Night Crawlers

(This is a work of flash fiction.)

…

The truck cut its engine before it rolled into neutral and idled down the driveway. With barely a sound two men got out. They wore leather gloves, sleek black jumpsuits and masks. They looked strong, broad shouldered and ominous. One man was slightly taller than the other.

It was a quiet summer night. Sprinklers could be heard nearby as the taller guy now pulled a large black duffle bag from the trunk. He waved his gloved hand with the flourish of a magician and the trunk closed automatically.

The house in front of them was a one-story Tudor: a simple three-bedroom with a manicured front lawn and a one-car garage. Potted plants out front. A swing set in the backyard.

Upstairs, a window was open, its curtain flapping with each slight breeze. Somewhere, a dog barked.

The men approached the front door carefully, feline-like. One of them pulled the key from his pocket. It glinted in the moonlight as he unlocked the front door. Like it was nothing. Like they did this every single night.

When they opened the door, the house seemed to give away something. It nearly breathed.

There was a smell, like muffins baked hours earlier. Nutmeg maybe. Or cinnamon. The kind of smell that makes you feel safe.

A light had been left on in the front hallway.

The figures moved down the hall to the last door on the left, decorated with childlike drawings and block letters that spelled out a little girl’s name.

When they opened her door, a small bedside lamp depicting a tree house illuminated a patch of the room. A dark-haired girl — maybe five-years-old — was asleep in a frilly, canopied bed. Her forehead was sweaty from dreaming. She clutched a stuffed bunny in the fold of one arm.

One man knelt down in front of her bed and softly touched her head. The girl sighed and rolled over to one side.

He nodded to his partner, picked up the stuffed bunny and handed it off.

The other man placed it in the duffle and then took out the duct tape, a pair of scissors and a plastic tarp. Finally, he opened a tin with a syringe inside. He loaded it full of something and handed it to his partner.

Pulling the girl’s arm so that it was straight and taut — stopping to feel her baby soft skin — the man at the bedside shoved the needle into the girl’s arm with one strong jab and waited.

The girl let out a yelp when it punctured her skin before relaxing back into a deeper sleep. She gave up her grip on her fuzzy purple blanket. He rubbed her forehead.

Shhhhh, baby it’s okay.

They cut several long sections of duct tape and each took a side. One taped her wrists together and the other secured her ankles. They cradled her body, from the bed to the floor, and set her down softly on the plastic.

Then, they carried her limp body back down the hall and out the front door. They laid her out across the backseat of the truck and drove away into the night.