Relapse to Instinct

"How much is that doggy in the window?"
A deep, guttural growl emanated and echoedaround the cold street from the black pit of shrubbery.
"The one with the waggely tail?"
The doll squeaked in protest to manipulationat the exact moment as a wayward twig snapped under a similar pressure.
"How much is that doggy in the window?"
All noise froze in the chill air, suffocating and choking as though caught in the darkness. All noise, that is, except for the quaint singing emitting from the young girl perched on a hard wooden bench; her blonde hair bathed orange in the sickly glow of a faltering streetlight.
"Oh please say that doggy's for sale!"
CRACK.
GROWL.
Dark.
Silence.
Blonde hairs flitted down under the glow – the doll landing with a resounding thunk .
The street once again returned to quiet, the previous rush of noise disappearing. No bushes rattling. No trees creaking in the wind. No singing.
A great, silvery white point glistened under the pale harshness of the moonlight. It was all over. That was it – no more. Nothing hidden, nothing left.
Padded footsteps faded away into the shrubbery once again, bleeding into it slowlyand silently. The air released its chokehold and the street was graced with the casual night-time ambience of the outer town, wooded area.
As though nothing happened.
The full, circular moon above was covered by a drifting cloud, destroying the only witness to the horror. A small speck of ruby red glittered on the dolls face, dripping away into the concrete as the lamp gave way; flickered, and died.
As though nothing ever happened.