Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The terrible things we do for the ones we love

Episode Date: January 14, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

There are over 2 million farms in America, just under 900 million acres of farmland. Most people only think about farms when they drive through the countryside and see the rows of crops. But even then, there's no real thought as to the amount of work it takes to grow those crops. I'm proud to be a farmer. I come from a long line of families who have made their living, working off the land. But it's a hard life. and necessarily a life that many people associate with a bygone era, a time when most Americans lived in the country instead of in the cities.

In fact, many people find it surprising that there are families like mine still living the old ways in America if they only knew the truth. Were it not for the flat-screen television in our homes, the small phones we carry around, and the laptops we use to communicate with the world, world, you could easily think that progress has left us behind. But it hasn't. The fact is, we are the backbone of progress. We get up before the sun rises and stop work after the sun sets so that people can go to the grocery store and have fresh produce at their fingertips, so they can buy processed foods, many of them made with the major ingredient, corn, right off the shelves. While farming machinery has gotten better over the years, and modified fruits and vegetables have become resilient to the thousands of things that can destroy them, farming has largely remained the same.

Just like any other major industry in America today, there are a few big corporations that dominate the market. Little farmers like me and my neighbors find it harder and harder to make a profit as these big companies drive down the price of anything, and everything we grow. It's a struggle, is what I'm trying to say. But my little community has been lucky. We've done well over the years. We've learned things about farming and about other things. And we pass those things onto our kids, just as our parents passed them onto us. You see, I grew up on a farm, and now I have kids of my own who I hope will one day run the farm. I have lived on the same plot of land my whole life. It's 254 acres of land that I now proudly call my own.

All of my best memories are on this land and all of my worst. This story is about both. It's about tradition and survival. It's about the terrible things we do for the ones we love. And it's about fear. The first night I remember being really scared when I was not years old. It was a clear spring night, and I was dog-tired from helping out on the farm after school. I had been ordered by my father, Gregory, to go to bed early. I had gladly obliged. We had a two-story

farmhouse that my grandfather had built with his own hands when he came to this country in the 1950s. Since I was an only child, I had my choice of the upstairs bedrooms. I took the biggest one, which was closest to the stairs and had a window that looked out on the small chicken coop. I could also see the corner of the big red barn if I pressed my face up against the window. As I got ready for bed, I heard my dad talking to my mom about how the spring planting was almost done. This was important to me because it meant summer vacation was fast approaching. I went to bed thinking about how much fun my friend Chuck and I would have once the oppressive weight of school was a thing of the past, at least for three months.

Chuck lived on the next farm over, and he'd been my best friend since I could remember. As I drifted off to sleep, I pictured us catching frogs in Riggins' pond, building tree forts in the nearby woods, and picking on Chuck's little sister, who was my first crush. It was all a nine-year-old boy could want. sleep enveloped me, but not for long. I jerked awake and looked in confusion around my room. Something had awoken me, but I wasn't sure what. My digital alarm clock read 2.42 in the morning.

I slid out of bed and stepped to my window, looking out on the chicken coop to make sure the door was closed and there weren't any holes in the fence. Just a year earlier, my father had sat me down and told me to watch out for those chickens at night and report to him if I ever saw that something was wrong since my room looked out on the small structure. We'd had incidents with foxes and coyotes in the area, and one time a raccoon had tried to break in, but everything looked fine to me as I looked out the window that night. I turned my head and pressed the right side of my face

up against the far side of the window, bringing the corner of the barn into view. I could see that the barn door was open. It wasn't supposed to be. Excitement and importance surged in me, and I knew I had to go down and tell my father what I had discovered. But as I was about to pull away from the window, something moved out near the barn, something big. I turned my eyes to where I'd seen the movement, but nothing was there. My mind immediately thought of a big black bear killing our horses in the barn. At nine, I didn't know that bears are weren't common in our part of the country. To my child's mind, this was the most important thing to ever happen. I could be a hero to my mother and father, saving the horses from a savage bear.

