Twelve midnight, the time of the night when the darkest and scariest of beings roam.
The Witching hour where old ladies with sickly green skin and carrot-sized noses in grimy black garments, a stiff, pointy hat balancing atop their heads, whizzed around on sticks in the eerily pale moonlight.
The Witching hour where clouds of bats chattered noisily, scattering across the night sky in colonies as the spooky faintly outlined ghosts roamed the streets.
The Witching hour, when wizards chanted spells and banshees screamed for their lost loves.
What a lie, thought Jeno, as he turned over to his left side on his bed so that he was facing the window. At most, the scariest thing one would encounter on the street at this time was an intoxicated man, heading back from an office party whilst screeching slurred lyrics of a new hit song and cradling the life-sized cutout of Lee SooMan's newest advertisement (for that anti-balding cream?) under his left arm. Either that or some shady mafia gang exchanging drugs in the dead of the night.
For an unknown reason, Jeno positive that they were not as scary as Old Ladies on Broomsticks.
This night, however, was peaceful and still.
The only detectable sound was the soft snores of his dog, who was resting near the front door. The sound itself was more comforting than frightening, Jeno concluded, as he buries his face in his pillow in an attempt to sneak some sleepiness into his alert mind.
Unfortunately for him, the night has other plans.
Jeno straightens up, glaring at the half covered window with wide eyes, scrambling as far as he could from it whilst staying within the comfort of his blankets.
He had heard the strains of a scream (or screams) from his open window.
YOU ARE READING
For the love of a Dog
Short StoryStarring our dear NCT Dream as strange blokes in a random stranger's garden. Planning to... kill his dog?
