The dark midnight sky cast a shade of gray over the moon deflecting the moonlight reaching out to the porch. The wind gently blistered the fathers cheek with the cold winter air as he pulled another cancer stick out of the pack. He light it and pulled the black smog into his lungs. Everything was quite. About ten minutes into his smoking break his wife pulled into the driveway with her old beat up Chrysler. It was getting late. The wife walked up to the porch and took her husbands cigarette out of his mouth. She looked for a minute then quickly cast her arm back and threw the cigarette onto the sidewalk. The couple remained silent as they walked inside there home.
When they entered their home Pete was waiting to greet them. He was a charming gray dog, the best friend a man could ask for. The husband sat in his small study in the basement sipping on his gin and tonic as Pete sat next to the chair. The study was about the size of the babies room, which still had to be painted. The wife went to the bedroom several doors down from the babies room. She had a long day at work and had no intention to wait for her husband to go to bed. The husband sat in the study for about an hour. He went through three glasses of gin and tonic, occasionally lighting cancer sticks in between. Laying next to his chair Pete was dosing off. He was always a calm dog, the only time he got restless was when he wanted to play, which was not that often. The father got up and walked upstairs to the bedroom with Pete. Usually Pete sleeps in the bedroom with the couple, but tonight the father was too tired and needed his sleep for an early shift tomorrow. He closed the creaking bedroom door on Pete and changed into his bed ware. The father then rested next to his fast asleep wife and closed his eyes.
Pete could be hear scratching on the door whining for the next fifteen minutes before he finally gave up and left. About two hours later the couple were awoken by a loud bang that would of shook the house if the sound projected got any louder. The couple got up and rushed to the babies bedroom where the sound came from. The room was dark, white pieces of wood were scattered all over the hardwood floor. Pete stood about three feet away from the baby still as could be, with an apologetic look on his face. The baby was in the dead center of the room screaming at the top of its lungs on the cold hardwood floor. The floor around the baby shined in the moonlight marking the position the mother would kneel down to comfort her screaming child. A cold shiver ran down the fathers spine as he watched the mother pick up the baby. Pete left the room curiously sniffing the floor looking for something else that caught his interest. “My poor baby!” the mother said as she rocked the baby slowly in her hands attempting to calm it down. The father stood silent on the dark side of the room where the moonlight did not dare to go. The room darkened.
“Look what your dog has done to my baby!” the mother cried out. “Pete's my best friend” the father replied in a low voice. “Your 'best friend' attacked my baby!” the mother shouted out of frustration. “Pete never meant no harm, hes a good boy” the father muttered as he looked down at the dark floor beneath him. “My poor baby” the mother continued to weep. Suddenly the father was struck by anger “Our baby” he answered in a strict-toned voice. The mother turned around in awe and replied “What?”. The father looked directly into her eyes with a face straighter than a poker players and said “Our baby” then he tightened his fist. “Whatever, I'm calling the police!” the mother shouted. The baby screams went quite as it returned to its sleep in the mothers warm arms. The room grew colder as the night pushed on. On nights like these sometimes its better to forgive and forget, but that was no longer an option tonight. “Thats not necessary dear” the father calmly replied as his voice returned to normal. “Your dog hurt my baby either he goes or you go” the women replied with an angry tone. At this point the father stayed quite from the shock of what has become of his family.
After thirty minutes of pure silence in the babies room the police enter the house and took Pete away from his home. It would be the last time the father would ever see his best friend. The next few weeks were rough. The father would go through a pack of cancer sticks a day a day accompanied by two bottles of gin and tonic to drown out the mans sorrow. The woman he was with continued on with her normal life as if nothing had happened. Things were not the same. The cold darkness lingered in the house ever since that night. It was not until Sunday morning, around two A.M., that the skeletons in the closet would reveal themselves. This was started with another loud bang. The women woke up in her bedroom alone. This time the bang was not smashing wood, it was a gunshot from the basement. The women rushed into the basement, her heart was racing. In the basement study she would find her dear husband covered in red velvet regret, ever so stiff. The police would once again return pull out another lost soul from a house that was no longer a home. The police showed the widow a note left behind by her dear husband. It read “I fucking hate you bitch!” between the dried blood stains. The widows heart would remain forever broken from this point on.
The darkness in the house was growing stronger. If there was any chance for the women to escape it was now. The widow was too tired and weakened by her broken heart and decided it was best to return to her bed, where she would stay for two days and nights. In her depression the widow had forgotten about her own baby she loved so much and the window she had left open this entire time. The consequences would be severe. Around one A.M. On Wednesday morning the widow arose from her resting place and walked out into the hall. The hard wood floor had never been so cold not even on that fateful night her baby was left screaming on it. She walked into the babies room. The baby was in its crib so quite and peaceful. The mother fixed the crib while the father drowned in sorrow. It was then that she realized that the window was wide open. This realization gave the widow an adrenaline rush which allowed her to quickly flick on the light and run up to her babies crib. There the baby was resting so peaceful in its pool of red velvet regret, waiting for the police to come take it away from this house.
Next to the baby a raccoon stared at the mother before it quickly leaped out of the crib and back through the window from which it came. The widow would not leave her baby, not yet. She ran down to the kitchen filled with the darkness that she never noticed until now. The widow pulled out her favorite knife, the same one she would use to chop the steaks on “fancy dinner night”. With the rest of her strength the women placed the knife deep into her chest then she fell to the ground. She was curled up looking at the wooden cabinet under the sink, dying. There she would lay for several days in her own red velvet regret, the one thing the family shared. “Pete was a good dog” were the final words out she would spit out of her mouth. The window was open that night. The darkness has won once again.
