Moira listened to the sounds of the night as the leaves crunched under her heavy boots. The graveyard was quiet. Not in the “a few crickets here, a hum of a lamp there” way. Actually quiet. Eerily so.
She pulled her jacket in closer to her as she patrolled, her headlamp casting dim red light ahead of her. She had fantasies about this sort of thing years ago when she was younger and dumber. About patrolling through graveyards, fighting vampires and zombies. A dashing and brooding hero watching her from a distance, admiring her moxie as she took out the creatures that went bump in the night.
Moira wished sometimes that she could tell her past self to stop watching supernatural teen dramas and to face reality. That she got her brooding hero, but he wasn’t exactly what it was all cracked up to be. That she had to choose a curse in order to live like herself again.
Something skittered across Moira’s view and she jumped back. Slowly, she tightened the grip on the knife at her hip. “Show yourself, you little bastard beastie…”
A low growl came from the headstone closest to her. She turned to see a small black creature the size of a cat, gripping onto the headstone with sharp claws and staring at her with red eyes that washed out in the lamplight. It hissed at her, the sound unearthly to Moira’s human ears.
She smirked as she pulled the knife out, feeling her claws growing in around the hilt. “Don’t worry, little one. This’ll be over quick.”