I ran out of my room and down the stairs in my pajamas, heading straight for my parents' room. But when I hit the kitchen area at the bottom of the stairs, all the lights were on in the empty room, which was a rarity at that time of the morning, especially given how many times my dad had told me, in no uncertain terms to turn off the lights when I left a room. It slowed me down, but didn't dissuade me from my mission. The second factor to give me pause was the partially open door to my parents' room. The third was the light on behind the cracked door. Maybe dad had seen the bear too. I thought as I inched the door open. Only my mom's side of the bed was unmade, as if my dad hadn't been to

bed yet. As I opened the door further, my mom came into view. She stood at a window at the far side of the room, her back to me. She wore a simple white nightgown, and her short brown hair was matted at the back. I stepped into the room. I didn't say anything to alert her to my presence. To this day, I don't know why. Maybe I just wanted to know what she was so intently staring at out that window. I crept up behind her and looked out on a full view of the barn beyond her right elbow. It was dark outside, but I could see that the barn door was still open. Movement caught my eye near the barn again, just as it had when I was in my room. Standing as I was about two feet behind my mother, I squinted and leaned forward to look out the

bottom right corner of the window. An impossibly large and hunched figure moved swiftly out of the barn with long, bounding steps. It looked as if its skin were made of chalky black wood, like a tree that had been burned by a fire. The spikes all along its two legs and its two strangely jointed arms were like the nubs of broken branches. It had to hunch to clear the top of the barn door, which was a good nine feet tall. It looked like it was carrying something, but I couldn't be sure, thanks to my angle and the dark night. My mother made a little noise, a scared noise, as the creature came into view. But I didn't dare pull my eyes from it.

And as the thing moved off through the newly planted cornfields, I thought I saw several sets of eyes on the thing's back and sides. They seemed to look into the lighted window at my mother and me with bland and subdued fury. Then the creature was gone from sight. More movement from the barn pulled my attention away from the patch of night into which the monster had disappeared. It was my father, walking stiffly out of the barn and looking off into the night after the monster. The thought of my dad so near to such a frightening creature overwhelmed me, and I made a noise not unlike the one my mother had made moments earlier. My mom spun from the window at the look on her face frightening me almost as much as the

monster had. Her eyes were wide and filled with dread. There was a protective fury there too, but I didn't realize that. that at the time. Not until I had kids of my own. In that moment, I saw a part of my mom I'd never seen before, and although I thought she was a wrong move away from throttling the life out of me for getting out of bed at such an hour, I now know that she would have gone up against whatever that thing was outside with her bare hands to protect me, and she might have won. Jason?

She said, kneeling in front of me and gripping either side of my face in her cold hands. How long have you been here? A confluence of confusing emotions struck me as she stared at me with such intention. Her wide, dark eyes seeming to expand until they were the only things I could see, the only things I was aware of. I began bawling, unable to deal with the jumble of thoughts and emotions racing through my developing mind. Suddenly realizing that she was scaring me, she pulled me into a hug and shushed me. Although her words were soothing, I could feel her heart beating even faster than mine was.

Once I had calmed down, my mother released me from her embrace and held me at arm's length. Are you all right? she asked. I nodded, sniffling. You were having a bad dream. You were sleepwalking. You were sleepwalking. She said. I saw something outside. I said. My mouth vibrating as I sucked back sobs. It's okay, baby, she said.

It was only a bad dream, just a bad dream. I heard my father's heavy footfalls under the house and walked toward the bedroom. I pulled myself together as much as I could, wiping my tears away. The footfall stopped outside the bedroom door. My mom looked up and over my shoulder. Before I turned around, I looked over my mom's shoulder at the barn. The door was closed. He had a bad dream, she said as I turned to face my father. My dad stood there in his boots, jeans, plain T-shirt, and flannel jacket, looking down at me with a worry in his eyes

I'd never seen before. Several long moments passed as he looked slowly from me to my mother, still kneeling behind me. You okay, Jason? He said finally. I nodded. Get on to bed then, he said. Yes, sir, I said. He ruffled my hair with one square, calloused hand as I walked past.

