Posted by Scott Wilson

By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 165

Fortunately, I was sleeping fitfully when the tinkling of glass breaking and the growl of the dog awakened me fully. I rolled over to the far side of the bed, slipped the night table door open and took out my already loaded pistol. I cocked it, slipped off the safety, and when they came through the door, I was ready for them.

After two weeks of putting up with these little bastards, they were not going to get away with it again. I saw the shadows moving under my door, aimed the pistol a foot above ground level, and fired four rounds.

A heavy thud told me that I hit home this time. I kicked the door open and fired another three rounds before I turned the light on. It was not a surprise when the convulsing Persian cat on the floor stared up at me with its milky white, pupil-less eyes. Its fur was matted, splotchy and stank of death.

Bloody zombie cats.

This entry was posted on Friday, February 27, 2009 at 12:07 AM . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .


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