The Hellhounds of Waymansville

Commentary: Originally I had the wife standing in the middle of the living room crying while only the husband went out to look for the daughter. Then it occurred to me, “What mother would stand there and do nothing while their child was missing and in danger?” Having discovered my error I changed her character to one that did wake the husband up upon discovering that their child was missing but in the next scene had a gun and was ready to kill anything that threatened the safety of her family.
The cages were destroyed. Blood and mangled rabbit parts were lying everywhere. With a gloved hand I started picking up the pieces of the murdered rabbits and placed them into a box.
“What kind of animal does this?” I muttered to myself.
I grabbed a shovel from the corner of the barn and made my way to the backyard. I started digging. I noticed my neighbor Bill walking towards me once I got the hole about halfway dug.
“Hey, Mark! Are you digging your way to China?” Bill asked.
“No Bill, not quite China. It just needs to be deep enough to bury this box of rabbits.”
“If I was one of the rabbits, I don’t think I would like that very much.”
“If you were one of the rabbits, you would be dead. Thus, necessitating the need to be placed in a box and buried. “
“So, the hellhounds of Waymansville got you huh?”
I stopped digging and furrowed my brow, “The hellhounds of Waymansville?”
“It’s said that when the winter starts to turn to spring that the hellhounds come to collect sacrifices from the townsfolk.”
“Bill, what kind of poppycock is that?”
“I’m just telling you what I heard. You either have to put some animals out or smear some lamb’s blood above your doors and windows. It doesn’t have to make sense, but I make sure I have lamb’s blood handy every year.”
“Who needs lamb’s blood when I have a .45 caliber?”
“Mark, don’t you think the notorious dog killer in the neighborhood has already tried that? They call them hellhounds for a reason. They come from Hell itself and bullets don’t affect them.”
“Whatever you say Bill, I just know that I never want to have to listen to my daughter get that hysterical again. No twelve-year old should have to find her pet rabbits massacred like that, and on her birthday of all days. Hellhound or not, they are not going to hurt my family again.”
“Just be careful Mark, I better be getting back. Mary’s making dinner and if there is one thing I fear worse than hellhounds it’s a tongue lashing from my wife!”
Bill walked away and left me to bury the rabbits. We had a ceremony and Amy placed some roses over the grave. I sat down on the couch afterwards and started watching some TV. I must have fallen asleep because I was woken up by a frantic wife shaking me.
“Mark! Amy’s gone, she isn’t in her room!”
“Mallory calm down, she can’t have gotten far.”
I got up and ran to her bedroom. She had made her bed look like she was sleeping in it by using the old pillow trick. I ran to my bedroom and to my bedside table. The drawer was open and my revolver was gone. Amy must have decided she was going to get revenge. I heard a loud howling outside. I ran to the door and slipped my boots on as quickly as I could. Mallory was standing in the middle of the room holding the family shotgun. With two strides we were to the door and both ran outside to search for our daughter. Grimmjow our cat bolted out behind us. It was foggy out, foggier than it had ever been. Grimmjow ran into the fog and disappeared. The silence was also disconcerting. Three loud gunshots broke the silence.
“Amy!” My wife and I yelled and bolted toward the shots.
A moment passed. Another moment passed. Seconds became hours.
“Daddy!” Amy’s voice cried out.
Amy was standing in the middle of the neighbor’s field holding my revolver in her hands. I walked up and grabbed the gun from her hands. She was crying and shaking uncontrollably.
“Daddy, look.” She pointed toward what she was shooting at.
In the field just a few yards from us stood two black dogs about three foot tall with three heads each and glowing red eyes. Mallory glanced over and took aim with the shotgun and fired a few rounds at them. Unharmed by the bullets the hellhounds were growling and gnashing their teeth. Grimmjow was standing before them just staring at them. White energy started to swirl around Grimmjow and he started to take steps toward the hellhounds. Mallory lowered the gun. With each step Grimmjow grew bigger and the hellhounds took a step backwards. When Grimmjow became the size of a panther he leapt at one of the hellhounds and grabbed it by one of its throats. The other hound attacked but it was too slow. Grimmjow clawed at it and tore its abdomen open. Blood poured out. The hellhounds ran whimpering with their tails between their legs. They had more than met their match. Grimmjow stood proudly and then made his way back to us becoming smaller and smaller with each step until he was back to the normal sized Russian blue cat we all loved. He nuzzled up to my leg. I put the revolver in my pocket and bent down to pet him.
“That’s a good kitty; you’re getting fresh salmon for dinner tomorrow!”
“Daddy, Grimmjow is the best kitty ever!”
Grimmjow purred and jumped into Amy’s arms. We made our way back to the house and the hellhounds never stepped another paw into our town again.


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