Visions of the creature made sleep difficult that night, but I latched eagerly onto the notion that it was a vivid nightmare. Eventually, sleep took me. Days passed and then weeks. The incident receded from my conscious mind as spring turned to summer. By the time summer was in full swing, I truly believed that the whole incident was just a nightmare, a product of my overactive imagination.

And I believed that for a long time, years, in fact. I could explain some other strange happenings around the place, like the occasional deer found in the woods, torn in half with only its fur missing, or the few cats that disappeared off our property over the years. The few dogs I found ripped apart and skinned while roaming the countryside with Chuck, or the news reports of missing children we heard about from the bigger towns and city surrounding us. We just managed to shrug these instances off.

After all, life in the country was hard on animals. There may not have been bears around, but there were certainly other predators that would kill and eat deer, cats, and dogs. And as for the kids, well, we were beginning to realize that life was pretty tough on a lot of people. Kids ran away for all sorts of reasons, and realizing that was a part of growing up, I thought. I finished high school and toyed with the idea of going to college. But by that time, I was in a pretty serious relationship with Sandra. who was now my wife.

Besides, I was never going to leave. Farming was all I knew. It's all I know. After I finished high school, my father started clearing a plot of land on a small hill about 100 yards from the house. And then we started building a new house on that land. It was our project,

and I was glad to work on it, even before he told me it was for me and my family. I had assumed that he and mother were going to move out of the old house and into the new one, and I guess I figured I would stay nearby somewhere. But it made sense to build the house for us. When I told Sandra about it, she was thrilled. It took us two years to finish that house, and when it was done, I proposed to Sandra. We got married a year later and moved into the house.

We were 21 years old. My son Isaac came along just after my 23rd birthday. Bethany, our youngest, came along two years later. Isaac is turning 11 soon. Not long after, Bethany will be 9. Time flies. I'm glossing over those formative years, not because they weren't important. They were.

I learned a lot about farming and about life during my high school years. In fact, looking back, some of the hard lessons I learned, learned made me who I am today. They've allowed me to do what it takes to become a man, to step up and provide for my family. I learned that life isn't fair for a lot of people, and that you have to play the hand you've been given. You have to build on what has come before you in any way you can, so your kids can build on it even more, and their kids after them. This is the way of life, but I'm getting off topic. Years passed, Sandra and I were busy raising the kids in our 20s,

and when we weren't with the kids, we were both working on the farm, helping it prosper. I got to work alongside my mother, my father, and my wife. It was a good time in life, and although margins were a little tight, we managed to profit every year. We didn't have to go into debt for long, which was pretty good for a small family farm like ours. The times weren't without their struggles. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but it was good.

Overall, it was good. When Sandra and I needed a weekend away, my parents took the kids, or Sandra's parents did, as they lived nearby and had a small farm of their own. When things were under control on the farm, my mom and dad got to go see some of the world. They got to go to Europe one year and started taking little cruises at the farm. after that. What more could you ask for? But my parents were in their late 30s when they had me, and they were getting old. Just a few years ago, my father died. He had a stroke in the shower one day, just like that, gone. He was 70 years old. After his death, things started getting strange

around the farm. My mother started to lose it a little bit. Alzheimer's, they said it was. Just a few months ago, I was coming back late from tilling a field for green beans when I caught her wandering around in her nightgown, a plain white one, much like the one she was wearing that night so many years ago. I was walking back from the equipment shed when I saw her by the old barn, looking out into the night, muttering to herself. Mom? I said, what are you doing out here? She turned at the sound of my voice, her cloudy eyes, smiled. when she saw me. Jason, she said. Why is it back? Why has it come back so soon?

What, Mom? I said, humoring her. I'd been having a lot of these pointless conversations with her of late. It's not our turn, she said. We just had our turn. Your father took care of it, didn't he? Mom, Dad's been dead for three years. You know that.

