The man turned into a small street, leaving the bright lights of the main road behind him. The sound of cars slowly disappeared and soon the only sounds were the rythmic tapping of his shoes on the pavement and the calm droning of crickets. He continued down the street to where his house was. The crickets continued their repetetive melody. As he walked, it grew darker. The man looked up.
"The street lights are out," he remarked to himself.
He continued down the street, his steps in syncronisation with the crickets' chirping. The moonlight was just enough for him to see where he was going. As he walked the ground was becoming wet. It had not been raining that day.
"Mrs. Carter must've been watering her garden again," he thought.
He could see the end of the street now. The crickets continued their song. A ball of some sort lay in the middle of the sidewalk. The man kicked it, sending it rolling into his yard. The pavement was wet with a sticky substance.
"What is this?" He wanted to see what it was, but the moonlight was inadequate.
He had now reached his house, a two floor building painted white. He stepped up onto the porch and turned on the light. The front door was smeared with a dark red.
The man stepped back and turned around. The sidewalk was covered with red patches. His heart was beating faster faster, his breathing uneven. A rustling came from behind a tree. The crickets stopped their song. The man turned to the direction of the sound. His feet turned to lead weights. His heartbeat was so loud that you could clearly hear each individual thump.
"Help me..." he uttered softly, although he knew no-one would come...
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