The Writers' Circle

Chapter 1


	It was a quiet day. Nearing dusk. All was well within the small town. The sounds of laughter could be heard through the walls and doors as children ran and played in the streets. Parents rushing behind them trying to usher them inside. Neighbors sitting in chairs and swings on their porches. Unaware that their warm, peaceful day was about to be shattered.

	Alabastor Gant was the first to hear it. A long drawn-out howl. At first he thought it was just a pack of coyotes barking in the night, so they could hunt. As the howl elapsed a half hour, Alabastor knew it was no coyotes. Grabbing his rifle, he cautioned out his front door, 
and stood on his porch. A flashlight in one hand, his rifle in the other. Nervously glancing around, he looked for the animal. Thinking it wounded, he wanted to put it out of it's misery.

	What emerged from the woods surrounding his small hut was no coyote, nor was it a wolf. In fact, Alabastor had never seen anything like it before. It resembled a dog or a wolf, but it's size was monstrous.  Almost as tall as he was, Alabastor fumbled with the safety on his rifle. Dropping his flashlight, he raised the gun to his shoulder, but the animal was gone.

	Turning suddenly from side to side, Alabastor's only thought was to find this monster and kill it. The thought was barely in his mind when a massive paw swiped and severed his head from his neck. Alabastor Gant was dead before he hit the ground. The animal howled long and sorrowful. Tucking tail, it ran back into the woods and converged with the pack. Thirty of the biggest, meanest, scariest dogs anyone has ever seen before. The hunt ensued. 

                                        
                                         Chapter 2


	As twilight set in, while everyone was nestled snugly in their beds, an unknown enemy was creeping into their safe haven. The Pack had emerged from the woods and onto the empty streets. Cautiously sniffing the air for any sign of trouble. Maxx, the biggest and meanest of the pack, boldly walked down the center of the street. Not bothered with the humans that inhabited the place.

	Maxx, a hybrid rottweiler/German Sheppard mix, was obviously the Pack leader. When he walked, the others cowered before him. Avoiding his face, several even turned tail and scampered in the opposite direction. Tilting his head back, he howled an enormous, window rattling howl.

	As people emerged from doors to see what had caused the disturbance, Maxx barked. Once. Twice. Three times. At once, his pack shot off in different directions. What came next is hard to imagine. The sounds of people being ripped apart. Gurgling on their own blood as massive jaws tightened around their throats, their faces frozen in terror as the realization set in. 

        They were being massacred by a pack of dogs. Massive, brutal, and deadly, but dogs all the same.

         Blood ran rampant in the streets. Limbs littered the sidewalks and lawns. The dying screamed in agony as the pack chewed on the severed appendages and bloody stumps.  

	With jaws dyed red from blood and quivering with excitement, Maxx threw his massive head back and howled madly. The pack started to gather in the center of the town.  As they assembled, Maxx looked around at his pack. Barking once the pack turned and they all darted towards the highway.

	Reaching speeds of up to 90 miles per hour, The Park reached the highway in minutes. 

         The town of Little Starr lay decimated behind them.