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Well, here it is, part two. Tell me what you think of it please, as it would be appreciated and used to improve the story. (If you haven't read Part 1, then you should as this won't make any sense. It can be found in the stories forum, as well as this one)
Anyway, if you read it, which I hope you will, then thanks.
1 year later, in a small suburban home.
Matt Wereal looked up from the mornings paper. The headline was plainly put and straight to the point:
“BEAST STRIKES AGAIN”
Matt could not bring himself to read the gory details, he had heard them all before. For months now, the headlines in the papers were full of such stories. The tabloids had gave the nickname, “Beast” to a strange vicious animal, that was loose in his town. It was now practically world famous, and reporters from all over the U.K and beyond had all taken up residence in various hotels throughout town in the hope of catching a glance of this elusive, vicious animal. Armed police patrolled the streets, V.I.P’s held meetings in a vain hope of coming up with a solution, and a sweep of Darkwood forest, beside the town, was being carried out by the army in a bid to find and kill the ferocious creature.
Still the death toll mounted. 13 people had been killed already, many of them tramps, but the latest had been a young girl. They were all the same, stomach torn out and insides eaten. Another victim had been a policeman, but he was found torn into ribbons. A curfew had been imposed on the town, and the residents were living in fear.
Matt sickened of his breakfast, and putting the paper down called over his dog, Doc. He was an odd creature, as he didn’t quite resemble a dog, but bared other animal qualities as well. Matt had consulted many vets and animal experts, but none could pinpoint his breed exactly. They thought he must have been deformed in some way. But Matt, on the other hand, had a different theory. He thought of it now, as he stroked Doc’s soft, silk coat.
*
1 year previously, a large mansion, near Darkwood forest.
It was a dark, bitter night as Matt manoeuvred his old battered Ford up the long winding road to his fathers house. He could see it in the distance, but was surprised and a little worried when he saw that there were no lights visible. As he grew closer though, he was relieved to see a dim light on in the basement. His dad was at it again, experimenting down in his laboratory. Matt had many times wondered what he had down there, as his father strictly forbid him access. He had found this silly and was quite annoyed at first, but just supposed it was the whim of an eccentric old man.
He opened the door gently, and it gave a low ominous creak.
“Father?” he shouted, into the dust and gloom of the hall.
No answer.
“Must be still down in the basement,” Matt muttered to himself. “Mustn’t have heard me come.”
He walked down the hallway, opened the door to the basement and walked slowly down the steps.
“Father? It’s me Matt - are you there?”
Still no answer.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps, and tried the brass handle on the old oaken door.
It was locked.
“What the hell….Father! It’s me, Mathew! Are you there? Father! Open the door, damit! Stop fooling around!”
Matt became anxious. Suppose his father had collapsed in there, from a heart attack or stroke. He had to get in!
Matt began feverishly banging at the door with his fists, hands and legs. He gave up in a short while, realizing he could not break down the oak door. He ran back up the steps, along the hall, and up the old staircase to his fathers study. His feet made an eerie echoing noise that reverberated in the old dusty house. He reached the study, and went straight to the old bureau that he knew his father kept spare keys in. It was locked. A swift kick though fixed that, and pens, pencils, string, candles, paper, coins all came clattering onto the floor. He riffled through the pile, and eventually found the spare keys. Matt then rushed trough the door, down the stairs, 5 at a time, and through the hall to the basement stairs. He jumped down and feverishly tried the keys. None of them fitted however - they were either to long, to short, to thin or to fat. At last he found the right one, and was rewarded with a loud click as the lock drew back. Matt took a step back, preparing himself for the contents in the room, and swung open the door.
He was greeted with the smell as much as the sight. It was overwhelming, nauseating, sickening, like warm rotten flesh. He wasn’t far wrong at a glance at the cages hanging from the roof. Dead animals festered and decomposed while others still alive looked on, with an empty look in their eyes.
Matt took a step forward, and looked around the room. Cupboards and drawers lined every available wallspace, but one in particular grabbed his attention. He walked over to it, flung open the doors. He gave a sharp gasp of surprise. The contents of the cupboard would have put a professional criminal to shame. It was stocked full of every type of weapon, from rifles to crossbows.
Stepping back in surprise. Matt shut the doors. He wandered around the room, until he came across something on the floor. Something that made Matt vomit.
