The night is quiet except for the sounds of a water fountain and footsteps. A tall and large man steps under a streetlight revealing a scarred face. He wears a crusty long-sleeve dark shirt, boots, and pants. A woolen scarf is draped across his thick neck, touching his rotund stomach. Slowly, his eyes scan over the red and white house. He stares down the daggers carved in the oak wood door, snarling at its sight. Thereat the giant stops to smack their lips. He takes in a strong inhale. There is no mistake in this taste and scent.

“Sorcery,” he growls.

The giant does an inhuman growl. Sneering his lip, accompanied by a glare of anger—he rips the gates off the hinges. He dashes off, and his large body crashes through the oak wood door; slivers of splinters and chunks of wood fly everywhere. Sharp claws greet him, ripping deep into his shoulder; blood overflows down his arm. He screams like a banshee at the large cat-like creature. They both crash into each other, beginning a strange, deadly contest.

***

She has to remember to breathe: watching her summoned familiar battle that monster. Rumors have been swirling of his whereabouts, never had she thought he’d come here. How he found her is a mystery, but running is no option. That monster never loses anyone once he has them. Some victims have been on the run for years to meet their end at his hands. She smiles at his struggle against the Cat. Those razor-sharp claws slash his face, adding more scars. The familiar spears the giant into the bookshelf and then breaks the top half of his back. The monstrous roar makes her panties wet. She cheers at the strength of her familiar picking up and tossing him into the sofa, breaking it. A family heirloom, but living is more precious. The rotund man shoots up, and their wreckage continues into the kitchen; the rancorous sounds of metal and wood, hissing, loud grunts, and growls pierce her ears. Silence fell for a second before he crash through the wall, leaving a big hole. Victory is near; it’s all she thought. The summoned beast ran after him and went into darkness. Each heartbeat is cadence with their grunts. Seconds turn into minutes waiting for that death squeal. It never came. Instead, he bloodied came walking out. All her hopes go along with feeling the sense of de-materialization, seeing the monster stalk toward her. At least her barrier gives precious time to summon another one. His fist hurls toward her.

“Runes,” she said, realizing now she should've run.

***

Police block off residents from the house. Other officers searched the area looking for any other clue they could find. Out of the house, two homicide detectives return to the strange crime scene, one black and the other white. The white detective rubs the back of his blond hair. This is the most bewildering crime scene he’s been to, but he knows the job is not done yet.

“This one takes the cake, David,” he says, overlooking the crowd.

“You’re right, Paul, and that's a slice I don’t want,” he replied.

The two make their way through the crowd to find a distraught woman, a brunette in her mid-thirties. Had this been a different time, the sight of the slender and toned woman in jogging clothes will be been very welcomed. He wanted to commend her for holding back like she is doing. Paul knew they had to make it quick; their partner's look spoke for himself. The black detective coughs.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m detective David Glaser, and he's Paul Soul,” the black detective said first.

She does a hint of a nod and a barely managed smile. Detective Soul sees her fidgets, barely keeping from tugging at her hair, and no contact with them. It’s no surprise to him, her description was accurate. He’s relieved their partner spoke first. Witnesses like this just aren’t his forte. Their partner's smile is amicable. It’s a mystery how Glaser does it, he wonders.

“I saw what you saw, and I can tell you: it shook me to my core; she shouldn’t have died this way. That is why we need your help. Anything can help us.”

Paul wanted to chuckle. Glaser’s phrase is an understatement. He swallowed down bile when he saw that face. The face looked like a nasty deflated pound cake. Remembering that made Soul rage. Nobody should’ve died that way, he says to himself.

“We’re going to do all we can to find who did it,” Soul finally spoke. He makes sure each word is filled with conviction same as Glaser.

She didn’t talk at first; recalling the events may be too much for her. The blond detective sees those brown eyes darting everywhere. It’s probably too much for what she saw will haunt her for days coming. Then she stops, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. A tear flows down her cheek. They loved her, the blond detective thought. He wonders if they should wait until she calms down. She opens her eyes.

