Cowering in the darkness the hunted could hear the sharp rasp of old steel being drawn across the surface of an old enamel table top. “Oh great, the little freak has a weapon now” he thinks just before the little dark eyed girl leaps at his throat, butchers knife in one hand, the mosquito in the other. She was out for blood… his blood… and nothing could stop those little deamons once they had a scent…
Even BAD little girls have their favorite toys… Thursdays Child’s just happen to be sharp and pointy things.
