Our Little Secret
Author's note: sorry about spelling and grammer errors, this is a routh draft
“Chap 1 The Ally”The dog just wouldn’t be quiet. It was 3 am and everyone had gone in for the night. The cold night air was brushing the leaves across the concrete. And this Dog just wouldn’t be quiet. He was in the dark ally behind Jons pizza shack. It was decorated in trash and, to be honest, rat s***. It was a ugly, lonely, little ally that drug dealers wouldn’t even go to sell their “goods”. Yes, it was lonely, except for this dog, who continued barking madly at what appeared to be nothing; which is what the ally was, Nothing, Nothing but darkness. It was way to dark to make anything out except the outlines of the dog. And he to would suddenly disappeared in to the darkness as well leaving utter blankness to fill our eyes.
Then there was a brief moment of silence followed by muffled sounds, nearly human like sounds followed by the sounds of trash cans crash to the cement. There was clearly a struggle but to do what? Who would be in this ally? The sounds of trashcans colliding to the cement and debre scattering around filled the air. And then, more silence followed by an awful sound, the kind of sound that strikes fear into your heart, the sound that keeps you up at night because it plays over and over in your mind almost like a broken record. It was a shrill sound and it didn’t last long, it just hung in the air for a second before fading away into the cold night air and soon it was quiet again. The dog had finally stopped barking.
Soon after the noise subsided a man appeared through the shadows carrying a black trash bag. He was a very tall man, a very strong man. He was wearing a long gray trench coat that was stained in mud and what appeared to be, blood. Dark wet blood. His pants were tatted and had the same stain scheme as his coat. But that was the nicest part of his attire. His face, thankfully, was hidden in the shadows. Except for this horrid smile, this crooked dam smile that consuming. What the hell was he smiling about? Why was he so freaking happy? Then we notice the trash bag he was clutching in his blood soaked hands. It was dripping with blood. The contents were unclear, but we can surely take a guess. There were bulges stretching the bag out, in each end, like something was fighting to get out. But nothing was, nothing moved in the bag. what ever was in there was motionless, defeated. As The man thows down the bag and some of the contents spill out onto the ground. What’s In the bag? Let’s confirm our suspicion. As we float through the fog we can see a bloody mess laying, sprawled out on the ground in a mushy, bloody, heap. We can not make out what it once was except that it had once been a creature of some sort; at least that much is clear by the remains of some organs poking out. The cracks in the cement are streaming with blood. What maniac would do this and why? And, again, all is silent. But not for long, because out of the fog crawled out a dog. He whimpered over to the bloody mess sniffed it and gently nudged the flesh with his nose as if trying to wake it up. After realizing it was useless he gave a little cry and ran away.