• Night had fallen over Morgan Valley. Stars gleamed overhead, and the full moon bathed the sleeping town in its pale, serene light. A slight breeze gently rustled the dry leaves in the quiet roads.
    The dogs in Morgan Valley were acting very strangely, as if they knew something was about to happen. As if a silent whistle had been blown, the dogs began to bark hysterically, though no one heard them, being in a strangely deep slumber. In the backyard of one of the cookie cutter homes, a pit-bull raced frantically back and forth along the tall wooden fence surrounding the yard, whining and howling plaintively. From the shadows where the two ends of the fence met, a tall, hooded figure materialized, stepping into the moonlight. The pit-bull, terrified, backed against the fence, its body low to the ground, a whimper stuck in its throat.

    The dark figure lifted long, white hands and pushed back the hood, revealing the face of an 18 year old boy, gaunt and pale, with high cheekbones and black, hollow eyes that glittered in the moon’s light. His hair, straight and black like coal, hung past his shoulders and rippled in the breeze.
    The boy glanced at the dog, something sort of like a smile contorting his emaciated face. Then, he spoke, his hoarse whisper carrying strangely through the cool night air.
    “Dog,” he said, “if you wish to remain in this life, you will be silent.”
    As if the pit-bull understood, the dog suddenly fell silent, shivering next to the fence.
    The strange boy began to walk, curling his bare feet in the damp, cold earth as he strode towards the dark house. Continuing to the back door, he opened it and quietly slipped inside.
    His hollow eyes slid lazily over the scene before him. An overweight man slumped in an armchair I front of the muted television, a half empty beer bottle sliding slowly from his meaty fist. His fat chin pressed to his massive chest, his snores shook the small house.
    The strange half-smile twisted the boys face, though his eyes remained cold and mirthless. He continued to walk through the shadowy house, not noticing or caring about the filthy state of the wooden floor. Empty beer bottles clinked as he pushed them across the floor with his bare toes.
    He made his way towards the light that spilled from under a closed door at the end of the hall. Before entering the silent room, the boy pressed his slightly pointed ear to the door, listening. He stood motionless, like a marble statue, for a few seconds. Then, he heard it. A fluttering thump, growing steadily fainter as he listened. The sound of a dying heartbeat.