The First
Felicia changed into her orange party dress. Eric had called her the night before, and told her that he had been invited to the Allen's' party. He said that he would be by at nine to pick her up-at the front door if her dad said 'yes', at her window if he said 'no'. Earlier that day she told him that her dad had forbidden her to go, but that she was going all the same.
At nine sharp, she heard something hit the window. She opened the shade, and saw Eric, standing underneath her window, holding several extra pebbles in his hand.
"I'll be right down!" she mouthed excitedly, nodding furiously to show that all was well. She rushed to her mirror, to make certain that her makeup was right, then opened the window. She climbed down the trellis and into the garden. She kissed Eric.
"But soft, what light from yonder window breaks!" he laughed.
The set off together down the moonlight garden path. There were almost to the gate when they heard the distinct click-shik! of a shotgun being cocked.
"So…headin' of to have a little fun, eh?" They jumped, and saw Mr. DeGeorge sitting in a bench swing, whittling, a shotgun under his arm.
"Daddy!"
He stood up, dropping knife and whittle work, and pumped the shotgun a second time.
"You get your hands off of my daughter and get the hell off my property right now, child! And you, girl, you're grounded. Grounded, forever!"
He pumped the shotgun once more. Eric dashed off, trying to hide his tears.
"Eric, come back!"
"I think not. You…go to your room, and get out of that dress. You're not leaving that room until Monday morning!"
Felicia looked at him, no tears in her eyes. She felt nothing but hate for the man she once called her father. She scowled, and ran back up to her room.
Felicia tried for hours, but was unable to sleep. The moonlight was maddening, aggravating her like a tiger in a cage is aggravated by noisy, smelly tourists laughing and dangling food just out of reach.
There was a crack at the window pane. She sat up in bed, her delicate orange dress wrinkled from being rolled about in. She tiptoed to the window, and looked out upon the lunar garden below. She saw a small, slight figure standing beneath a rose-covered arch. She scarcely believed her eyes. She cast a look over her shoulder at the locked bedroom door, then opened the window and climbed down the trellis.
Anthony DeGeorge sat straight up in his bed, cocking his shotgun as he did so. He got out of bed, and raced down the hall to his daughter's room. After trying the door, he took a few steps backward, then threw himself into the door, breaking it open. He found the room empty, and the window open. A slight breeze fluttered the curtains. Cursing under his breathe, he turned and raced down the stairs and into the garden.
He stomped through the silvery garden, his footsteps crackling in the gravel. He heard a noise near the fountain, and, raising his shotgun, rushed towards it. He came to the open area by the fountain, but no one was there. A wolf howled in the distance. The wind blew, bringing with it a smell like rotting flesh.
DeGeorge turned, inexplicably, and saw a dark figure standing on the garden wall. He could see no features except his eyes, his red, glowing eyes. He heard footsteps behind him. He was too afraid to look, but knew that he had to. He looked over his shoulder, and caught a brief glimpse of his daughter. She was holding a shovel like a baseball bat. He looked up at the dark figure. The specter raised his right hand, then, with a determined twist of the wrist, made a thumbs down. DeGeorge felt something strike the back of his head. He staggered forward, stars blinking in his eyes. Another hit, to his lower back. He dropped his shot gun, then another, almost immediately, to the knees, causing him to fall to the crowd. He looked up at his daughter, and saw the look of mad glee in her eyes. The shovel struck him across the forehead, cutting a deep gash.
Felicia proceeded to smash her father across the back with the broad side of the shovel. He crawled along the ground, murmuring indistinct pleas of mercy. He tried to pull himself up on the wall. He tried to look up at the thing standing on the wall, to beg for mercy. The shovel caught him on the nose. Blood spilled into his mouth. He couldn't breathe. The shovel was being pressed against his throat, crushing the fragile larynx.
Mr. DeGeorge slid to the ground. Felicia cast aside the shovel, then knelt, looking up at the dark figure on the wall with religious admiration.
Burns bared his teeth and growled "The First!"