Matthew Hubble sat on his porch with an American cigar hanging off the end of his lip. On the table to his right lay two objects. The first, an ashtray. The second, a half empty bottle of whiskey. Also, he had a 12 gauge shot gun balanced across his left knee, resting just past the vanishing point of his jean covered joint.
His blue chequered shirt had been buttoned up the full way, his black shoes, which were a little worn at this stage, were polished and on each of his feet. On the porch, there was a small coffee table, and a lean, which was basically just a wooden stick nailed to the support posts. But on this lean there was a picture of a time when the future was brighter, and he was younger, as he is in his seventy second year now.
The man in the picture was smiling, and the women beside him was doing the same. He wore a full Navy uniform and the women wore a bright sunset red dress. It would have been taken when he was in his late twenties, before any of this happened.
The fingers on his left hand tapped silently against his upper thigh, as if trying to impatiently decide upon something. He rose up from his seat in the shade. The gun slid off his knee and into his empty hand. The tip of the cigar fell onto the ground. Ashes returning to ashes.
He stepped inside what used to be his family home, and wandered into the sitting room, the first room on the left. He proceeded to open the window. A breath of fresh air wafted in and gave a new life to the room. Matthew bent down and found the box he was looking for. It was lurking under a chair in the far corner of the room.
He retrieved it and brought it back to the window sill. After wiping the dust off with his old hand, he opened it. An antique music player rested inside. Carefully he lifted the little musical treasure from its resting place and placed it down beside the open window.
It was ready for a dance. The music that filled the air was old, dance music. Sophisticated, but delicate. As if the most unexpected noise could disrupt and ruin the entire concerto.
Matthew sat back down in his seat. Cigar still teetering on the edge, shotgun still in hand, whiskey still at the ready. The music glided through the air. It was crafted so magnificently.
Then the grunting and wailing erupted. It was a high pitched beastly cry. Then the man burst through the neighbours garden across the road. He was ghastly. His clothes were half torn. His mouth was open in an inhuman, wild creature like manner.
He ran for the old man and the source of the music. Mr Hubble remained unmoved in his seat. The creature paced across the road as if it had no mind to do anything else. It nearly faltered in stepping onto the path on Matthews side of the road but it continued regardless.
Matthew rose. The creature went to sprint onto the ten foot by twenty foot lawn that lay on the far side of the porch. It was met on the border between path and garden, by a bullet.
Matthew had fired the gun and the bullet lodged in the creatures skull, leaving only a small hole where the bullet had passed. The old man strode over to its dead corpse and lodged another in the head. This time half of the beasts head turned to instant mush.
Matthew returned to his house, he did not cut across the grass but walked around by the path, by doing this we could catch a glimpse of the red and black muscle car that rested in the garage, and then he picked up the music box, turned it off, took the picture from the lean, and went inside.
It was nightfall soon, and that meant that soon the real threats to his life would emerge. Not that the Old Man seemed particularly phased by anything anymore.