Night Stalker
by R D Larson
From under the shadows of the trees he watched. His gut twisted against his backbone. A quarter moon rose; the lights in the house went off. Just at the edge of the area illuminated by the security light he could see the shed. Silently he moved from tree to tree until he was near the open land around the house.
Fearful but resolute, he searched for any sound or smell. No sounds. The smell of cooked meat. He raced across the open ground to the dark side of the house toward the shed.
When he reached the door, he looked up. The hook gleamed in the moonlight. Standing as high as he could he pushed at the hook until it flipped up. Suddenly, noises came from the house; a dog barked once. He froze.
When all was quiet again, he pushed through the door. Tonight he would eat and drink the blood of survival. His kits would live. The fox knows the way.
Copyright © 2008 by RD Larson
