Stalker

Delta, Kentucky. A town near the northern border known for its quiet atmosphere, down-home feel, and Aunt Mays' Sweet Potato Pie. A town that has barely seen hide nor hair of the evil that plagues cities across the country. In fact, the town is so small that its only law enforcement lies in Sheriff Hayes, an African-American man born and raised in Delta.

Hayes had just come back in to town after a brief visit with relatives further south. A cup of cold coffee sat in the cup holder, and he wanted nothing more than to walk into the loving arms of his wife, mess around, and pass out for a good 12 hours. The mere thought brought a smile to his cracked, aged lips. Just a mile down the road, he would enter the wooded highway, and twelve miles within, his small home waited.

The radio turned from the Oak Ridge Boys to static as the overhanging branches cut off the signal. He cracked open the window just a bit as he lit a cigarette. His last one. It's normally an unspoken tradition to flip a single cigarette in the pack upside down and save it for last. He took a long drag, and soon enough, smoke billowed out the window carelessly.

Just as his attention returned to the road, he saw something far ahead. It looked like a person, but the headlights were far too dim to see well. He slowed down, hoping the figure would move on. It didn't. In fact, it didn't seem to be moving at all. As he drove closer, the first thing he noticed was the persons height. He easily stood taller than the Ford F-150 that Hayes drove. The person, a man, seemed to be staring off into the woods. He held a solemn, foreboding expression, and didn't really acknowledge the vehicle nearing him.

Hayes stopped the truck, opening the window fully. He called out to the figure.

"Hey, somethin' wrong? It ain't safe in these woods at night, stranger."

The man paid no attention, his blank gaze stuck on some invisible object somewhere past the treeline. Hayes was getting a bit nervous. As a safety precaution, he holstered the 9mm that he kept under the dashboard, and climbed out, donning his hat. He approached the man, and was instantly taken aback by how short he was compared to the dark figure.

"Mister, did ya hear me? D'ya need a ride in to town? These woods are filled with wolves."

Finally, the man turned his head to look at Hayes. The most disturbing thing about him were his eyes, which lacked color or pupils. They were merely grey orbs resting within his skull. He lifted his arm, pointing a thin, bony finger at the now defensive sheriff.

"Son, I don't think you need to be out here. Just hop in the back and I'll get ya into town."

He would've continued to speak, but a sight of sheer terror covered his face as he looked at the tall man. It wasn't the height or the blank expression that horrified him. It was the long, black mass that was now protruding from the mans back. It moved fluidly, almost effortlessly, as it grew. Hayes, not knowing what to do, drew his pistol.

The mans thin lips parted, and a single word came out.

"Kill..."

That was enough for Hayes. He aimed for the mans knee and pulled the trigger twice. Two loud reports followed. To his astonishment, the bullets merely bounced off.

"W-what the..."

Those were his last words. Before he could complete the sentence, a tendril rammed through his chest, piercing the heart and tearing through his spinal column.

Days had passed, and no word was heard from the sheriff. His wife, unable to accept it, began a crusade to find her husband, backed by the entire town. Fliers were passed around, and soon it even attracted attention from local media.

"Please," she said to the camera. "I miss my Joshua dearly. If any you have any information on his whereabouts, please contact me..."