Every night they waited, the somber hours of the night passing by as the held their breaths. The pale moon was raised and looking down on the small town that waited, glancing over them as the hours passed in darkness. Mothers held their children close as fathers peered through their windows surveying a dark fog for some glimpse past its thick barrier.

Every door was locked as well as every window bolted, though this offered small peace for some, others knew this was futile. Just like the day turning to night, no one could stop what was coming, though many had tried. The only hope for salvation lay in the hands of God, but those who prayed found their cries for salvation often fell on deaf ears.

Soon they would all hear it, the soft unassuming rattle growing closer ever slowly. It was a sound they were all familiar with, the clinking of keys against one another. They would hear the rattle pass slowly along the house, then as they looked on in pensive anticipation, they would view a shadow from beneath their door.

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The echo of metal against metal would ring throughout the house as the shadow placed its key inside the lock of their doors. Children would close their eyes and listen for the sound of the key twisting in the lock, for the sound of cylinders turning. They would listen and pray, knowing what dark fate would wait for them if they heard a click, if they heard the twist of metal.

When the moon fell the people would gather outside in silent agreement on what must be done. They would go house to house and look for the one whose door was open, soon they would find it and quickly they would go inside to find what they always found. Fathers and Mothers holding children in their arms, paler than the moon, lifeless where they lay. Dead eyes of petrified tears still looking to their door, the door the shadow’s key had fit.