Mr. Biggles' Death: Horror, Sort of.

Scorched rubber filled the air with sound and a screech as the red jag pulled away from the little huddle of children surrounding their dead friend on the corner of the street. Mary looked up from Mr. Biggles with tears in her eyes. "It's wrong," she said. "This is the third one. I heard from the gang over Nickel Street that he got their dog three weeks ago. Two weeks ago something happened to the pigeon from Terry Ave. And now he's got Mr. Biggles. It's got to stop." The small faces around her nodded with grim determination. "Take 'im out?" Johnny asked, pulling a shiv from his Nike converse top. "Yes," said Mary, "but not like that. I think we need to be more careful with this one. He knows about us." "Has to," Sue agreed. "No way in heck was this all accidental."

Inspiration: None.
Story Potential: Medium-low. Not that there isn't a story here, but that the story would probably not be that good.
Notes: Yes, street gangs of small suburban children who put on a happy face but are utterly ruthless. Think of it as a twisting of the stories where a group of kids saves the world. These are the protagonists, sort of, and we're supposed to be rooting for them. They're also Ender's Shadow-level manipulative, lethal kids. I'm thinking there's some sort of passage ceremony by which they become adults and forget about their childhood monster-hunting, where the monsters are both human and not-so.