He watches patiently, staying low and out of sight. In the darkness, he creeps forward silently, staying in the shadows, avoiding the pools of light from the street lamps. He has sighted his prey.

It’s a chilly and moonless night, with little sound but the slight rustling of trees and bushes. Somewhere very far-off, a car alarm starts up. He pauses, then proceeds silently, stealthy as any Ninja-assassin.

His modus operandi is always the same – strike fast, under cover of darkness, leaving his victims no time to react. His weapons are razor sharp. His cold terrifying gaze strikes fear into their pounding hearts. And there have been so many victims.

A steady thump of deep bass grows louder. He crouches very low, frozen in place as a late-night taxi stops to disgorge it’s drunken occupants. They pass by, oblivious, the laughter, shrill voices and clattering high-heels slowly fading. Silence returns to the neat tree-lined suburban street.

For now, on this dark night, his prey remains just out of reach. He can still see her though: moving erratically, weaving and passing in and out of the light and shadows, completely unaware she is being stalked.

His continues the hunt, senses tingling, a delicious electricity coursing through every muscle fibre. His pulse quickens as he slowly closes the distance on her. She is clearly visible now: small, vulnerable, alone. She cannot possibly imagine the ghastly evisceration he has in store for her, the unspeakable violence that he will unleash.

Barely a metre separates them. She still seems unaware of the monster lurking so close. He is near enough to smell her rich scent. He can almost hear her rapid breathing. He sees the soft glow of the street-lamp reflected on her fine fur coat. The delicious scent..

Closer… just a little closer. Staying low, he edges forward slowly, silently, till almost within striking range. After all the anticipation, the pure primal thrill of the hunt is almost at it’s its climax.

Just a little closer..

‘Tiddles!’

‘Mr Tiddles! Come on rascal! Come and have your yum yums!’

His ears catch the familiar sounds, freezing him at the very moment of his triumphant attack. In the distraction, his prey is gone, off into the night, her high-pitched squeaks fading. He sprints out from the cover of the shadows, racing across the empty street. He bounds through the garden, up the steps and through the open door. Inside it is warm and cosy as the big monkey fills a bowl full of his favourite tuna-flavoured nibbles. He rubs against her, purring as she sets the bowl down.

‘What have you been up to you rascal?’ she says. ‘Have you been a good boy?’

He doesn’t understand the sounds the monkey makes, but she provides protection and shelter and tasty food. She strokes his back and face and sometimes brings him strange already-dead prey that don’t smell right. But they will have to do, for practice.

On this night the neighbourhood is safe from a dangerous killer. Or at least from the killer known as Mr Tiddles.

 
Copyright J.Lennick 2016. All rights reserved.