Twilight. The sounds of the city were hushed this far out in the suburbs. Moth wrinkled his nose at the ambiance of prosperity that bleached the rot of disgust coursing through the blotted pastels of the neighborhood still shrouded in the muted darkness. He stood by the tree in front of a house off Third Avenue. He held a card in his hand as he watched the darkened windows. The card was a red and green split background with a seated greyhound facing right. The Ace of Hounds, he thought. He stared at it a moment as he saw the image shift, the jaws open slightly, teeth barred. He heard a soft growl.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “She’ll love you all the same.”
Moth saw movement in a window. Then he heard it. It was the screaming. It was the unearthly terror that filled the air from inside the house. It was the sounds of flesh ripping, testicles torn from the body. More screaming. Moth could see it playing out in his mind. The man had reached for the door. He never made it. He was in the hall. Bleeding. Screaming. Begging. Struggling. Blood sprayed over the walls. His face was twisted with pain and horror. He whipped his arms and hands trying to grab at his disconnected parts on the floor, reached for the flesh still in the jaws of the monstrous canine as it snarled and snapped between his legs. He was already dead and didn’t know how to come back from it.
Moth could hear the hellhound was already finished with him as he watched the window open at the front of the house. A little girl slid out into the front yard, tears streamed down her face, but silence was all her mind could accept from the violence she left behind. She saw the shadow of Moth up against the tree. She stared for a moment and then ran to him, hugged him, sobbed into his coat.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe now.” She said nothing. She just cried.
The hellhound appeared at his side. The child lifted her head and stared at it. Then she put her hand out toward its bloody muzzle. It dipped its head toward her and she pet it softly as it whimpered at her touch.
Moth knelt down, looked at her face, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Run to the neighbor, child. Run tell them your poppa is dead, that he can’t hurt you anymore.”
She nodded and ran.
He watched her go, then lifted the card and waved it at the hound. It vanished in a swirl of dust and spark. One down.
Moth walked back down the street as the sun lifted above the horizon and illuminated the sins of a father.