The stray

The date was September 6, 1971. The time of day was between the hours of 3:00-5:00 in the morning. Two men, afflicted by varying levels of drunkenness, made their way home on the dark streets of their sleeping city. They stumbled along, joking and laughing in stupified glee. Rick, the most drunk of the two, began to speak, but lost the words when they were both startled by an uproarious chorus of howling dogs. "Goddamn," Rick slurred once it was quiet,"I hate dogs." The other, a younger man named Frank, mumbled and nodded in agreement. A pack of feral dogs had taken up residence there some time ago, and roamed free at night once the streets were empty. The dogs, though quite nearly wild, were more timid and sometimes reluctantly friendly than aggressive. For this reason, most of the city's residents didn't mind their presence... These men, however, were not most residents. "Bastards need to be wiped out. Dirty animals." Rick continued, "I'd do it myself if I had a gun." The dogs started up howling again, closer and louder this time. As the two men discussed how they'd love to rid the city of them all, one hungry little dog broke from the pack and made its way toward where they stood. Following behind the dog on silent feet was the bringer of the drunk friends' fate. "Hey, man... Look." Frank said, pointing in the direction of an alley. A skinny, shivering dog stared out at them. Rick grinned evilly,"Heh... Watch this." The man knelt down and pulled something out of his pocket, holding it at arm's length. He whistled and called,"Here, boy! I've got some food here for you!" in a gentle voice. The dog inched reluctantly closer, letting its hunger overtake its terror. Rick was still as the dog sniffed the scrap of food in his hand, then reluctantly licked it... But then, he sprang up and kicked the poor animal in the face as hard as he could. With a yelp, it barreled back down the alley it had come from, leaving them whooping with laughter. Rick had lost his balance and sat on his ass in the street, chuckling stupidly. Frank looked around and realized he recognized this place. "Oh... Hey, man. This is where we separate, isn't it?" He said, pulling his friend to his feet. They stood at a fork in the street, and they had to separate onto either side to make their way home. The two said their goodbyes, not knowing they were their last, and went their separate ways. Frank hadn't gone very far when he heard Rick's voice from his side. He quickly made his way back to the corner where they'd split up. What he saw made him wonder if he was more drunk than he'd thought. Rick had gone an even shorter distance down his road, and stood talking indistinctly to someone in a very strange costume. The figure wore a black cloak, and an odd mask. It was gleaming metal, and looked almost like a wolf skull with knifelike saber teeth. It stood eerily still, a foggy silence draped around it. Just a glance at it deeply unsettled Frank, but Rick spoke to it as if it were a friend. Frank began to think that Rick was talking to some kind of statue. Then, Rick crouched slightly and made a sort of beckoning gesture at the thing. It crouched like a vulture, bringing its face closer to Rick's. The next thing Rick said was too soft to hear from this far away. He drew back from the masked thing and began to laugh again. The thing threw its head back and began to laugh, as well- a high, lunatical laugh. It felt almost like that terrible sound would go on forever... Until the thing finally stopped. In a split second, it ceased its laughter and made a swift motion with its arm, as if to slap the man in front of it. Rick made an equally pathetic and terrifying sound. It had all happened so quick that Frank didn't realize what it had done to him until he heard the faint sound of desperate gurgling. Rick staggered back, shuddered violently, and collapsed, unmoving. The thing continued to laugh, though softer and more subdued. Whatever force had kept Frank's feet stuck to the spot disappeared when the murderer turned to look straight in his direction. He took off back down his street. Surely, it hadn't seen him. He was hidden so well around the corner. It couldn't have seen him. His heart leapt when he heard footsteps behind him, and he broke into a sprint. "I have to make it home." He thought, though he knew in the back of his mind that he couldn't. The footsteps quickened, and Frank panicked. He had to hide somewhere and wait until it gave up. As he heard it gaining on him, he caught sight of a familiar open door beside the road. It was an abandoned, grimy old storage shed that he had passed on his way home for years. Before, he wouldn't go in if someone paid him. Now, there was no choice. He ran for it and dove inside, slamming the old door and holding it shut. Just as he found and locked the deadbolt, the thing that had been behind him ran past the tall window. Another goddamn stray dog. Frank groaned and collapsed onto the dirty floor of the shed. The man laid there trying to catch his breath for what felt like a very long time. He had almost calmed himself fully when a shadow fell over him from outside. He screamed when be saw the cloaked thing staring at him through the glass. It tried the door and found it locked, then returned to looking in the window. Frank stared at it, his heart pounding. The thing opened its cloak slightly, revealing a metal boot on one of its legs. It pulled its foot back and kicked the window. There was a crunch, and Frank could see a spidery crack where its foot had been.  The figure kicked the window again, and Frank shrieked as he was showered with shards of glass. People in the nearest homes heard the agonized screams, and many of them called the police. However, the police didn't arrive until it was far too late. They found Rick first, who had died before he even knew that he'd been cut. They found Frank face down in a puddle of blood covered in dirt. There had obviously been a struggle, but in the end, the killer won. Thus began the tragedy which is now referred to as "The Stray murders". 

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