Fangs for Nothing
Celia had been walking down a quiet tree-lined road. It was early morning; just the time to enjoy the world before everyone else got up and muddied the day.
The trees shone like burnished gold. As the early sunlight glinted on to the auburn leaves, fiery darts of red and gold splashed into the air.
Underfoot, damp dew-laden acorn cups and ripe conkers shuffled around her feet, making a satisfying sound.
A small dog was loose on the path, warm and brown; a mongrel with large paws and pointed ears.
Without warning the dog flew through the air, attaching itself to the back of her hand. Celia screamed as she saw a large wolf-like creature. It's teeth were yellow and green froth eddied out of its mouth - dripping onto the sleeve of Celia's jacket. As the disgusting mucus touched the leather cuff, the fabric slowly melted.
Fear lending speed to her feet, Celia fled for home. Looking anxiously around the house her fear was palpable as the deceitful danger lurked outside.
Uninvited, the danger had encroached into her day. Momentarily events seemed unreal; until, looking down, she saw three fang shaped bites on the back of her hand. The blood dripped slowly and ominously onto the old doormat. As the blood dripped it turned green and frothy, slowly melting the mat and sizzling into the wooden floor.
Violently the storm came. First an enormous crashing that picked the building up, shaking it before setting it back onto its foundations. The rain thundered its way into every crevice. The lightening snapped it way into the house. The jagged streak of electricity the green frothy blood - sucking it up into its vortex.
Losing consciousness, Celia felt herself being dragged along, squelching on a slimy green, wave battered sea.
She awoke just seven minutes after first leaving the house, yet it was dark, the sky heavy and threatening. Her clothes were covered in seaweed and smelled like an old derelict kennel.
As fast as it had come, the rain stopped. The wind ceased. The fury of the morning was spent.
A plaintive cry was heard outside. Shaking, Celia opened the door. On the worn step sat a small brown mongrel dog with large paws and pointed ears.
Celia looked down - the wound on her hand had gone.