Brandon peeked through the shutters. They had both been awakened screaming. And the noise…
Shew… shew… shew…
“What do you think?” he asked quietly.
David looked up from his coffee, thinking. Concern curled his lips. He feared the noise, and there was no way they could have risked going outside last night. But now? It had been quiet for hours… He breathed deeply and took another sip, steam slowly rising around his head. He suddenly felt too hot.
“We should check it out,” he said flatly. “After all, if it were us….”
Brandon smiled nervously, worried for his neighbors and himself. But it had been quiet since two.
“Let’s go,” David said. “But we must be careful.”
“Do you have anything, just in case?”
“Yes.” Rising slowly, he took his father’s old hunting knife from the desk drawer. It felt heavy in his grasp. “We can use this if needed.”
The gate clicking closed behind them seemed too loud. They picked their way carefully along the damp cobbles. Four houses down, a door stood partly open. David glanced at Brandon and moved towards the door. He poked it gingerly with the large blade. It swung open easily and he stepped inside, suddenly disappearing.
“What is it?” Brandon screamed in a whisper.
“I slipped on something wet.” His hand was damp and sticky. He instinctively pulled it up, and his eyes widened as he gagged. He realized leg was wet, his mind raced with the reality that he was sitting in a pool of blood. He spun his whitening face towards Brandon, gagging and slipping as he frantically tried to get up and out.
“I think I’m going to be sick!” he gurgled, throwing himself into the morning light. He retched into the dew moistened grass. It had killed again…