Now, let's go back inside. It's supposed to get down to 40 tonight, and you're in your bare feet. She gripped the collar of my shirt and brought my face toward hers. I could see, even in the quickly growing dark, that her eyes had cleared. How long? she said. Three years? The intensity of her gaze and the strength of her grip caused panic to constrict my throat. Yes, Mom, I said hoarsely.

He's been gone for three years now, don't you remember? Did he tell you? She asked, still holding onto my shirt, still intense. Tell me what, Mom? He kept saying he would tell you. He said you'd understand. But he never did, did he? I guess I'll have to tell you.

This is our year. It's our year. Mom, what are you talking about? Tell me what? Come with me to the barn, my mother said, trading her grip on my shirt, for one on my wrist. wrist. She pulled me along as I asked her what this was about. I'll have to show you, she said as we approached the old barn. She let go of my wrist to open the door, and as she did so, an animal

snorted from the field behind us. At least, that's what I thought at first. But it didn't actually sound like any animal I knew of. I turned around and peered into the dark, silently cursing the blackness of the new moon sky. Mom? I am. Did you hear that? Another noise from the dark. This one, a long dragging sound followed by a loud thump I felt through my boots. I backed up two paces but kept my eyes squinting into the night. Suddenly, six or eight pairs of eyes opened in the darkness.

They glowed a faint green and seemed to be stacked on top of each other, as if whatever animals they belonged to were standing on each other's shoulders. I turned and grabbed my mother by the wrist. She was staring at the eyes, too. She saw them. I pulled her along to the house, glancing over my shoulder a dozen times as we walked between the barn and my mother's house. I couldn't see the eyes any longer after the second or third glance, but that didn't stop me from looking. I locked the kitchen door we came through and sat my mother down at the table. I paced back and forth, stopping to look out the windows every so often. Sit down, my mom said. You'll wear a

groove in the floor. It all seemed to click then. The supposed nightmare I'd had when I was a kid coming back at me full force. I took my mother's hand in mind. Mom, I said, what was dad supposed to tell me? Well, I don't know, Jason. Why don't you ask him yourself? I sighed. Her eyes were cloudy again. She wasn't herself. I hugged her tight and told her I loved her. After I got her in bed, I jogged up the hill to my own home, thinking that it was about time to move my mother in with us, so we could keep a closer eye on her. I didn't tell Sandra about the eyes in the darkness.

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with my mom and the strange eyes and the darkness, my son, Isaac, woke me up. The clock on my bedside table said it was just after midnight. What's wrong? Is everything okay? Is your sister okay? Isaac whispered, there's something outside. I immediately thought of the eyes and the creature I'd seen when I was around Isaac's age. What is it?

Sandra said from the other side of the bed. Nothing, I said. It's fine. Go back to sleep, baby. You too, son. Isaac and I left my bedroom after I grabbed a robe from my closet. As I escorted him upstairs, I asked him where he'd seen the thing. I woke up to use the bathroom and looked out the window, he said. There was something down by Grandma's house. It looked big. Okay, I said, lifting Isaac into his bed.

It's probably just an animal. I'll take care of it. Go back to sleep. You've got school in the morning. Isaac nodded sleepily. He got under the covers and put his head down, closing his eyes as he hit the pillow. I crept downstairs and unlocked the gun cabinet, retrieving a shotgun I kept loaded. I went to the front door and collected my house slippers. Then I looked out the window down toward my mother's house. There was a flash of white there that disappeared behind the far side of her house.

