Page 1 of Deadly Night
One
Four years ago
Mistletoe Pines Gazette
Local man found slain. Investigators are calling the death of seventeen-year-old Scotty Mann murder. The victim was discovered early on Christmas morning by a neighbor walking their dog when it found one of his chopped-off hands in the snow and tried to eat it.
This is a localized incident, and no one should be afraid.
Two
Two years ago
Mistletoe Pines Gazette
Gruesome murder rocks small town. It was two years ago today that Scotty Mann was found brutally murdered. Family members will hold a candlelight vigil at the Mistletoe Pines Community Center on Thursday evening around seven pm.
Though no one was charged with the crime, investigators say there is no threat to the public.
Damon
Keeping my distance, my boots crunch in the salt-rimmed snow. Hadley doesn’t hear me as she speedwalks ahead of me, but then after about a dozen or so hurried steps, she glances back over her shoulder. Her gaze is sharp and nervous.
My stomach lurches, and my nerves spring to life. The desire to run after her and catch her like a thief in the night stealing the rarest of treasures. A primal instinct to hunt her takes over me. I can’t rush this, though. When I do fuck Hadley, the timing has to be perfect.
We both love the thrill of the rush of this little game we play.
We get off on it.
I match her calculated steps, keeping her uneasy pace.
She dips into the alley behind the dollar store. A shortcut to her street, but a dangerous one at that. I could easily overpower her. Shove her down right here behind the dumpster that smells like last year’s garbage has been rotting in it all year.
Hadley doesn’t even react to the putrid scent. She keeps walking and glancing back every so often as though she wants to know I’m still here. She’d rather die than admit it, but she loves this.
The thrill of being watched. And fuck if I don’t love to watch. Her that is.
I do it often.
Sometimes I think she knows when I’m there and taunts me on purpose. Gives me little peeks of her bare skin when she’s changing in her room in front of the second-story window that faces the backyard. That faces the woods where I sometimes sleep if only to be near her.
Sometimes I slip into her room just to watch her sleep in those little booty-hugging shorts that fit her like a second skin.
Yeah, she wears those for me.
Sometimes I lie down next to her and trace my fingers up and down her arms. Pet her hair. Kiss her fingertips. She never awakens, or if she does, she pretends not to.
She glances back again, wearing a curious grin.
My girl likes it when I watch her.
I wait until she’s halfway past the dumpster before I begin my pursuit again.
She rushes onto Mistletoe Lane, nearly eating the pavement. I want to go after her, but I’m not ready for her to see me, and she recovers easily enough.
The pines lining the low-lit street are shadowy silhouettes of branches laced with ice, and the wind rattles them like bones in a tin can.
I stay back, keeping some distance between us, but the wind shifts and the sweet scent of her vanilla and cinnamon perfume hits me square in the face. She’s like a freshly baked cookie. Warm. Soft. Sweet. The only thing I want to eat. What would she do if I just took what I wanted? If I jumped out in front of her and prevented her from running.
