Tommy

Dexter sprinted through the house on all fours. Bleeding and exhausted, he panted desperately for air. Each breath opened his wounds and blood splattered onto the floor. The figure closed in, knife in hand. Dexter barked frantically one last time...then silence consumed the house.

"Tommy!" yelled his mother, walking through the front door, "I'm home." She could hear Tommy doing something upstairs and wasn't sure he'd heard her. "Did you feed Dexter?" she called again.

Tommy walked downstairs nonchalantly, drying his hands on his shirt. "He ran away."

"What?" she gasped, "Which way'd he go?" Tommy pretended not to hear her; instead, he grabbed a black hoodie and put something in the front pocket; she assumed a flashlight. "Check the cul-de-sac, I'll check the woods," she said anxiously.

"Be careful," Tommy replied, grinning.

"Dexter!" she cried, stumbling into the woods. It was nearing sunset. The woods were dark and empty. "Dexter!" she was frightened and the feeling of being watched consumed her. She remembered the unsolved murders that had taken place in these woods at least as long as they'd lived there.

A tree branch snapped. She jumped; then turned...nothing.

"Stop!" yelled a voice in the distance. She gasped and turned. A man was running towards her with something in his right hand; it looked like a knife. Her legs collapsed and she fainted. When she awoke, the man was lying on the ground next to her...dead. In his right hand was a cell phone. Tommy hovered above him, slowly running the barrel of his father's gun through the blood-stained mud. He was smiling.

When Tommy saw that his mother had wakened, he walked slowly to her side and sat down.

"Why did you shoot him?" she cried.

"I thought he had a knife."

She paused, "Then how'd you know to bring the gun?"