Lying there, Matt saw what were the remains of his father. He knew for certain that it was him, as he recognised the brass ring on his hand, initialled C.W - Cornelius Wereal.
His father had been killed by the beast! How had it gotten in though? Matt thought. The only entrance was a small window, 1ft square. The beast was supposedly about 5 -6ft tall. Suddenly realization struck Matt, like a thunderbolt from a cloud. The beast had been created by his father! He sat back down on the ground, with his head in his hands. How could his dad, his own flesh an blood, have created such a cold blooded killing machine! The thought was unthinkable. Matt made his decision there and then. He went round the laboratory, releasing the imprisoned animals. Then, he loaded up all the weapons into his car. There were so many, that it took eight trips to get them all. Then, he went into his fathers shed that he kept the generator in, and brought the fuel it used - petrol - into the house. He went from room to room, dousing everything with it, especially the laboratory in the basement. Taking a step back, he threw down a match.
Matt could still see the glow of the fire when he was miles away. Not watching the road intently, it was to late to stop from hitting the small dog that was walking across the road. Matt stopped and jumped out of the car. He saw the dog had a nasty gash on its back, an hurriedly took it to the vet. The dog was fixed up, and Matt had had it from that day on - named Doc because his father was a doctor, even though he preferred to be called Professor. Matt knew why the dog wasn’t a special breed or even a mutt - because he had been one of his fathers crossbreeds that had escaped through the window in his basement.
*
Matt sat down Doc, after absentmindedly fondling his ears. He walked down to his bedroom, and lifted up some floorboards under a large mat. Then he took out several of the weapons that he had salvaged from his fathers house. Checking them for bullets, he packed some of them into a rucksack, and the others hidden in his coat.
Something was bothering him, however, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, as he called to his dog.
“Come on Doc. We’re going into Darkwood forest to find this thing. My father started it, and I’m going to finish it.”
He walked over to the door, took a last look inside at his beloved home, then whistled to Doc, and stepped out into the day, and into the outside world…..
Anyway, if you read it, which I hope you will, then thanks.
1 year later, in a small suburban home.
Matt Wereal looked up from the mornings paper. The headline was plainly put and straight to the point:
“BEAST STRIKES AGAIN”
Matt could not bring himself to read the gory details, he had heard them all before. For months now, the headlines in the papers were full of such stories. The tabloids had gave the nickname, “Beast” to a strange vicious animal, that was loose in his town. It was now practically world famous, and reporters from all over the U.K and beyond had all taken up residence in various hotels throughout town in the hope of catching a glance of this elusive, vicious animal. Armed police patrolled the streets, V.I.P’s held meetings in a vain hope of coming up with a solution, and a sweep of Darkwood forest, beside the town, was being carried out by the army in a bid to find and kill the ferocious creature.
Still the death toll mounted. 13 people had been killed already, many of them tramps, but the latest had been a young girl. They were all the same, stomach torn out and insides eaten. Another victim had been a policeman, but he was found torn into ribbons. A curfew had been imposed on the town, and the residents were living in fear.
Matt sickened of his breakfast, and putting the paper down called over his dog, Doc. He was an odd creature, as he didn’t quite resemble a dog, but bared other animal qualities as well. Matt had consulted many vets and animal experts, but none could pinpoint his breed exactly. They thought he must have been deformed in some way. But Matt, on the other hand, had a different theory. He thought of it now, as he stroked Doc’s soft, silk coat.
*
1 year previously, a large mansion, near Darkwood forest.
It was a dark, bitter night as Matt manoeuvred his old battered Ford up the long winding road to his fathers house. He could see it in the distance, but was surprised and a little worried when he saw that there were no lights visible. As he grew closer though, he was relieved to see a dim light on in the basement. His dad was at it again, experimenting down in his laboratory. Matt had many times wondered what he had down there, as his father strictly forbid him access. He had found this silly and was quite annoyed at first, but just supposed it was the whim of an eccentric old man.
He opened the door gently, and it gave a low ominous creak.
“Father?” he shouted, into the dust and gloom of the hall.
No answer.
“Must be still down in the basement,” Matt muttered to himself. “Mustn’t have heard me come.”
He walked down the hallway, opened the door to the basement and walked slowly down the steps.
“Father? It’s me Matt - are you there?”
Still no answer.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps, and tried the brass handle on the old oaken door.
It was locked.
“What the hell….Father! It’s me, Mathew! Are you there? Father! Open the door, damit! Stop fooling around!”