“I am sorry, but I was asleep. When on my jog, I saw...”

“How did you sleep through that?” the blond detective asks incredulously. He shouldn’t have done that, she flinches at his words. Detective Glaser coughs again, seemingly unbothered still.

“I’m sorry for my partner’s abruptness, but that is a good point. The gate has been broken from its hinges. The front door is destroyed, the inside is a wreck, and there is a large hole in the wall. Please, anything will help us solve this.”

She shook her and said, “I told you. I was sleeping. Just asleep. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear none of that.”

“Nothing?” Glaser asks.

The woman’s nod says it all. They thank her for cooperating.

“She was like a grandmother to everyone. Her door was open to anyone. Somehow she always had a meal prepared when someone needed it. We’re all going to miss her, ” she said, breaking into tears. She walks away.

The detective notices all of them are grieving and crying. Comforting each other. The blond detective felt guilty over the thoughtless statement. With a tap on their shoulder, the Glaser gestures to them. The job is not over. The two have more people to speak with. It’s going to be one of those days, he thinks.

The drive back is always longer than getting there when cases like this happen. The black detective hasn’t spoken their usual icebreaker or some quip to lighten the mood. No song plays on the radio. Melancholy from the crime scene has finally set in. Soul’s somber face stares at the scenery before them. Staring out at the endless trees, the blond detective wishes they didn’t see buildings peeking through. It’s just another reminder of their effort. After interviewing more people, all their stories matched up. Soul couldn’t fathom every resident was asleep and didn’t wake up until after it was all over. Even the graveyard shift workers didn’t make their way back until the same time. It’s like something kept them asleep or away. They couldn’t explain the mischance. Shredded pieces of cloth and carved daggers from the door are the only hard evidence they found.

“It’s a cold one, isn’t it?” Glaser speaks at last.

“Colder than Fairbanks, Alaska,” Soul said.

—END—

The night is quiet except for the sounds of a water fountain and footsteps. A tall and large man steps under a streetlight revealing a scarred face. He wears a crusty long-sleeve dark shirt, boots, and pants. A woolen scarf is draped across his thick neck, touching his rotund stomach. Slowly, his eyes scan over the red and white house. He stares down the daggers carved in the oak wood door, snarling at its sight. Thereat the giant stops to smack their lips. He takes in a strong inhale. There is no mistake in this taste and scent.

“Sorcery,” he growls.

The giant does an inhuman growl. Sneering his lip, accompanied by a glare of anger—he rips the gates off the hinges. He dashes off, and his large body crashes through the oak wood door; slivers of splinters and chunks of wood fly everywhere. Sharp claws greet him, ripping deep into his shoulder; blood overflows down his arm. He screams like a banshee at the large cat-like creature. They both crash into each other, beginning a strange, deadly contest.

***

She has to remember to breathe: watching her summoned familiar battle that monster. Rumors have been swirling of his whereabouts, never had she thought he’d come here. How he found her is a mystery, but running is no option. That monster never loses anyone once he has them. Some victims have been on the run for years to meet their end at his hands. She smiles at his struggle against the Cat. Those razor-sharp claws slash his face, adding more scars. The familiar spears the giant into the bookshelf and then breaks the top half of his back. The monstrous roar makes her panties wet. She cheers at the strength of her familiar picking up and tossing him into the sofa, breaking it. A family heirloom, but living is more precious. The rotund man shoots up, and their wreckage continues into the kitchen; the rancorous sounds of metal and wood, hissing, loud grunts, and growls pierce her ears. Silence fell for a second before he crash through the wall, leaving a big hole. Victory is near; it’s all she thought. The summoned beast ran after him and went into darkness. Each heartbeat is cadence with their grunts. Seconds turn into minutes waiting for that death squeal. It never came. Instead, he bloodied came walking out. All her hopes go along with feeling the sense of de-materialization, seeing the monster stalk toward her. At least her barrier gives precious time to summon another one. His fist hurls toward her.

