Jerry sat in an armchair, waiting, looking out from the porch. Darkness pervaded his perimeter, with the tree line beginning just beyond that. Intermittent moonlight shone through the boughs, but the sky was dead of stars.
A bowl sat in the middle of the garden; well, more a pot really. A cauldron. In it, bones protruded like dried spaghetti waiting for boiling water. Meat still clung to them; tendrils, tendons, fat and flesh. They bathed in blood.
Jerry hunched forward, careful to keep his head low beneath his deerstalker.
A darkness slinked forward from what now seemed like a milky tea. It emerged in the open space of Jerrys garden, a snout pointed to the clouds, red eyes burning, claws dredging the soft earth.
The Hellhound sniffed the human remains.