Walking through a heavily wooded area, not a soul in sight. Dragging a full garbage bag with a rope in one hand, hacksaw in the other. Only the moon's light to guide the way. One foot in front of the other; left, right, left, right.
Finally at the place where the garbage bag need to be, the garbage bin. Next was to take the hacksaw to the back of the house to finish chopping and stacking what was left of the remains of that old tree.
Driving along country roads. Autumn evening, wind blowing leaves across the road. Moon light shining through the tall spruce trees.
The car ride lonely and long. Sounds of the radio softly poured through the car and rattling in the boot.
Destination, the dump. The car was starting to smell like the remains that were coming from the boot.
Ten cheap radio songs later- arrival.
Walking to the back of the car to gather the remains that was wrapped up in a blue tarp. Pull it out, dragging it behind only to slip out from the tarp, to reveal the dead remains of a raccoon.
Step, step, step. Walking toward a white withered wooden door, to the basement. Clasping a hand around a old glass door knob, turning it open, slowly. Afraid of what's behind it, awaiting. Will it be scary? Nice? Or nothing at all?
The door is ajar now, revealing a darkened narrow staircase. A basement? To go down or not to? What's down there? Only way to find out was to go down that staircase. First step went down slowly, the second one a bit quicker. Stepping into the darkness. Only to be grabbed at the ankles by something created in the imagination.
Falling to an unfortunate death.