Night Is Falling

This piece of fiction is a writing exercise from the Writer’s Book of Days.

This is Clay Park. It’s quiet at this hour, a few minutes before the great, old clock in the town center marks the arrival of midnight. This is my time. I’m able to walk the old cobbled paths that wind throughout the park as I listen to the owls hunting. In my wandering I’ll pass late night joggers and walker; insomniacs who will risk the silence of the night in order to tire themselves. Then there are the lovers. Many of them come from the tourist busy boardwalk that sits below the park on the north end. Sometimes my walk takes me in that direction. I’ll remain there and watch the lights as they reflect off of the ocean. Music filters upward from a few clubs along with the sounds of the living.

When it’s time to turn away, that is when it is my time to join the owls and begin my own hunt. Tonight I’ve chosen a young woman whose dog has coaxed her to leave her house. She’s relaxed, but watchful. The dog is a large German Shephard and she feels confidant in his ability to protect her. The dog might be effective against a mugger or a rapist, but not against me.

I seat myself upon a bench in order to watch her coming toward me. She hesitates for only a moment, but the dog has betrayed her in that instant. His tail wags as his golden eyes settle upon me. Just as the wolf sees a kindred spirit in me, so does the dog. Before she can pass me completely, I smile, leaned toward the dog and beckon to him. Her smile is guarded until the dog jerks upon his leash and with resignation she allows the dog to approach me.

I do love dogs and this one is a beautiful creature. As I scratch behind his ears, my first comment to the woman is to give her my opinion of her beloved pet. Her smile is more natural this time and she freely gives me the animal’s name: Dexter. The more attention I give to Dexter, the more the woman comes to trust me. It is easy for her to accept my offer as an escort during the rest of her walk. We continue the path she had chosen, walking in step together, side by side.

During our walk I learn she is a teacher of kindergarten children. She hasn’t had the job very long; fresh out of college. She enjoys her position and the children. It is her hope to raise her future progeny in this town. It is then she inquires, shyly, of my state of matrimony. I give her the answer she hopes to hear; I am single. A calculated smile with a look into her blue eyes bring the blush to her cheeks that I love. We pause in our walk and my fingers brush her cheek. The warmth of her skin sinks into my icy depths.

The woman is easily caught in my web. I take her into my embrace, kissing her and savoring the aura of her life as it touches my death. Taking the blood is a simple matter. It is to anyone spying us, a moment of exquisite passion. A breathless sigh from her.

As soon as she begins to fade I catch her so she doesn’t fall to the ground. She is aware that Death is approaching, but instead of trying to fight her way from my grip, she holds tight to me with her last bit of strength. They always do. Dexter is uncertain, but follows me as I take his mistress toward a copse of very tangled roses. I settle her upon the ground where she can be seen by the dawn joggers. She’s already dead and so I close her eyes and fold her hands over her breast. Dexter sniffs mournfully and looks to me in confusion. I stroke his fur and whisper gently to him. Taking his leash, I rise to my feet and walk with the dog beside me. He only looks back once.

Here is my review of A Writer’s Book of Days. Here and in the review, click on the book cover to purchase the book from Amazon.