It is late and dark and rainy. Honestly, I don't want to go out on a night like this. But Stanley looks at me with his huge, pleading brown eyes and makes these whimpering noises in his throat that I hate so much. So I get up from the couch, put on my boots and take the leash. We don't need it, really, but you don't want to be caught without when the police guys are out. I don't think we'll see them tonight - with this weather they prefer staying inside with their coffee and cookies, daring to believe that the bad guys will do the same.
It is early November, and everywhere Halloween decoration is still out. You know, I have heard all the stories on how it was an old tradition and the dead family members would come home and all. Bullshit. It's just another excuse to get money from people who are so bored with their lives they need "official" reasons to celebrate.
My coat is thin, and within a few moments I can feel the cold rain seeping through the dark cloth. Damn. Next weekend I will go and buy a sensible winter coat. Shoulder pulled up almost to the ears, I hurry along the sidewalk. Stanley is somewhere a few paces in front of me.
With his white fur, he is the perfect dog for night walks. To be honest, I never wanted a dog. My ex fiancé got Stanly from the animal shelter on a whim. It was on another whim that he slept with his best friend's sister. Bastard. Well, here we are now, both better off without that lame excuse for a guy. Kicked him out so fast he didn't even get to pack all his clothes.
I burned the rest.
Finally we reach the park where Stanley usually goes about his business. Hurry, I beg silently, just once hurry and don't go about sniffing everything like Sherlock Holmes. But of course he is a dog and does exactly what dogs do outside. The light from the street lamps is faint, but I can still see my 80-pound-puppy bustling through the wet bushes. Great, now I can dry both of us when we come home. Let's hope he doesn't collect all the vermin. Stupid dog.
It is very quiet around here. There are mainly old people in my quarter, and the people who want to avoid the city altogether use the roads on the other side. I see a bike passing by not too close. No lights of course. Who needs lights? That douchebag knows where he is going.
I wouldn't admit it out loud, but nights like these creep me out. Some people put lanterns in their front yards, and to me they look like grave lamps. I shrink in upon myself even further and try to get as much warmth from myself as possible. This is the perfect weather for telling ghost stories. Sitting in front of a fire, of course, not standing out in the rain, all alone... no one would know if I was assassinated out here. Until I would be late for my job because I would be dead by the time. Nasty thoughts. I resist the urge to look around. If there is an axe murderer on the loose, I surely won't see him until it's way too late.
The wind drowns out all other sounds except for the rain hitting the already-wet leaves. As if a bored child would shake pebbles in a plastic bag. But there, faintly, is a soft howling.
I look around. No white spot roaming the dark park. "Stanley? Stanley!" That stupid dog. "Stanly, goddammit, come here!" He probably got beat up by the neighbors' cat once again. That's a nasty furry bitch, I can tell you.
Ah, there he is. Coming straight at me. He is moving funny. I hope it was nothing worse than the cat. I guess he will be limping for the next few days.
The speed with which he is coming in this direction surprises me. Usually, Stanley is rather lazy and slow. Especially when it comes to obeying orders. His eyes are gleaming in the faint light.
Wait, that is not exactly my dog...