Matt became anxious. Suppose his father had collapsed in there, from a heart attack or stroke. He had to get in!
Matt began feverishly banging at the door with his fists, hands and legs. He gave up in a short while, realizing he could not break down the oak door. He ran back up the steps, along the hall, and up the old staircase to his fathers study. His feet made an eerie echoing noise that reverberated in the old dusty house. He reached the study, and went straight to the old bureau that he knew his father kept spare keys in. It was locked. A swift kick though fixed that, and pens, pencils, string, candles, paper, coins all came clattering onto the floor. He riffled through the pile, and eventually found the spare keys. Matt then rushed trough the door, down the stairs, 5 at a time, and through the hall to the basement stairs. He jumped down and feverishly tried the keys. None of them fitted however - they were either to long, to short, to thin or to fat. At last he found the right one, and was rewarded with a loud click as the lock drew back. Matt took a step back, preparing himself for the contents in the room, and swung open the door.
He was greeted with the smell as much as the sight. It was overwhelming, nauseating, sickening, like warm rotten flesh. He wasn’t far wrong at a glance at the cages hanging from the roof. Dead animals festered and decomposed while others still alive looked on, with an empty look in their eyes.
Matt took a step forward, and looked around the room. Cupboards and drawers lined every available wallspace, but one in particular grabbed his attention. He walked over to it, flung open the doors. He gave a sharp gasp of surprise. The contents of the cupboard would have put a professional criminal to shame. It was stocked full of every type of weapon, from rifles to crossbows.
Stepping back in surprise. Matt shut the doors. He wandered around the room, until he came across something on the floor. Something that made Matt vomit.
Lying there, Matt saw what were the remains of his father. He knew for certain that it was him, as he recognised the brass ring on his hand, initialled C.W - Cornelius Wereal.
His father had been killed by the beast! How had it gotten in though? Matt thought. The only entrance was a small window, 1ft square. The beast was supposedly about 5 -6ft tall. Suddenly realization struck Matt, like a thunderbolt from a cloud. The beast had been created by his father! He sat back down on the ground, with his head in his hands. How could his dad, his own flesh an blood, have created such a cold blooded killing machine! The thought was unthinkable. Matt made his decision there and then. He went round the laboratory, releasing the imprisoned animals. Then, he loaded up all the weapons into his car. There were so many, that it took eight trips to get them all. Then, he went into his fathers shed that he kept the generator in, and brought the fuel it used - petrol - into the house. He went from room to room, dousing everything with it, especially the laboratory in the basement. Taking a step back, he threw down a match.
Matt could still see the glow of the fire when he was miles away. Not watching the road intently, it was to late to stop from hitting the small dog that was walking across the road. Matt stopped and jumped out of the car. He saw the dog had a nasty gash on its back, an hurriedly took it to the vet. The dog was fixed up, and Matt had had it from that day on - named Doc because his father was a doctor, even though he preferred to be called Professor. Matt knew why the dog wasn’t a special breed or even a mutt - because he had been one of his fathers crossbreeds that had escaped through the window in his basement.
*
Matt sat down Doc, after absentmindedly fondling his ears. He walked down to his bedroom, and lifted up some floorboards under a large mat. Then he took out several of the weapons that he had salvaged from his fathers house. Checking them for bullets, he packed some of them into a rucksack, and the others hidden in his coat.
Something was bothering him, however, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, as he called to his dog.
“Come on Doc. We’re going into Darkwood forest to find this thing. My father started it, and I’m going to finish it.”
He walked over to the door, took a last look inside at his beloved home, then whistled to Doc, and stepped out into the day, and into the outside world…..
Rats - I just pointed out the same in the Story Forum.
Heh, I hadn't thought of that. Well spotted :)
I'll have to fix that....
I'll have to fix that....
A trilogy now, is it?
: )
Niece wone, me likes.
Still no secks, though. Shame on you.
One small thing:
If it was 1 year before all the newspaper stuff, he wouldn't have know that his father was killed by 'the beast' becuase it wasn't known and didn't have a name at that time.
If you get whut I', saying.
MORE!
: )
Niece wone, me likes.
Still no secks, though. Shame on you.
One small thing:
If it was 1 year before all the newspaper stuff, he wouldn't have know that his father was killed by 'the beast' becuase it wasn't known and didn't have a name at that time.
If you get whut I', saying.
MORE!
