Time passed, and it became dusk. As the shadows lengthened, the streetlights flickered to life on the silent, winding road that was Brook Lane. An occasional car passed by, its headlights piercing through the oppressing mist which had gathered. The engine of a locomotive sounded in the distance.
The dark night sky was overcast, and no light from the moon gleamed through the clouds. The lighted windows of the new, white houses which lined the street turned off, one by one. The trees which were scattered along the sidewalk cast shadows across the brilliantly lit road. And finally, the residents of the last house, which was located near the end of Brook lane, turned off their lights.
For a while, nothing moved, save the occasional stray dog or cat passing beneath the streetlights, or the owl which swept above the street, its sharp gaze fixed upon a rabbit which turned and scurried away. A small cricket hopped across the road, pausing to chirp and then carrying onward upon its journey.
Suddenly, the cricket stopped, its attention caught by a strange commotion it had heard – or, more likely, sensed. A shadowy figure darted, its movements fluid, its shape hunched, large and inhuman, passing between the shadows cast by the trees.
The cricket watched with interest. The figure appeared to have vanished – but no, here it was again, seemingly materializing out of the shadowy ground where the streetlights failed to reach. The creature darted toward the house near the end of Brook Lane, the house which had nigh ten minutes ago shut off its lights. As the shadowy figure was enveloped by the fog, the cricket lost interest and turned away.
But the figure still ran. With surprising speed it closed in upon the house. It could smell the fear that emanated from within, and it was hungry. The creature paused, sniffing. Something…smelled…different. Mixed in with the fear, it smelled…triumph? The bones in its body popped and cracked as it turned sharply to look upward at the rooftop of the house.
Suddenly, multiple green-tinted flood lights which were spread along the rooftops of the houses snapped on, aimed toward the creature. It cried in pain as the lights blinded it. Its grotesque features were illuminated. Bulging, black eyes, a purple substance dripping from around them. The creature’s pale, whitish-pink skin would have looked almost soft, but appeared to be shining because of the liquid that covered it. Several growths, which looked akin to transparent fins, sprouted from its head. Long tendrils sprouted from its back. It had four fingers on each gigantic, grotesque hand, but no fingernails were visible, and slime dripped off of each hand as the creature threw its hands over its face to protect its eyes.
Suddenly, several bullets ripped through the creature’s flesh, and it cried in pain. As more bullets tore through the creature, it squirmed on the ground, a sticky purple substance oozing out of it. Several figures appeared from behind the surrounding buildings.
One of them raised a hand and pressed a button near his ear. “Project Heinlight has been terminated.”
An owl hooted, and all was peaceful again. The cricket, who had paused again after hearing the gunshots, resumed upon its journey.
And the purple blood slowly dripped into the storm drain.