Food for Thought

 

The moon slipped out from behind a cloud bathing the garden in its eerie glow.  Dexter held his breath. A rustle from a bush startled him.  He inched closer to the fence, melting into the shadows.  The rustle came again.  Dexter’s heart began to race.  A hedgehog shuffled into the pool of moonlight searching for a midnight snack.  Dexter’s heart rate slowed.  As the moon hid itself once more Dexter let out a long slow breath and waited a few seconds before creeping towards the backdoor.  Locked.  He took a screwdriver from his pocket, slipped it between the door and the jamb and pushed.  Easiest thing in the world, why do people bother with locks anyway.  Seconds later he was standing in the kitchen looking around for anything worth taking.  Biscuit jars were always a good bet and he wasn’t disappointed.  Working his way methodically through the house his pockets were soon full, and his rucksack was heavy with loot.  This had been the easiest so far, it wasn’t even a challenge anymore.  Maybe he should give it all up.  He’d been a bright kid at school, surely, he could have found something more challenging to do with his time.  Breaking into houses while people went away leaving them empty seemed like child’s play.  There must be more to life than this.  After he had offloaded his haul tonight, he would at least have enough for a little holiday.  He deserved it; he’d worked hard.

Dave Trevelyan ordered another pint and sat at the bar listening to the chatter of his fellow drinkers.

“That’s five this month already” Terry said, “This place is becoming crime city.”

“Well maybe not crime city, I mean it’s a village for a start, plus I remember living in Sin City, that was way worse.”

“How long you been here now Dave?” Terry asked him

“Five years I think, I came here to get away from everything, it’s been so nice up to now”

Dave thought back to his time in the city, the gang fights the drug crime, the corruption everywhere.  Little Darting wasn’t a patch on that, but it was a bit worrying.  Whoever was doing this couldn’t be a local, probably someone from the city.  Maybe it was time to fight back.

Dave finished his pint and stood up “I better go check I’ve not been burgled while I was in here”

“Don’t joke” Terry said, “Could happen to any of us, and the police don’t even seem interested.  We need to look after ourselves.”

Dave let himself into his little cottage, the warm glow of the moon illuminating his lounge nicely, he loved how warm and cosy it looked when the moon did that, so comforting, so secure.  His clock struck eleven, feeding time.  He opened the fridge door and took out a bowl covered in tin foil, that would have to do tonight.

Dexter sat in his flat counting his money.  The cash he’d picked up and the money he’d got from his fence took it to a total of three thousand for this month, not a bad little income considering the state of the country.  A holiday would be nice, somewhere hot, let the heat die down and return to take on another village.  He was feeling pleased with himself for hitting on his genius idea of targeting villages.  No one cared about a few break-ins, the police hardly even turned up anymore, and once he’d bled one dry he could just move to the next, and the next.  Villagers were so trusting, hardly any locks, hardly any security.  But where was the challenge.  Maybe he could push himself a bit.  Empty houses were one thing, but what about a house with a sleeping resident?  Surely that would be more fun.  He looked at the clock.  1am.  He could squeeze one place in tonight, find somewhere with someone asleep, in and out in fifteen minutes.  The ultimate challenge.

He slipped behind the wheel of his land rover and pulled out of the car park.  No one took much notice of anyone driving around the city at this time of night, it was always busy anyway, and when he reached the villages no one took any notice of a land rover, farmers went about at all times of the day and night.  He drove carefully through the streets, don’t need to get done for speeding, that would be embarrassing.  He passed the sign for Little Darting and slowed down.  He remembered seeing a little row of cottages just off the main drag and had decided to hit the last one.  Old people lived in cottages; everyone knew that.  Old people sleep soundly, don’t they?

Turning off the road into a gateway, he pulled on the handbrake, switched off the engine and climbed out.  No one took any notice of a land rover parked in a gateway in the country, farmers do that all the time.  As he made his way through the darkness and into the village, he felt his heart begin to race again, this was more like it.  The little cottage seemed to materialise through the gloom, no moon tonight, that would help no end, Dexter was starting to buzz, this was going to be so much better.  He made his way silently up the little lane to the back gate and climbed over.  No one saw him, no one was looking at this time of night, maybe this would be easier than he thought.  The cottage was in darkness, nothing stirred, all was nice and quiet.  The resident was probably a little old lady fast asleep; he could be in and out and no one would hear him.  Dexter tried the back door, unlocked.  That was unusual but the daft old biddy probably thought no one would break in.  A quick glance around the garden told him he was alone, and he slipped inside.  The darkness of the kitchen was broken only by the faint glow from a microwave clock.  1.35am. Dexter would be gone by 1.50 and home again by 2.30.  Perfect nights work.

