Fall morn sour, wet. Black shape skither down Oak Street. Mangle cans. Bite garage. What that? Don’t know. Bad time to go out. Lock up kids.Stay in.
Toss it a cat. Maybe that make it happy.
Call Boff Maggen next door. Boff big. Boff cruel. Boff eat bowl of truck parts for breakfast. He take care of it. Boff go down with gun.
Now we got trouble. Dark falls. Wind pick up. Black all over. Tree go down. Car leave garage, but no one drive it.
All nite, scrape and bang at windows. Lucky I made em darkproof. Hold kids close. It’s cold.
Morning come. Sun up. Bodies line street. PTA mom. Principal. Trash man. Mayor. Poor Mayor. Head here. Guts there. Feet nowhere.
Found Boff. Up a tree. No head.
Will it come back, Pa?
No, child. Not for many years.
Not till your Pa sprinkle salt in chalk star, and speak the name of darkness into the wind.