Terror In The Night

• Meaghan Daley, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2010

The mouse ran to and fro, searching. The cracked cobbles in the market square were freezing on the mouse’s paws, but the never ending quest for food pushed it on.
The marketplace was dead quiet in the night, the tiny clatter of a falling autumn leaf echoed deafeningly.
It was a big difference from when it was daylight, when men argued over prices and children ran about, squealing as they stole cookies from the stands.
A crust of bread entered the mouse’s vision finally. Sighing in relief it hurried over to the crumb.
A low, barely audible growl suddenly disturbed the peace from somewhere nearby.
The little mouse looked up sharply, eyes searching, nose twitching. The mouse had strayed to the edge of the square, away from its intended search spot. It was safer in the middle. One could see all around there. The bushes to the right of the mouse rustled gently, only a little, but enough to give the game away. The mouse glanced at the moon high above it. It was full, and the tiny mammal shivered once, before turning and fleeing, away from its quarry of bread, away from its hunter.
The creature in the bushes smiled; did this rodent really expect to get away from the likes of her? The infamous Blacksalt? The terror amongst the villains, feared by even the immortals, and yet this little mouse ran. Run little rodent. Run. Run as if your life depended on it. It won’t be long before you don’t have legs to run, she thought and her moon kissed white face twisting itself into a devilish smile.
Blacksalt leapt out of the bushes with a howl, and loped lazily after the mouse. The mouse had made it all the way to the centre of the square and was running blindly. Its simple mind wasn’t working any longer; all the creature could do was run.
Blacksalt’s claws clicked on the cobbles as she ran, making a rhythmic drumming. She leapt over the mouse and stopped it in its tracks.
‘Quit running, fool,’ she whispered, light green eyes piercing the night like a needle.
Blacksalt picked up the mouse by the tail, her fangs cutting into the soft flesh. The mouse made a strangled noise but Blacksalt took no notice. She flung the mouse away from her. There was a moment of silence before sickening crack echoed about when the mouse hit the stone wall at the edge of the square.
Blacksalt frowned, that sounded like a backbone. No fun.
However when she strode up to the mouse it was still alive, in contrary to Blacksalt’s initial assumption. It squeaked once and whimpered. The rodent’s broken backbone was all too apparent in its twisted position, sticking out awfully.
“My dear werewolf sister. Blacksalt, the terror in the night, did our mother neglect to teach you not to play with your food?” A voice called from behind the white wolf.
Blacksalt growled and gulped down the still live mouse. “Are we ready, Sycha?” she asked, annoyed.
The other werewolf, her sister, nodded.
Blacksalt glanced at the moon. In all its fullness it cast a brilliant eerie light over the town. She lifted her muzzle and howled, loudly and for a long time. It was a terrible sound to witness, however it was frighteningly beautiful. That done, she turned and loped out of the town, her companion shadowing her, in search of larger, more tasty prey.
Blacksalt followed one scent in particular, one human... You.