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It was a stormy night; two bulky black motorcycles rumbled up to a small inn. The riders sat, they seemed to be taking in their surroundings. The windows of the inn were dark and the yard empty. Simultaneously, as though they had received a silent order, the two figures stepped from the bikes, their faces hidden under deep hoods. They walked towards the door, their long black trench coats swayed about their legs. The taller of the two grabbed the doorknob roughly and jerked it several times. The first stepped back and looked at the secound. The shorter one stepped up to the door, a foot shot out from under the long coat ugg cardy boots, it struck the middle of the door. The wooden door of the inn splintered, splitting easily down the middle. They stepped into the dark building, their heavy boots crunching on the long, jagged pieces of wood.
They were met by an old man standing bewilderedly in his nightgown. "What do you want?" he shouted at the intruders. They looked at him like wolves who had been confronted by a rabbit; mild interest. "Where's the boy?" the shorter one asked, his voice was still a young tenor. He couldn't have been more than sixteen.
"Boy? What boy?" The old man asked worriedly, stepping back slowly. The two strangers looked at each other, and then turned back to the man. The one who had first spoken stepped towards him, "He is here, and we will find him." His voice had become a low hiss, almost inhuman.
"You won't find who ever it is because there isn't anyone else here. I live here alone, and I don't have any customers." The old man said his voice shaking. The other intruder gave a deep growl from the depth of his throat.
"Oh really," the first one said true religion brand jeans, shifting his weight to one foot, "he must have been here, though. This place reeks of his . . . disease." He said the last word in an evil hiss, long and malevolent.
"Don't patronize us timberland boots sale, old man." The other one spoke, his voice was deeper, harsher, but not too much older sounding. "We have ways of making you talk-"
"Really, Odra, you find a time to threaten any thing." The first one spoke with a casual tone. Odra faltered and then remained silent; the younger one was obviously the leader. "Now," the youth turned to the old man, "I'll give you one last chance. Where �C is �C the boy."
"I already told you, he's not here." The man said quickly, his back to the wall. "I'm tired of your lack of cooperation." The younger one said in an exasperated tone, he drew from under his coat a long silver pistol. He flicked a latch on the side of the barrel with his thumb. "Thus I will get what I want with a more brutal fashion."
Crack
A flash of light and the old man fell to ground, a scream tore from his throat. He grabbed at a fist-sized hollow in his shoulder. "I don't know! I don't know mbt kaufen!" he kept screaming. His left arm hung limply at his side, drenched in blood The North Face norge, it was only held to his body by a few strings of muscle and tendons. The missing chunk of flesh and bone was splattered across the wall. The teen aimed his gun at the man's other shoulder moncler uk online store, a wisp of smoke snaked from the barrel's end.
"Kay-ta, let me deal with him." Odra begged, shivering with excitement, "I can make the old man talk." His voice was a soft and eerie whine, under his hood, Odra licked his lips.
"No, Odra, you dealt with the last one."
The old man looked into the shadow under the hood, though he could not see it, Kayta's mouth was slowly spreading into a grin. "Humph . . . heh heh ha ha HAHAHA!" the cruel sound rose to a terrible pitch, it was the last thing the old man heard.
Crack
Thump
Kayta rested the pistol on his shoulder, watching the man's now headless corpse twitch. "hm hm hmm." The tail end of his laughter trailed into the night. Odra began to shift back and forth from one foot to the other; impatient, now that the fun was over.
"He traveled here much, Kayta, I can't be sure of his movements from such a muddled trail. Besides this place smells only of blood now."
"Yes, Odra, go outside and see if you can find a trail leading away from here." Odra nodded and walked to the door. Kayta didn't stir; he stood with his eyes closed listening to the house around him. It was so quiet now; he could hear Odra's footsteps moving to the other side of the building. The very aura of the house didn't seem to breathe, and then he heard it. The muffled sound of fabric rubbing together.
He turned sharply, three flashes of light erupted from the end of the pistol. The gunfire broke the silence like a stone through glass. The sounds echoed through the empty cavities of the inn. Kayta stood perfectly still, gun still upraised, staring at a closet door. Three bullet holes were still smoking at the level of the doorknob. Kayta, not fully satisfied strode up to the door and pulled it sharply open. It was just an ordinary closet with a few coats hanging and muddy boots scattered around on the floor. Kayta looked up and found the culprit of the small sound. A simple air vent was silently blowing two of the coats against each other.
"Find any thing?" Odra stepped up beside Kayta, and looked curiously into the closet. Kayta did not respond but reached out and soundlessly took one of the jackets hanging. He drew away from the door and closed it, still holding the windbreaker.
"Do you know what this is, Odra?" Kayta asked looking down at the pail-brown material. Odra looked at what his partner was holding.
"It's a jacket." Odra said with a mildly confused tone.
"Yes," Kayta said, his voice was an odd, cruel sounding hiss, "a child's Jacket." Though it was still hidden in the darkness of the hood, Kayta was grinning again.
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