Night’s Sharp Teeth

While his wife was bathing the kids and getting them to bed, Elk stepped out on the back porch. “I’ll call the dog in,” he’d said, after scraping the plates into its bowl and stacking them next to the sink.

Outside, the sun set behind him, the porch already dark. He gave a loud whistle, and lit a cigarette. The shadow of the house marched out across the field, looking something like a sharpened blade. Sudden movement to the right of the tip, moving fast and low. That damn dog, trying to outrun the darkness.

“Aren’t we all,” he thought.


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