The Dogs
It was well after midnight. A full moon bathed the bare winter landscape in a powdery light. It was a struggle for Peter to keep his eyes open since he had driven so far and had so far to go. His thoughts were of home, his bed, and sleep.
He was in the middle of nowhere and as fate would have it his car suddenly lost power. There was a chugging sound, the headlights went out and the car rolled to a stop on the gravel by the side of the road.
“What the hell…?” he groaned.
He twisted the key in the ignition but the engine refused to turn over.
“Shit!” he snapped, smacking the steering wheel.
He opened the door and stepped outside. His breath was a cloud on the night air, which bit into the exposed skin of his face and hands. There was no joy with his mobile phone either. It seemed that he was stranded and the only thing to do was to start walking.
After trudging three miles he came across a farmhouse with a light on. It looked to be quite a way from the main road but he had come this far. He jumped the front gate and moved quickly through the misty air towards the light. It was then he heard them. The dogs.
There were two of them. They burst onto the dirt road behind him, snarling and barking savagely, threads of saliva flying from their mouths. Their legs carried them like rockets through the night and even though Peter had started sprinting, their snouts were never far from his heels.
The light ahead grew brighter. He was nearing the farmhouse. His lungs felt as though they were on fire. His throat was as dry as kindling. Part of him wanted to stop and let the beasts tear him apart, but one small voice of reason propelled him forward.
Just meters ahead he could see the worn brass knob on the weathered door. He held out his hand to meet it.
“Let it be open. Let it be open,” he chanted to himself. “Oh God, please let it be open.”
He fell into the front room of the house, spinning around to slam the door in the faces of the dogs. Two almighty bangs rocked the old house, followed by a single yelp. Peter inhaled deeply and then emptied his lungs slowly. His skin was covered in perspiration and there was a dull ache in his chest. The sound of frantic scratching at the door filled his ears and he backed towards the staircase, which rose and twisted into the shadows of the second storey.
Then the scratching stopped. An eerie silence replaced it.
“Well, hello there,” said a voice from behind.
Peter turned around, still trying to catch his breath.
“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am,” he said puffing. “I was being chased.”
The woman, tall and slender with a lush mane of thick black hair cascading over her shoulders, moved down the stairs as if she were floating.
“Come into the kitchen. I’ll see what I can get you to settle those nerves,” she said with a beguiling smile.
Peter followed the woman down a small hallway.
“This is my husband,” she said gesturing to a stocky man sitting at the table.
The man stood and offered his hand to Peter.
“Pleased to meet you,” the man said grinning.
His grip was powerful and when he refused to let go, Peter’s heart began pounding. Suddenly a snout pierced the man’s face and bits of flesh splattered Peter, hitting him before dropping onto the floor. Immediately the creature began snapping at him. Peter jerked his head away, exposing his taut neck to the woman, whose long, sharp teeth glistened in the lamplight before embedding themselves in his neck. Half a scream escaped his lips before it was replaced by a gurgling sound and the sound of meat being torn from bone.