Nightswim

There he was, staggering out of the front door, down the two steps. He lost his balance and fell. I looked around, didn't see anyone and went up to him. He looked up at me with swollen red eyes. He laughed and said in a slur, "well, what the hell do you want?"

He staggered to his feet and came up to me. He was taller and the whiskey was thick on his breath. He looked at me hard and pushed me. It was a weak attempt and he got right up in my face, "You want your ass kicked!"

I grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the ground. It was a little harder than I meant and when he landed, I heard his neck snap. He didn't make a sound. I looked down at him and his wide eyes just stared up into the air. I let go of his neck and could see the red marks where my fingers were. I thought about my fingerprints- they would surely be able to tell I did this- so I drug his body off into the woods. I wasn't even tired. I had an idea, then. I picked his limp weight up over my shoulders and carried him down to the mine. I wasn't sure why, but it seemed like a good idea. I tore the boards away from the entrance and went down into the mine. It wasn't that dark- my eyes had become accustomed to the dark, like I said. As I lay down his body, I could hear the little bats somewhere farther on and somehow, I knew they wouldn't bother me.

I sat against the mine wall and looked at the man. Lindsay wouldn't have to worry anymore. A cruel and worthless man had been taken off the Earth- I had taken him. I felt good about it. I had done something good. Something Heroic. I looked around the rock walls and thought about those comics that Tim liked to read. Maybe this was my secret lair. I liked the sound of that. I kept looking back at the swollen neck and the bruising. The blue brown discoloration that meant the blood was just below the surface. I grew tired suddenly and I must have fell asleep. When I woke up, I had a scare.

I was in the mine still and I could see the morning sun getting through the cracks in the boards. In front of me, the body was a bloodied mess. Mr. Ketton's head had been all but devoured. His chest had been ripped open and was emptied. I was a little disgusted, but not as much as you might think. I guess that was a result of the changes too. Heroes have to have strong stomachs.

Walking home, I figured it out- the bats. It had to be the bats. Of course. While I was asleep, they must have come down to snack. What kind of bats were they anyway?