Guava #29: Mother knows best & Peanut Butter #8: Dark
Author: fluorescent_x
Challenge: Guava, Peanut Butter
Word Count: 361
Rating: PG-13
Story: Recipe for the Damned
Summary: Start listening to your parents when they say not to run around at dark.
Note: I've been reading Stephen King, my God! Now, with this drabble, it's just a general thing for this world. I'd say this place is worse than the Afterlife because of all the things in it. This world is the basis for at least six different stories, each with returning characters and new characters. I'll begin introducing them soon. xD
During the shroud of darkness was when the villains of the world would poke their heads from their hiding spots and slither out onto the streets, sometimes many at a time. They preferred the cover of night, when the only sources of light were from faulty streetlamps that constantly flickered, and occasionally from the luminosity of the moon that was often covered by thick, unforgiving rain clouds.
Villains chose this time to strike the hardest because people were locked up in their homes, tucked under layers of covers with old rifles and handguns hidden beneath their pillows or wrapped tightly in arms. No one liked to be outside at night, it was unsafe and at this day in age, stepping an inch past the cliché welcome doormat was practically suicide.
The blanket of night, there was a real in all of us to fear it. Things other than the scum of the world liked to venture out when the streets were as barren as a closed roadway, when the towns were dead without even so much as a candlelight flicker in a window.
Sometimes a poor soul would be moronic enough to take up a dare to sit in the center of the street, curled up into himself and rocking on his heels, defending against the chilly air, just waiting for something to happen. He would see it for an instant, a black silhouette walking calmly toward him.
There was no blood stained machete or revving of a chainsaw, although it’s happened countless times before. He would stare, chilled to the very bone as it grew closer with each step. When he would finally blink and open his eyes, his throat bled profusely, falling from his shoulders to the ground and rolled away from his twitching body.
It wasn’t uncommon to see blood mixing with rain water as it flowed into the nearest storm drain. You never would find source, however.
With shrill cackles that seem to come from the air, figures lurking within the protection of shadows, creatures that turn to the full moon and ravenous beings patiently waiting for a slip-up-wouldn’t it be wise to listen to mother?