The sun started to set by the time Mr. Thompson had finished. Soon, the dark figure could leave its perch in the tree and get back to its cave, to wait for morning. That is when it will take Mr. Thompson out of the picture. Its mind knows what it has to do. It just wonders whether Mr. Thompson will put up a fight or accept his fate. Either way, tomorrow one of them will be a predator and the other prey. It was nearly a full two hours before the dark being began to move down from its perch. It had to wait to make sure that Mr. Thompson had gone to bed and was asleep before it moved. It studied Mr. Thompson for days to understand the routines of its prey. It slowly crept down from its spot until it was on the grown. The glowing ruby-red eyes glowed in the early night. It knew that Thompson was asleep, yet it still had to prowl with stealth.

It moved toward the cabin. Mr. Thompson's cabin was now a dark silhouette in the night. Even with its eyes it was hard to tell where the place was. It placed its dark hand on the surface on cabin. It ran its hand along the surface to see if there was back way in or a hidden door. Its enhanced eyes didnít see anything that might consider a door. Just a couple of windows; and that was it. It satisfied that was there no back door or escape hatch. It left for the night so it could prepare for the next day.

Mr. Thompson, woke up suddenly out of a sound sleep. He was sweating. He hadnít woken up from a nightmare since he was a kid. Whatever the nightmare was about; he couldnít remember it at all. However, it struck him to his core of his being. He turned on a flashlight that was close to his bed. He looked around his room; he didnít have much in his room just the typical odd and ends that everybody has. The most prized procession that he had was two framed pieces of art work. He loved the colors and the composition of the art work. If he is ever in the city again he would have to look up the artist and see if he could get a special one made for him.

He thought he heard something outside. He got up and moved towards his window. He moved the handmade curtains aside to look out to see what might have or still is there. His eyes didnít see anything that moonlight didnít want him to see. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He sat down back on his bed. Reached for canteen of water that he kept next to the bed. He took several deep draws off it and placed it back on the night stand. Mr. Thompson crawled into bed and pulled the hand-crafted blankets up around him. He had one particular handmade blanket. It reminded him of his parents when he was a kid; and both parents were still alive. His dad didnít become an asshole until his mother had gone away. He made it himself with loving