A Bark in the Dark

The heavy iron gate, a monstrous maw of black iron, refused to yield. Leo pushed with all his might, his small hands slipping on the cold, dew-slicked metal. It was locked, of course. Everything in this house was locked, bolted, or otherwise secured against him. Panic, a familiar icy tendril, began to coil in his gut. He’d come so far, the moon a sliver of hope in the inky sky, the scent of freedom – damp earth and wild honeysuckle – tantalizingly close. Now, this.

He strained, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The metal groaned, a sound that seemed to mock his efforts. He imagined his stepmother’s face, sharp and unforgiving, her eyes like chips of ice, already scanning the perimeter, always watching. He could almost hear her voice, a low hiss that promised punishment for even the slightest infraction. He had to get through. He *had* to.

Just as despair threatened to engulf him, a sound, faint at first, then growing, pierced the night. An alarm. A shrill, insistent wail that seemed to echo from the very foundations of the house. It was a sound he’d heard before, during one of the stepmother’s elaborate, pointless parties, a security breach of some kind. But why now? Had she discovered his absence already? Was it a coincidence?