It had always been her ritual, and Thomas, her husband, had tried to stop her without avail. No one could control the passion and the unfading desire within her that made her depart from the house that night.
The night that had enveloped a neighborhood along the Underground Railroad left her with a secure place to hide. No one saw her as she entered the beat up sedan quietly like a flock of runaway slaves, firing up the engine. Hard rock music muffled the noise; no one suspected a thing.
All she needed were the tools - where were they? She remembered the shiny metal knife in the kitchen of her new home. She would have to do it there this year; she couldn't risk being seen again with it, not after how the policemen and Mr. Pluto, the demon-possessed and ever so standoffish man next door, had questioned her last year.
It would be too much of a risk.
Like a bat through the night sky, she crept down the driveway backwards to the right and then straightening into the right lane - the car was a missile guided to its destination. Down the darkened streets past the lit houses - the trick-or-treaters would be coming soon.
Swift as a horse, she exited her car, clicking the door shut behind her. The dirt below her feet silenced her steps; she looked into the serene darkness of the field and it caught her eye. She had discovered her target - Pesty was his name. Yes, his - he was named after a girl. Darting behind some trees, she knew she would have to be swift. She moved silently; the ground wasn't moist like last year and the hard dirt below her feet guided her effortlessly through the darkness and soon...
Murder
youre trying a little too hard (women tend not to be serial killers anyway, so if it were a man it might work better) and swift as a horse, dont compare the women to a horse.
1 out of 1 people found this comment useful.