Azul wrote:
> Good, however there could be slightly more descriptive detail.
>
I know. When I write a story, I always have to do it quickly, otherwise I'll get out of the spirit of doing it and give up. Thats why alot of my stories lack detail.
Thanks for the constructive criticism, though.
> Good, however there could be slightly more descriptive detail.
>
I know. When I write a story, I always have to do it quickly, otherwise I'll get out of the spirit of doing it and give up. Thats why alot of my stories lack detail.
Thanks for the constructive criticism, though.
Good, however there could be slightly more descriptive detail.
Still very good story nonetheless.
Still very good story nonetheless.
P.S.
I posted this in Stories forum as well, as it'll stay there longer.
I posted this in Stories forum as well, as it'll stay there longer.
Well, here it is, part two. Tell me what you think of it please, as it would be appreciated and used to improve the story. (If you haven't read Part 1, then you should as this won't make any sense. It can be found in the stories forum, as well as this one)
Anyway, if you read it, which I hope you will, then thanks.
1 year later, in a small suburban home.
Matt Wereal looked up from the mornings paper. The headline was plainly put and straight to the point:
“BEAST STRIKES AGAIN”
Matt could not bring himself to read the gory details, he had heard them all before. For months now, the headlines in the papers were full of such stories. The tabloids had gave the nickname, “Beast” to a strange vicious animal, that was loose in his town. It was now practically world famous, and reporters from all over the U.K and beyond had all taken up residence in various hotels throughout town in the hope of catching a glance of this elusive, vicious animal. Armed police patrolled the streets, V.I.P’s held meetings in a vain hope of coming up with a solution, and a sweep of Darkwood forest, beside the town, was being carried out by the army in a bid to find and kill the ferocious creature.
Still the death toll mounted. 13 people had been killed already, many of them tramps, but the latest had been a young girl. They were all the same, stomach torn out and insides eaten. Another victim had been a policeman, but he was found torn into ribbons. A curfew had been imposed on the town, and the residents were living in fear.
Matt sickened of his breakfast, and putting the paper down called over his dog, Doc. He was an odd creature, as he didn’t quite resemble a dog, but bared other animal qualities as well. Matt had consulted many vets and animal experts, but none could pinpoint his breed exactly. They thought he must have been deformed in some way. But Matt, on the other hand, had a different theory. He thought of it now, as he stroked Doc’s soft, silk coat.
*
1 year previously, a large mansion, near Darkwood forest.
It was a dark, bitter night as Matt manoeuvred his old battered Ford up the long winding road to his fathers house. He could see it in the distance, but was surprised and a little worried when he saw that there were no lights visible. As he grew closer though, he was relieved to see a dim light on in the basement. His dad was at it again, experimenting down in his laboratory. Matt had many times wondered what he had down there, as his father strictly forbid him access. He had found this silly and was quite annoyed at first, but just supposed it was the whim of an eccentric old man.
He opened the door gently, and it gave a low ominous creak.
“Father?” he shouted, into the dust and gloom of the hall.
No answer.
“Must be still down in the basement,” Matt muttered to himself. “Mustn’t have heard me come.”
He walked down the hallway, opened the door to the basement and walked slowly down the steps.
“Father? It’s me Matt - are you there?”
Still no answer.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps, and tried the brass handle on the old oaken door.
It was locked.
“What the hell….Father! It’s me, Mathew! Are you there? Father! Open the door, damit! Stop fooling around!”
Matt became anxious. Suppose his father had collapsed in there, from a heart attack or stroke. He had to get in!
Matt began feverishly banging at the door with his fists, hands and legs. He gave up in a short while, realizing he could not break down the oak door. He ran back up the steps, along the hall, and up the old staircase to his fathers study. His feet made an eerie echoing noise that reverberated in the old dusty house. He reached the study, and went straight to the old bureau that he knew his father kept spare keys in. It was locked. A swift kick though fixed that, and pens, pencils, string, candles, paper, coins all came clattering onto the floor. He riffled through the pile, and eventually found the spare keys. Matt then rushed trough the door, down the stairs, 5 at a time, and through the hall to the basement stairs. He jumped down and feverishly tried the keys. None of them fitted however - they were either to long, to short, to thin or to fat. At last he found the right one, and was rewarded with a loud click as the lock drew back. Matt took a step back, preparing himself for the contents in the room, and swung open the door.
