The Litter by Kevin R. Doyle

Author:Kevin R. Doyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: werewolf, cannibal, night to dawn, homeless shelter, feral children, savage bloodshed, the litter, kevin r doyle
Publisher: Night to Dawn Magazine & Books LLC

Chapter Twenty-seven:

Her alarm buzzed right on schedule: 7:30 a. m.

At first, Karen went through the routine of a normal morning. Shower, shaving of legs, breakfast, brushing of teeth. Spent about five minutes selecting what to wear, the first indication that something may still not be quite right. Usually, she had her clothes laid out the night before. A bit pretentious, considering that her normal workday attire consisted of running shoes, blue jeans, and a tee shirt, but she always made a habit of saving a few minutes each morning by laying out her clothes at night.

Almost always.

Hadn’t done it the night before, which made her pause for a second. Then she shrugged, opened her drawers, and grabbed the first few things she saw. But she ended up putting those back in favor of another outfit. Then, only two steps out of the bedroom, she turned back and replaced those clothes.

Spent about three minutes sitting on her bed staring at her dresser drawers, figuring out how she wanted to look for the day.

She ended up settling on the combo she’d originally chosen.

Something clearly not right here.

A quick brush and comb over the hair, deciding at the last minute to put it up in a ponytail, something she hadn’t worn in years. Like riding a bike, she had her strands pulled back and clipped in place in just a minute.

Rinsed her dishes in the sink, thought of putting them in the dishwasher but for some reason didn’t feel as if she had the time to do so. Three days gone from work, a lot of the shelter’s paperwork had no doubt piled up on her desk.

At the last minute, she decided she needed another cup of coffee, or at least half a one, pulled a mug from the shelf and filled it up, then stood at the kitchen counter, staring into the swirling liquid.

Something definitely wrong.

Briefly considered if she might be experiencing the PTSD the doc had warned her about, then dismissed that as too fanciful. The night in the alleyway had been a horrifying experience, to be sure. But trauma?

Hell, she’d been unconscious through the last half of it. Something else was bothering her, something she couldn’t quite pin down.

Without drinking any, she tossed the just-poured coffee into the sink. Whatever her issues might be, she wouldn’t find the answers standing in her kitchen.

Then, just as she set her mind to putting one foot in front of the other and walking out into the world, came a knock at the door.

Karen looked at the clock. Who the hell would be calling on her at eight thirty in the morning? She felt an instant, overwhelming need to run back to her room, jump into bed, and throw the covers over her head, but the urge passed as soon as it came.

She made it to the front door just as whoever it was knocked a second time.

Glancing through the peephole, she saw a slightly-familiar, fortyish man, his hand raised for a third try. No one she knew, at least not off hand, and Karen had no idea what he could want with her.

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