It looked like my mother's nightgown. I stepped out of the house and started the walk down the gently sloping hill toward the old house. There was a crescent moon in the cloudless sky, providing some illumination to see by. I kept my eyes on the house, looking for any movement beyond. I just hoped my mother hadn't wandered very far off the property. Another flash of white nightgown caught my eye down near the barn beyond the old house. It looked as if my mom was dancing around, twirling and, her gown. I picked up the pace, and as I got closer, I realized something wasn't right. Using the

barn for reference, I saw that the white nightgown was too far off the ground, as if my mother had grown a few feet taller. Then I realized that I couldn't see her feet, or her arms. All I could see was the nightgown from where I was, and it wasn't the uniform white that it had been. It was stained with something dark. I ran as fast as I could, holding the shotgun out in front of me. The gown swirled as it disappeared behind the barn. But even before that, I had gotten close enough to realize that it wasn't my mom out in the dark with me. It was something else. As I came upon the barn, I flipped the safety off and loaded a shell into the chamber. I slowed as I approached the corner, behind which the gown had disappeared. I put my back to the

barn and took a few deep breaths. Then I stepped out, turning the corner and leveling the shotgun, pressing it against my shoulder. My mother stood there, staring at me, somehow hovering off the ground. At least that's what my brain wanted to see. It took a split second for the reality to wash over me, freezing me to the ground. My mother's skin had been removed and stretched over the monster I'd seen as a child. It was affixed to be. the creature's front using the spiky branch-like nubs that stuck up here and there on the hulking body. These sharp points pierced my mother's skin at the edges, keeping it in place. The blood-stained nightgown was similarly fastened, as if it had been ripped up the back and placed over her skin

in a gruesome approximation of how my mother looked when she'd been alive. As I stood there, frozen, taking the horrid sight in, stiff, branch-like limbs cracked and crunched as they moved from around the monster's bulk, shifting and repositioning themselves. At the end of each limbs had a pair of eyes, glowing green as they gazed at me. A sound like mounds of earth moving came from the monster just before one of its gnarled, trunk-like legs moved toward me. The movement broke my paralysis. I screamed and pulled the trigger, shooting the creature before running back up toward

my house. Fearful glances behind me told me it wasn't following. I killed it, I thought. I locked all the doors and windows when I got to my house. I didn't want to frighten the kids, but I had to involve Sandra. Sandy, wake up. I pleaded, shaking her by the shoulder. It killed her. It killed my mother. Sandra's eyes came open, and she seemed to wake up immediately. What happened to her? She asked. Why do you have a shotgun? There's something out there. It was wearing her skin. It's huge, at least nine feet tall. I said. said, we have to call the police.

Wait, Sandra said, reaching out and laying a calming hand on my arm. She looked at me like I was crazy. Your dad, she said, trailing off as something occurred to her. What about my dad? he asked. Did you not hear what I just said? I heard you, but we need to be smart about this. Before we call the sheriff, let's get Chuck over here. What do you think about that?

Like me, my friend since childhood, Chuck, had taken over his parents' farm. He had a wife and a son a little older than mine. Okay, I said, unable to understand why my wife wanted to call Chuck instead of the sheriff. I only thought Chuck would back me up and suggest that we call the law in. Sandra made the call, walking downstairs as she did so. I stayed upstairs, looking out various windows, keeping watch for. for the creature. A few minutes after Sandra came back upstairs, I saw the headlights coming up our driveway. I ran downstairs and walked out into the front yard, shotguns still in hand,

looking around for the monster that had killed my mother. Chuck parked and shut off his truck. Then he got out toting a 30-odd-6 hunting rifle. Hey, buddy, Chuck said as he walked up to me, let's go inside and get some coffee. Tell me what happened. I nodded, feeling tired from the slow drain of adrenaline from my bloodstream. I told Chuck everything I could remember, starting with the encounter when I was nine years old. I told him about seeing the eyes and the darkness three days previous and ended with the night's incident and the apparent death of my mother. The first words out of his mouth once I was done surprised me. You shot it? He said in an accusatory tone. Of course I shot it, Chuck. What would

