Midnight Snack
Allan washed the blood from his hands and looked at the clock; midnight, time to meet Fred. Fred always worried if Allan was late; he took his traditions seriously. Allan locked the butcher shop door behind him and hurried across the moon-washed street to Berrington’s House of Wings. He pushed on the door, but it was locked. Fred always had the door open for him; it was their time for wings, beer, and poker. Allan rapped on the door and waited. The night was cold, and Allan shifted from foot to foot, hands pushed deep in his pockets, trying to stay warm. He rapped again and, after another long wait, was about to turn around and get back to work. The door blind shifted, and he saw a pair of eyes peering out at him. “C’mon Fred, it’s cold out here.” The door opened and Allan stomped his nearly numb feet into the restaurant. “Get busy tonight, Fred? You don’t usually forget…” He stopped when he saw the look on Fred’s face. “What’s up, Fred? You look like you seen a ghost.” “They found another one last night,” Fred whispered. “I’m scared.”