They are the danger of darkness to fear.  Those lurking Shadows who use the night as a cloak to disguise their presence as they go about their darkened search for prey.  Shadows know not of night sounds, for whenever they are present, only silence exists.  Little ones safe in their prisons are warned of Shadows and mistake the comforting sounds of the night to be those of Shadows.  Soon though, they too will learn ot take ease with the sounds and fear most the silence.

 

There is another who moves through the night.  He is the Hunter.  The one who disturbs not the sounds of the night and has no fear for the presence of Shadows.  He sits now crosslegged at the darkened upstairs window of a deserted prison, his conscious identifying and discounting each of the sounds that reach his ears in the hot stillness of the late summer moonless night.  The echo like dripping of an old pipe in the cell above as each rust red drop of liquid tirelessly forms, weighs heavy, and with a sense of finality lets go the pipe and dies amid the cracked tiles below.  The crinkled clatter of various wastes of gatherings in the alley below as they are occasionaly disturbed by some passing presence and there is the rythmic patter of the rats as they race around on their nightly errands amidst the long since discarded possessions of former tenants.

 

There is the occasional sound of a motor car passing on the nearby streets.  rarely ever do the motor cars venture into the darkened ruins of the prisons, for they are the pride of the living.  The ones who live with the birds far out from the cluster of prison ruins.  They have not been suffered the disease and stay well away from those that have.  Even the old ones know little of them and speak even less of their existence other than to claim that the Hunter who fears not the Shadows is of them.  As the sound of the motor car fades, the Hunter's attention, alerted by the sudden silence below, is drawn to the doorway of an abandoned prison one door up and across the street from his vantage point.  Just earlier, two Shadows had merged into the heavier darkness of the doorway and their waiting presence is now the source of the Hunter's vigilance.  As is the way of things, the reason for their presence in the doorway becomes known to all of the night.  An old one, crippled with the disease and heavy laden with her bag of gatherings has been caught late in the night away from the haven of her prison.  Her already awkward step is made almost comical by the added burden of the gatherings.  Her jerk-skip-a-jerk gait is too slow and far too tempting a treat for the Shadows to ignore,  They wait with wetted lips for her to grow just nearer their reach.  The Hunter for but a moment reflects the sadness of the old one in his eyes.  His thoughts are of the so many old ones and little ones of the prisons who were naught but helpless prey for the roving bands of Shadows.  Yet, "As is the way of things" his Teacher had said, "it was to be and he could only do what he could, for things had been and, with his passing, things would be."

 

Returning his attention to the doorway where the Shadows lurked, the Hunter resigns himself to the nights task.  There was movement there and the old one draws nearer.  The cold dark tube cupped gently in the Hunter's hand slides quietly across the glassless sill of the prison window.  It's wooden stock rests firm aginst his shoulder, his breath slow and deep, he awaits the movement of the Shadows.  There, first one, then the other, they depart from the darkened doorway!  Their slinking movements as yet are unknown to the old one.  unaware of the peril, she thinks only of reaching the haven of her prison.

 

"So needless", the Hunter mumbles, "So bloody needless", and his finger draws tight.

 

A fiery finger of flame leaps towards the nearest Shadow, then, as qick as a heart beat, three more fingers of flame belnding one with the other point their fiery finality towards the second shadow.  The shocking echo of the CRACK, CRA-CRA-CRACK of the tube aginst the prison walls is almost deafening and is certainly enough of a hinderence to send even the boldest of the rats scurrying to a safe have from which to contemplate further activity this night.

 

The old one shrieks at the echoing blasts and with but a frugal glance towards the fallen Shadows, hastily scampers in her jerk-skip-a-jerk gait towards the wooden barrier of her prison.  the first Shadow tries to rise, one hand beneath him, the other reaching for the support of a nearby pole and as his fingers clench around the cold metal, his eyes focus on the darkened window across the way.  Wide with fear, they are but for the slightest second illuminated by yet another fiery finger from the window.

 

"Crack-ack-ack-ack"

 

Silence returns on the well trod feet of indifference and the Hunter rises, moves cat like through the dark interior of the prison, down the broken steps into the waste strewn alley below.  Pausing, he casts a last glance towards the crumpled remains of the Shadows across the street.  The aroma of their leaking juices seeping into the gutter has already aroused the hunger of the nearest rats.  A temptation more strong than the uncertainty of the source  of their previous fear which had sent them to haven.  Ever so slightly, a smile tickles at the corners of the Hunter's lips, it has been a good night, a good hunt, his Teacher would be proud.  The old one was now safe in her prison and would know another darkened day to continue her gathering.  There were two less Shadows to stalk the night, silencing the comforting sounds with their presence and as things had been and things would be, even with his passing, the rats;  the rats would feast this night.

 

i.r. know 1