It Was a Dark Night

It was a dark night. The moon shone red, like stale blood. The trees also shone red in the moonlight, like bloody claws reaching for a pulsating heart, yet finding none. The wind rustled through the branches, making it seem as if blood was shaken off of the limbs and splattered across the landscape. The ground sloped away as if it were looking for an innocent victim to snatch from life's tenuous grip. At the bottom of the hill, a river snaked away into the darkness, like an artery leading away from a beating heart. It pulsated in a strong, steady beat, carrying its burden of blood-red water to far-away places.

A man came along, carrying a shovel with him and a cloth-wrapped bundle over one shoulder. He was a pioneer. He had come to this land to tame it, and now he had come to this lonely hill to bury the evidence of his crime. No one was around to see his guilt - or so he thought. Little did he know what was about to happen.

He stopped at the base of the hill and, dropping the bundle to the ground with a thud, struck the shovel into the fresh, virgin earth. A moan surrounded him - a moan of pain. The man looked up in complete surprise. Seeing nothing, and hearing nothing else after a few moments, he shrugged his shoulders, and went back to work.

Schluck! went the shovel again. The earth shuddered, making the wrapped bundle beside him tremble violently. Was that blood blossoming against the broadcloth, or just the moonlight? Again the shovel dug into the earth.

And then the trees started to move.

About 20 miles away, in the small town of Shimmee, a little old woman heard a faint human scream.