He was greeted with the smell as much as the sight. It was overwhelming, nauseating, sickening, like warm rotten flesh. He wasn’t far wrong at a glance at the cages hanging from the roof. Dead animals festered and decomposed while others still alive looked on, with an empty look in their eyes.
Matt took a step forward, and looked around the room. Cupboards and drawers lined every available wallspace, but one in particular grabbed his attention. He walked over to it, flung open the doors. He gave a sharp gasp of surprise. The contents of the cupboard would have put a professional criminal to shame. It was stocked full of every type of weapon, from rifles to crossbows.
Stepping back in surprise. Matt shut the doors. He wandered around the room, until he came across something on the floor. Something that made Matt vomit.
Lying there, Matt saw what were the remains of his father. He knew for certain that it was him, as he recognised the brass ring on his hand, initialled C.W - Cornelius Wereal.
His father had been killed by the beast! How had it gotten in though? Matt thought. The only entrance was a small window, 1ft square. The beast was supposedly about 5 -6ft tall. Suddenly realization struck Matt, like a thunderbolt from a cloud. The beast had been created by his father! He sat back down on the ground, with his head in his hands. How could his dad, his own flesh an blood, have created such a cold blooded killing machine! The thought was unthinkable. Matt made his decision there and then. He went round the laboratory, releasing the imprisoned animals. Then, he loaded up all the weapons into his car. There were so many, that it took eight trips to get them all. Then, he went into his fathers shed that he kept the generator in, and brought the fuel it used - petrol - into the house. He went from room to room, dousing everything with it, especially the laboratory in the basement. Taking a step back, he threw down a match.
Matt could still see the glow of the fire when he was miles away. Not watching the road intently, it was to late to stop from hitting the small dog that was walking across the road. Matt stopped and jumped out of the car. He saw the dog had a nasty gash on its back, an hurriedly took it to the vet. The dog was fixed up, and Matt had had it from that day on - named Doc because his father was a doctor, even though he preferred to be called Professor. Matt knew why the dog wasn’t a special breed or even a mutt - because he had been one of his fathers crossbreeds that had escaped through the window in his basement.
*
Matt sat down Doc, after absentmindedly fondling his ears. He walked down to his bedroom, and lifted up some floorboards under a large mat. Then he took out several of the weapons that he had salvaged from his fathers house. Checking them for bullets, he packed some of them into a rucksack, and the others hidden in his coat.
Something was bothering him, however, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, as he called to his dog.
“Come on Doc. We’re going into Darkwood forest to find this thing. My father started it, and I’m going to finish it.”
He walked over to the door, took a last look inside at his beloved home, then whistled to Doc, and stepped out into the day, and into the outside world…..
Anyway, if you read it, which I hope you will, then thanks.
1 year later, in a small suburban home.
Matt Wereal looked up from the mornings paper. The headline was plainly put and straight to the point:
“BEAST STRIKES AGAIN”
Matt could not bring himself to read the gory details, he had heard them all before. For months now, the headlines in the papers were full of such stories. The tabloids had gave the nickname, “Beast” to a strange vicious animal, that was loose in his town. It was now practically world famous, and reporters from all over the U.K and beyond had all taken up residence in various hotels throughout town in the hope of catching a glance of this elusive, vicious animal. Armed police patrolled the streets, V.I.P’s held meetings in a vain hope of coming up with a solution, and a sweep of Darkwood forest, beside the town, was being carried out by the army in a bid to find and kill the ferocious creature.
Still the death toll mounted. 13 people had been killed already, many of them tramps, but the latest had been a young girl. They were all the same, stomach torn out and insides eaten. Another victim had been a policeman, but he was found torn into ribbons. A curfew had been imposed on the town, and the residents were living in fear.
Matt sickened of his breakfast, and putting the paper down called over his dog, Doc. He was an odd creature, as he didn’t quite resemble a dog, but bared other animal qualities as well. Matt had consulted many vets and animal experts, but none could pinpoint his breed exactly. They thought he must have been deformed in some way. But Matt, on the other hand, had a different theory. He thought of it now, as he stroked Doc’s soft, silk coat.
*
1 year previously, a large mansion, near Darkwood forest.
