Happy crept stealthily towards the house. His rheumy old eyes were stinging from the heavy wind, making them squint and water. He paused behind a thick forsythia bush in order to look the house over thoroughly before going on any further.
Most of the house, which stood silent and dark, was rapidly disappearing into the gathering dusk. Cautiously, he scuttled over the lawn and around the porch to the front of the house. Happy braced himself against the driving wind, leaning into it, all the while keeping a tight grasp on his Winchester.
When he reached the shelter of the house Happy crept around the corner of the porch, crouched way down low, until he was beneath the only room that had a yellow light spilling out of it’s windows.
Ever so slowly and biting down sharply on his lower lip so as not to groan out loud, he stood up.
Jesus Jumping Up, I’m too old for this shit, he decided.
Trying not to make any noise, Happy stepped over the low lying Juniper bushes and carefully peered through the bottom left hand pane of the window. Slowly, he straightened up until he could see well into the room.
Sammy was sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace down at the other end of the parlor. That Per fellow was close beside her. Happy strained to see what was going on. As he watched, he could see Per’s hands holding tightly onto Sammy’s shoulders. Son of a bitch, he mumbled.
Once again, down as low to the ground as his old, arthritic body could get, Happy moved silently to the window closer to the couple, the one just behind them. From this new vantage point Happy had a clear view of Per. Not to mention a clear shot.
A true son of Maine, Happy had been handling guns all of his life. He’d hunted moose; deer; rabbit; the occasional bear, and plenty of Japs during W.W.II. But never before had he taken such careful aim with more purpose.
Hell, he was pretty sure he’d never hunted alien before.