Squealing steel burned along its way, oblivious to obstructions, steadfast. The train chugged along, bludgeoning the blackness. Bill the Bindle Stiff sat alone, cutting away at a can of beans with his only rusty pocket knife. Knowing that his life wasn’t worth what defecated his pants, his eyes blankly twitched along the passing trees’ leaves. Beyond, lights blinked away from the faraway town.

His knife caught a snag on the aluminum; he absently pushed harder. It slipped off, slicing his finger. The severed nerves brought his attention back, and he looked at the crimson escaping from his capillaries.

It was about this time, kids, that he noticed the shadow rising over his face. He lifted his retinas to the black figure standing in the boxcar door, a long black cloak flying in ruffles behind him. Light twinkled off hooks at his hands, illuminated by the moon. He took a step closer, clinking.

Bill rose, brandishing his blade in pitiful defense. “Stay away,” he murmured.

It was over in less than 10 seconds. A hook flashed across, putting air between Bill’s hand and his arm. The figure ascended, and hooked Bill in the back on his downward journey, landing behind him.

Bill breathed hard, ignoring the blood squirting from his stump, more worried about the hook tickling his heart.

Wolfhook lifted up his prisoner, and walked to the door. He shoved Bill out into the open air, ground zooming below. A large oak ran towards them up ahead. Wolfhook growled as he threw Bill against it as it passed. He turned back and walked to his well prepared meal. He lifted the can to his snout and drank down the beans.