“Runes,” she said, realizing now she should've run.

***

Police block off residents from the house. Other officers searched the area looking for any other clue they could find. Out of the house, two homicide detectives return to the strange crime scene, one black and the other white. The white detective rubs the back of his blond hair. This is the most bewildering crime scene he’s been to, but he knows the job is not done yet.

“This one takes the cake, David,” he says, overlooking the crowd.

“You’re right, Paul, and that's a slice I don’t want,” he replied.

The two make their way through the crowd to find a distraught woman, a brunette in her mid-thirties. Had this been a different time, the sight of the slender and toned woman in jogging clothes will be been very welcomed. He wanted to commend her for holding back like she is doing. Paul knew they had to make it quick; their partner's look spoke for himself. The black detective coughs.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m detective David Glaser, and he's Paul Soul,” the black detective said first.

She does a hint of a nod and a barely managed smile. Detective Soul sees her fidgets, barely keeping from tugging at her hair, and no contact with them. It’s no surprise to him, her description was accurate. He’s relieved their partner spoke first. Witnesses like this just aren’t his forte. Their partner's smile is amicable. It’s a mystery how Glaser does it, he wonders.

“I saw what you saw, and I can tell you: it shook me to my core; she shouldn’t have died this way. That is why we need your help. Anything can help us.”

Paul wanted to chuckle. Glaser’s phrase is an understatement. He swallowed down bile when he saw that face. The face looked like a nasty deflated pound cake. Remembering that made Soul rage. Nobody should’ve died that way, he says to himself.

“We’re going to do all we can to find who did it,” Soul finally spoke. He makes sure each word is filled with conviction same as Glaser.

She didn’t talk at first; recalling the events may be too much for her. The blond detective sees those brown eyes darting everywhere. It’s probably too much for what she saw will haunt her for days coming. Then she stops, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. A tear flows down her cheek. They loved her, the blond detective thought. He wonders if they should wait until she calms down. She opens her eyes.

“I am sorry, but I was asleep. When on my jog, I saw...”

“How did you sleep through that?” the blond detective asks incredulously. He shouldn’t have done that, she flinches at his words. Detective Glaser coughs again, seemingly unbothered still.

“I’m sorry for my partner’s abruptness, but that is a good point. The gate has been broken from its hinges. The front door is destroyed, the inside is a wreck, and there is a large hole in the wall. Please, anything will help us solve this.”

She shook her and said, “I told you. I was sleeping. Just asleep. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear none of that.”

“Nothing?” Glaser asks.

The woman’s nod says it all. They thank her for cooperating.

“She was like a grandmother to everyone. Her door was open to anyone. Somehow she always had a meal prepared when someone needed it. We’re all going to miss her, ” she said, breaking into tears. She walks away.

The detective notices all of them are grieving and crying. Comforting each other. The blond detective felt guilty over the thoughtless statement. With a tap on their shoulder, the Glaser gestures to them. The job is not over. The two have more people to speak with. It’s going to be one of those days, he thinks.

The drive back is always longer than getting there when cases like this happen. The black detective hasn’t spoken their usual icebreaker or some quip to lighten the mood. No song plays on the radio. Melancholy from the crime scene has finally set in. Soul’s somber face stares at the scenery before them. Staring out at the endless trees, the blond detective wishes they didn’t see buildings peeking through. It’s just another reminder of their effort. After interviewing more people, all their stories matched up. Soul couldn’t fathom every resident was asleep and didn’t wake up until after it was all over. Even the graveyard shift workers didn’t make their way back until the same time. It’s like something kept them asleep or away. They couldn’t explain the mischance. Shredded pieces of cloth and carved daggers from the door are the only hard evidence they found.

“It’s a cold one, isn’t it?” Glaser speaks at last.

“Colder than Fairbanks, Alaska,” Soul said.

—END—