Bob wandered. The dew soaked into his suede shoes as he made his way cautiously off the path. The faded light of the moon came and went with the passing clouds. He pushed a passage through the loose brush and stopped to listen. The silence lingered, and then the voice picked up again. He continued on.
The thick shrubbery of the park opened into a small clearing of tall grass. As the skies parted, Bob could see the woman sitting, singing. She swayed gently like underwater vegetation being tugged by the softest currents. She looked directly at him and smiled. Her voice was angelic. Bob paused, confused. He had never heard anything like it. The fear of cutting through that empty park at night, story after story of the strange murders taking place, was slowly fading into something terribly comforting and horribly pleasant. Bob stayed his ground in the wet shrubbery, shrouded by the shadows of the trees, listening, watching.
She showed no sign of urgency or beckoning. The breeze played freely at her long, black hair. The smile on her singing face was like that of a content mother watching her children play. Her eyes were a radiant blue in the dim light. She sang an elegant song without words, without structure, without end.
Bob stepped out into the light of the moon, forgetting his surroundings. His pace through the tall grass was burdened with patience. It seemed an eternity before he was face to face with her. She smiled and sang, shifting her tone and slowly turning her head. As Bob knelt down in front of her, his mind never acknowledged the body laying beneath her white hands. She stretched her arms out and licked a bead of blood from her lips. Bob felt a warmth pass through him as she cradled him in a loving embrace and sang his last lullaby.