Dave opened his eyes in the half light from his phone.  The watch on his wrist vibrated.  The silent alarm had done its job, he smiled.  He listened carefully, and through the silence heard footsteps on the kitchen floor below him.  Clicking the app on his phone brought up a video screen showing his kitchen and a dark figure making its way across the floor towards the door.  Another click and the back door locked itself silently.

Dexter took in his surroundings quickly looking for the biscuit tin he so favoured.  He saw nothing.  A search of drawers and a cupboard was equally fruitless.  He stood in the little kitchen and looked around; would he make it through to the rest of the house without being heard?  His heart raced.  He listened, heard nothing.  Two options, a door leading to what he assumed was the rest of the house, or another door leading to a cellar maybe.  He chose the former and stepped into a neat little lounge filled with antique furniture.  The walls were painted plaster, he recognised the colour, it was the same as his own.  Celtic Cream they called it, although it didn’t resemble cream nor was it Celtics colours.  Dexter wondered how they came up with this stuff.  On the mantlepiece was a small carved figure of an owl.  Dexter was a big fan of birds of prey, he liked to watch as they swooped down and grabbed a rodent and took off with it.  The owl was such a graceful bird and despatched its prey swiftly and easily with its sharp talons.  It probably wasn’t worth anything, but it might look good in his flat.  As he reached to pick it up the creature’s eyes lit up, glowing in the darkness.  Dexter froze. 

He listened.  A faint bleeping noise above him.  Then footsteps at the top of the stairs.  Something had woken the old biddy. Must be one of those motion senor alarms.  Unless it wasn’t an old lady living here.  Dexter wasn’t about to wait and find out, he quickly crossed to the kitchen door as he heard footsteps slowly coming own the stairs.  The backdoor was just a few strides away, he was at it in seconds. Locked. He felt panic rising inside him.  He must have accidently triggered something, a yale lock maybe.  But there didn’t seem to be anything on the door, just the handle.  He heard a creak on the stairs.  He could wait and fight it out, but what if it were a huge farmer with a shotgun.  The cellar door was a few feet away.  He grabbed the handle, twisted, and pushed.  The door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges.  He carefully closed it behind him and stood in the inky blackness at the top of the stairs, holding his breath.  Better to go down and find somewhere to hide, more chance of being able to make a run for it if anyone followed him.  He gingerly stepped forward feeling his way down the stairs, one hand on the wall to steady himself.  He prided himself on never going anywhere armed, he wasn’t that kind of crook, but right now he would kill for something to defend himself.  Stupid to think he could break into an occupied house, should have stuck to his usual MO.  It was way too dark down here; his eyes didn’t seem to be getting used to it.  He took out his phone and risked clicking on the torch.  He wished he hadn’t.

The tiny beam lit up a face.  A hideous face.  With red eyes, what the hell has red eyes.  He let out a startled cry and dropped the phone as he stumbled back against the wall.  He felt around in the dark for the stairs and scrambled upwards.  As he reached the top the door opened flooding the room with light from the kitchen.  A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“Not your lucky night mate” the silhouette said.

Dexter was ready to fight but the figure had the high ground.  He heard a brief woosh seconds before something hit him in the face knocking him back down the stairs. Tumbling over and over until he hit the floor with a thud.  He opened his eyes, dazed from the fall.  The kitchen light had bathed the cellar in an eerie glow.  Dexter’s gasp caught in his throat.  What he saw could only be described as a nightmare.  A hideous deformed creature bent over him and picked him up like he was a rag doll.  Dexter tried to struggle but the thing was too strong.  It carried him further into the cellar and dropped him onto a table near the wall.

“He’s all yours Arthur, have fun” the figure turned and left the cellar, closing the door.  Dexter heard it lock and the bolt slide into place.  His heart was beating out of his chest.

The creature’s eyes glowed just inches from his face.  As it opened its mouth the stench was unbearable.  The last thing Dexter heard before he passed out was the creature’s gravelly voice.

“Oh, thank you sir, I’m going to enjoy this, it’s been so long since I ate a live one”