billybadbilly
Still, silent night indeed. Snow falls down from a vast, black sky. It paints the town white.
A man sits in a rocking chair, petting a stray tabby cat. It’s blinking slowly at Billy. Billy is cooing softly. They have their own form of communication. The pleased tabby sighs and meows. Purring rumbles deep within its chest.
“Sleepy kitty.” Billy chirps. “Sleepy baby. The baby. Sleepy kitty. Good kitty.”
Crash.
The cat uses Billy’s thighs as a springboard; digging its claws in deep before bounding to another side of the attic. He yelps and curses to himself.
Someone is stepping into Billy’s turf. His eyes light up. His nostrils flare in anger. Every inhale and exhale is rushed and shaky. Instinctively, Billy grabs a rusty bread knife lying next to a box of a random family’s memories.
Billy grunts and creeps out of his dark shelter. Knife handle in his mouth. Hands grip an old ladder. He’s now on the second floor. Light jeans make a wispy sound as Billy strides down the hall.
It didn’t take long for him to reach the staircase. Dirty hands wrap around a corner. A keen, green eye looks out where the source of noise is coming from.
Faint light came from the street lights outside casting a shadow of the person that broke into Billy’s home. From the shadow they were large and well built. Something seemed off about the head though. It looked unnatural and off.
The footsteps started up again and got louder. The person was heading towards the stairs where Billy was currently hiding.
Just like his shadow he was large and well built. The man wore a mask that looked as if it had seen better days. Dirt and was could possibly be old blood stained the mask. He wore a mechanic’s overalls that, if the mask indicated anything, was most likely just as dirt as the mask was.
Whoever this was they were defiantly going to put up a fight if Billy attacked him but at the moment he didn’t seem to be aware of Billy’s presence just yet.
