It Was A Dry, Warm Night, And Stanley Collins Had

Chapter 1 It was a dry, warm night, and Stanley Collins had decided to walk home after the boy scouts meeting. It wasn’t a very long walk—less than a mile —and though the night was dark, he knew how to tie a reef knot. Stanley was a scoutmaster. He loved the scouts. He’d been one when he was a boy and kept in contact when he grew up. He’d turned his own three sons into first-rate scouts, and now that they’d grown up and left home, he was helping the local kids. Stanley walked quickly to keep warm. He was only wearing shorts and a Tshirt, and even though it was a nice night, his arms and legs were soon covered in goosebumps. He didn’t mind. His wife would have a delicious cup of hot chocolate and cookies waiting for him when he got home. He’d enjoy them all the more after a good, brisk walk. Trees grew along both sides of the road home, making it very dark and dangerous for anyone who wasn’t used to it. But Stanley had no fears. On the contrary, he loved the night. He enjoyed listening to the sound of his feet crunching through the grass and briars. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. He smiled. When his sons were young, he’d often pretended there were monsters lying in wait up in the trees as they walked home. He’d make scary noises and shake the leaves of low-hanging branches when the boys weren’t looking. Sometimes they’d burst into screams and run for home at top speed, and Stanley would follow after them, laughing. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Sometimes, if he was having trouble getting to sleep at night, he would imagine the sounds of his feet as they made their way home, and that always helped him drift off into a happy dream. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It was the nicest sound in the world, as far as Stanley was concerned. It was a great feeling, to know you were all alone and safe as can be. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Snap. Stanley stopped and frowned. That had sounded like a stick breaking--but how could it have been? He would have felt it if he’d stepped on a twig. And there were no cows or sheep in the nearby fields. He stood still for about half a minute, listening curiously. When there were no more

sounds, he shook his head and smiled. It had been his imagination playing tricks on him, that was all. He’d tell the wife about it when he got home and they’d have a good old laugh. He started walking again. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. There. Back to the familiar sounds. There was nobody else around. He would have heard more than a single branch snapping if there was. Nobody could creep up on Stanley J. Collins. He was a trained scoutmaster. His ears were as sharp as a fox’s. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. CruSnap. Stanley stopped again and, for the first time, the fingers of fear began to squeeze around his beating heart. That hadn’t been his imagination. He’d overheard it, clear as a bell. A twig snapping, somewhere overhead. And before it snapped—had there been the slightest rustling sound, like something moving? Stanley gazed up at the trees but it was too dark to see. There could have been a monster the size of a car up there and he wouldn’t have been able to spot it. Ten monsters! A hundred! A thou— Oh, that was silly. There were no monsters in the trees. Monsters didn’t exist. Everyone knew that. Monsters weren’t real. It was a squirrel or an owl up there, something ordinary like that. Stanley raised a foot and began to bring it down. Snap. His foot hung in the air, midstep, and his heart pounded quickly. That was no squirrel! The sound was too sharp. Something big was up there. Something that shouldn’t be up there. Something that had never been up there before. Something thatSnap. The sound was closer this time, lower down, and suddenly Stanley could stand it no longer. He began to run. Stanley was a large man, but pretty fit for his age. Still, it had been a long time since he’d run this fast, and after a hundred yards he was out of breath and had a cramp in his side. He slowed to a halt and bent over, gasping for air. Crunch.

His head shot up. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. There were footsteps coming toward him! Slow, heavy footsteps. Stanley listened, terrified, as they came closer and closer. Had the monster leaped ahead of him through the trees? Had it climbed down? Was it coming to finish him off? Was it…? Crunch. Crunch. The footsteps stopped and Stanley was able to make out a figure in the darkness. It was smaller than he’d expected, no bigger than a boy. He took a deep breath, straightened up, got his courage up, and stepped forward for a better look. It was only a boy! A small, frightened-looking boy, dressed in a dirty suit. Stanley smiled and shook his head. What a fool he’d been! The wife would have a field day when he told her about this. “Are you okay, son?” Stanley asked him. The boy didn’t answer. Stanley didn’t recognize the youngster, but there were a lot of new families around these days. He no longer knew every child in the neighborhood. “Can I help you?” he asked. “Are you lost?” The boy shook his head slowly. There was something strange about him. Something that suddenly made Stanley feel uneasy. It might have been the effect of the darkness and the shadows…but the boy looked very pale, very thin, very… hungry. “Are you alright?” Stanley asked again, stepping closer. “Can i—“ Snap! The sound came from directly overhead, loud and menacing. The boy leaped back quickly, out of the way. Stanley just had time to glance up and see a huge red shape, which might have been some sort of bat, falling through the branches of the trees, almost faster than his eyes could follow. And then the red thing was on him. Stanley opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, the monster’s hands—claws?—clamped over his mouth. There was a brief struggle, then Stanley was sliding onto the ground, unconscious, unseeing, unknowing. Above him, the two creatures of the night moved in for the feed.