Strange Magic by Gord Rollo

made Tom believe he was stronger than he looked.
    Strong and wiry…that’s what he is. Dangerous!
    The intruder was dressed in black. His full-length woolen overcoat covered most of what appeared to be a well-used pair of cowboy boots. His face was shrouded with a scraggly-looking beard, which concealed but couldn’t quite cover his deathly pallid features. His eyes were the darkest Tom had ever seen, invisible really, sunk into gaunt cheeks as if they had been torn out, leaving two holes. Tom instinctively knew they weren’t the eyes of a concerned neighbor or a policeman; they were the cold, vacant eyes of a criminal.
    It only took Tom a few more seconds to realize this man was a burglar. He had to be. Who else would be sneaking around dressed in black at this unearthly hour? He couldn’t believe this was happening. What were the chances of a burglar and a Peeping Tom hitting the same house, on the same night, at the same time? The oddsmust be staggering. The irony of the situation almost caused Tom to laugh out loud, but he bit his tongue and remained silent. The would-be burglar had not spotted him and Tom wasn’t about to call him over for a powwow. There was no telling how this guy might react and violence wasn’t one of Tom’s best attributes. He was a lover, not a fighter.
    The dark figure came to a sudden stop about ten feet inside the gate. Tom glanced back to see if Maxwell had realized he had a visitor. The alert black killing machine had more than noticed, already stealthily closing the distance on its unsuspecting prey. Oh shit , Tom thought. This is going to get messy.
    Tom glanced into Jackie’s window but quickly turned away. The voluptuous redhead was prime ogling meat for sure, but the real action was taking place in the backyard battlefield below and he didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.
    Maxwell had managed to maneuver within striking range now and incredibly, the burglar was still unaware of the deadly shadow silently creeping toward him. The man just stood there, unmoving, apparently staring into the night sky, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his coat. Tom considered shouting out a warning but bit his tongue and watched, riveted to the scene and anticipating yet dreading what surely would happen next. If the tall man didn’t turn and get out of there right now, he was a dead man.
    Silently, Maxwell moved in for the kill.
    The need for subterfuge gone now, a horrifying snarl shattered the stillness as the terror of Chestnut Avenue lunged forward with teeth bared. Tom briefly considered averting his eyes, but he was enjoying himself too much.Eagerly he awaited the ensuing bloodbath, totally unprepared for the startling surprise about to transpire.
    While the huge Lab was in midair, almost as if he’d known the dog had been there all along, the dark-clothed man spun around and locked his hands around Maxwell’s thick, hairy neck. Even from his distant, high viewpoint, Tom could hear the neck bones snapping under the burglar’s viselike grip. Within seconds, the once-vicious guard dog had ceased its whimpering, its body had gone limp, and it hung lifeless from the tall man’s powerful hands.
    Tom couldn’t believe it. Maxwell had been a damn big dog. The strength required to crush its neck so easily would have to be incredible. He was shocked and scared by what he’d seen, but smart enough to stay quiet. This was one mean son of a bitch. He pressed against the brick wall, trying his best to disappear into the lush ivy.
    Thankfully, Maxwell’s killer started walking toward the rear of the yard, away from the house. The dog lay unceremoniously in a broken heap, casually discarded like some piece of trash. The killer stopped at the doghouse to retrieve two brightly colored leashes that had been hooked to a nearby fence post.
    What’s he going to do with dog leashes ? Tom wondered, his fear and confusion growing by the minute. His curiosity piqued, he watched the mysterious