It was a dark, bitter night as Matt manoeuvred his old battered Ford up the long winding road to his fathers house. He could see it in the distance, but was surprised and a little worried when he saw that there were no lights visible. As he grew closer though, he was relieved to see a dim light on in the basement. His dad was at it again, experimenting down in his laboratory. Matt had many times wondered what he had down there, as his father strictly forbid him access. He had found this silly and was quite annoyed at first, but just supposed it was the whim of an eccentric old man.
He opened the door gently, and it gave a low ominous creak.
“Father?” he shouted, into the dust and gloom of the hall.
No answer.
“Must be still down in the basement,” Matt muttered to himself. “Mustn’t have heard me come.”
He walked down the hallway, opened the door to the basement and walked slowly down the steps.
“Father? It’s me Matt - are you there?”
Still no answer.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps, and tried the brass handle on the old oaken door.
It was locked.
“What the hell….Father! It’s me, Mathew! Are you there? Father! Open the door, damit! Stop fooling around!”
Matt became anxious. Suppose his father had collapsed in there, from a heart attack or stroke. He had to get in!
Matt began feverishly banging at the door with his fists, hands and legs. He gave up in a short while, realizing he could not break down the oak door. He ran back up the steps, along the hall, and up the old staircase to his fathers study. His feet made an eerie echoing noise that reverberated in the old dusty house. He reached the study, and went straight to the old bureau that he knew his father kept spare keys in. It was locked. A swift kick though fixed that, and pens, pencils, string, candles, paper, coins all came clattering onto the floor. He riffled through the pile, and eventually found the spare keys. Matt then rushed trough the door, down the stairs, 5 at a time, and through the hall to the basement stairs. He jumped down and feverishly tried the keys. None of them fitted however - they were either to long, to short, to thin or to fat. At last he found the right one, and was rewarded with a loud click as the lock drew back. Matt took a step back, preparing himself for the contents in the room, and swung open the door.
He was greeted with the smell as much as the sight. It was overwhelming, nauseating, sickening, like warm rotten flesh. He wasn’t far wrong at a glance at the cages hanging from the roof. Dead animals festered and decomposed while others still alive looked on, with an empty look in their eyes.
Matt took a step forward, and looked around the room. Cupboards and drawers lined every available wallspace, but one in particular grabbed his attention. He walked over to it, flung open the doors. He gave a sharp gasp of surprise. The contents of the cupboard would have put a professional criminal to shame. It was stocked full of every type of weapon, from rifles to crossbows.
Stepping back in surprise. Matt shut the doors. He wandered around the room, until he came across something on the floor. Something that made Matt vomit.
Lying there, Matt saw what were the remains of his father. He knew for certain that it was him, as he recognised the brass ring on his hand, initialled C.W - Cornelius Wereal.
His father had been killed by the beast! How had it gotten in though? Matt thought. The only entrance was a small window, 1ft square. The beast was supposedly about 5 -6ft tall. Suddenly realization struck Matt, like a thunderbolt from a cloud. The beast had been created by his father! He sat back down on the ground, with his head in his hands. How could his dad, his own flesh an blood, have created such a cold blooded killing machine! The thought was unthinkable. Matt made his decision there and then. He went round the laboratory, releasing the imprisoned animals. Then, he loaded up all the weapons into his car. There were so many, that it took eight trips to get them all. Then, he went into his fathers shed that he kept the generator in, and brought the fuel it used - petrol - into the house. He went from room to room, dousing everything with it, especially the laboratory in the basement. Taking a step back, he threw down a match.
Matt could still see the glow of the fire when he was miles away. Not watching the road intently, it was to late to stop from hitting the small dog that was walking across the road. Matt stopped and jumped out of the car. He saw the dog had a nasty gash on its back, an hurriedly took it to the vet. The dog was fixed up, and Matt had had it from that day on - named Doc because his father was a doctor, even though he preferred to be called Professor. Matt knew why the dog wasn’t a special breed or even a mutt - because he had been one of his fathers crossbreeds that had escaped through the window in his basement.
*
Matt sat down Doc, after absentmindedly fondling his ears. He walked down to his bedroom, and lifted up some floorboards under a large mat. Then he took out several of the weapons that he had salvaged from his fathers house. Checking them for bullets, he packed some of them into a rucksack, and the others hidden in his coat.
Something was bothering him, however, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, as he called to his dog.
“Come on Doc. We’re going into Darkwood forest to find this thing. My father started it, and I’m going to finish it.”
He walked over to the door, took a last look inside at his beloved home, then whistled to Doc, and stepped out into the day, and into the outside world…..