard its owner’s ear-piercing cry. Scurrying out of the woods, short legs moving with all of their might, the dog ran to its owner’s defense, a trail of blood flowing from its wounds as it went. Standing just outside the woods, the dog gazed around, puzzled; his owner was nowhere to be found. Warily approaching the house, all he could find was a dark splotch of crimson liquid, heavy with his owner’s scent, formed on the ground. Dropping its head sadly, the dog licked at the puddle gently, before lying down solemnly on top of it, closing his eyes for the last time as his blood mixed with his owner’s. The wind picked up again, despondent, forlorn, mourning the sudden loss, and sweeping the memory of the two throughout the darkened night.