The Wolf-Hound
It's never a good idea to abuse animals, or stay out past your curfew, or drink and drive, or mess up parks. Maybe if one of these things didn't happen, what you about to read would never have existed. Turn back now if this bothers you. It's your last chance.
It was a cool summer's night on Midsummer Lane. The 16 of June, 1995. A man lived on thus small street, more of like a circle of road around dome nice houses, with a park at the end. He was a nice man. Many people liked him. He would always say hi, and wave, and smile, and give gift baskets to sick and poor, and elderly. But he owned a very mean dog. The name of the dog no one knew. The dog was big, very big. He was a mottled, scarred wolf-hound, with jagged fangs and yellow eyes. He hated people, and attacked everyone he saw. So he had to be chained in the back yard.
Now it was on this cool spring night that the dog finally broke his chain, and got out of the fence. It was midnight, pitch black except for the street light, and the wolf-hound wandered into the road.
It also just so happened that two teenage boys had gotten drunk, and were driving onto the street. They were past their curfew, but were too wasted to care. Just as the dog padded into the road, the car speeded right over him with a Sharp thud. The boys didn't even notice, and drove away, leaving the dog's crushed, bloodied corpse on the road.
The next day, the dog's owner was confused. His dog disappeared! He rubbed his head, walking across the road to a neighbors house. But what he didn't notice wad the spattered of blood and brown tuft of fur stuck to the asphalt.
That same night, the two boys went to screw up the swings st the park. It was midnight, but they didn't care. And they were too busy messing around to see a mass of blood and fur rise up off of the road and stumble toward them.
One of the boys suddenly looked back, the light glinting off of his spiked golden hair. His other friend looked at him, pushing up his glasses. "What's wrong?" He asked. The road was empty. "Nothing," the blondie breathed, turning back to messing up the swings. The kid with glasses stood still, however, listening.
Hard panting suddenly closed in on him, then disappeared. The kid with glasses jumped. "Did you hear that?" He gulped. "Hear what?" Asked blondie.
"I thought I best-"he was cut if by a whirlwind of snarling, glasses shattering, and screaming as he fell to the ground with s thud. Blondie turned and gaped in horror. A large brown creature, mottled, crushed, bloodied, and missing patches of flesh ripped into his friend's face, crunching and snarling. Blood spattered on him, and he turned and ran, leaving the glasses boy to the ravenous creature and his own screams if excruciating agony that bled into the night air.
The hound turned his flattened, ripped face away from the mutilated body. He sniffed the air. The other boy escaped. His eyes glowed yellow and he bounded away, searching for his second killer.
He never did find that boy. But he's still searching. Every night, he will watch at your window, waiting. And if he sees you he will do anything to get you out of the house, and rid the world of another child. And he will wait for you. And wait.
It's a good thing he can't move during the day isn't it?vehement the sun's out he lies dead. But beware. Because if you are driving by Midsummer Lane at night, he will follow you home.
And he'll know you're there.