you have done? Chuck shook his head and looked up at Sandra, who had been standing behind me, leaning against the kitchen counter the whole time I'd been talking. Something passed between them in that look. I turned and looked at my wife, then back at Chuck. What the hell is going on here? I asked. I tell you a monster killed my mother, and you act like I shot an endangered species. Chuck shook his head again. I don't know why your daddy didn't tell you, he said. My dad, Daddy told me when I was 21 years old. At first, I didn't want to do it. Nobody wants to do it. But he made me see how important it is. I just wish to hell he told you. Told me what? What are you talking about? You ever wonder why all the small farms in this area do so well when other farms

around go belly up? Chuck asked. You ever wonder how it is that we never have a major crop failure, no matter how much or how little rain we get, or how many late freezes we have in the spring. Some farmers are better than others, I said. It's just like anything else. Sure, Chuck said. To an extent, that's right. But there are some things that are out of most farmers control, things that, no matter how hard they try, will end up destroying their crops. But not us. Not the five farms in this little corner of Iowa. And it's thanks to that damn thing that you just shot because your daddy failed to tell you about it. I laughed, unable to believe what I was hearing. Right, I said. Right. I turned and looked at Sandra again, and the hard stare I got back gave me pause.

You know about this? I asked. She nodded. I thought you knew, she said. Up until tonight, I thought you knew. My mother told me about it when we got engaged. She told me that it wouldn't be discussed, that if you wanted to talk about it, you would bring it up. She said that's how it had always been done. I turned in my seat, putting my head in my hands, trying to process what they were telling me. Your dad must have taken it upon himself to do it all this time, Chuck said. Every time it was your turn, your dad did it. He must have been putting off telling you. And then he died. And this, this is your year, Jason, Chuck said, echoing the words my mother had said just three nights previous.

She'd been trying to tell me, to warn me. But her failing mind had gotten in the way. And now she was gone. My year to what? I asked, knowing I wouldn't like the answer. Your year to make a sacrifice to our protector, our God. Sacrifice. I whispered.

That's the reason it went after your mom, Chuck said. It's hungry. You were supposed to feed it a month ago. And now that you've shot it, there's no telling what it'll do. We've got to make this right, Jason. You've got to. It's your job as the man of the house, the provider. You've got to shoulder your part of the burden.

What? I said, swallowing hard. What does it take? What do I have to do? Chuck told me. He explained it all to me like my dad should have done years ago. I'm here, now, sitting in my barn, going over what I'm supposed to do. It has been two days since my mother's death. Two days since Chuck explained the ritual to me. There's really not much to it. I found my mother's body in the barn that morning. She'd been torn in half and skinned,

much like the animals I'd seen as a kid. Apparently, that was part of the unspoken deal between the creature, the god, as Chuck called it, and the families of the area. It would only kill animals for sport so long as it was well fed. It would ensure agricultural prosperity so long as it was well fed. And, well, I'd seen what happened when it wasn't well fed. It's a picky eater apparently. It doesn't like old flesh, only new flesh, and only boys.

I had to drive around outside of Des Moines for almost two full days, only taking breaks to sleep and eat before I found a young hitchhiker. His name is Boyd. He says he's 13 years old, and he's lying in the hay six feet away from me, crying through his gag. He knew something was wrong when I started crying just after I'd. picked him up. He tried to get out of the truck, so I hit him. I couldn't let him escape. I couldn't. I haven't cried since. This is something I have to do. There are people counting on me, and not just my family. My friend's families are also counting on me. I checked my phone.

It's just after 2.45 in the morning. It should be here soon. I get up from the old wooden bench and step over to Boyd. I grip the rope he's bound with and drag him into the middle of the barn. I stand him up, facing the open barn door. I pull out my pocket knife and cut the rope with my right hand,

keeping my left arm wrapped around his little neck. I don't remove the binds around his hands. Those, I can leave. Or so Chuck said, Don't try to run. I don't want to have to hit you again, I whisper in his ear. His muffled coroner,

rise increase as he struggles weakly. I can feel the wetness of his tears as they drop onto my forearm under his chin. I don't expect you to forgive me for this, I say. But I'm not a bad guy. I don't enjoy this. I wish to hell I didn't have to do it. I hear movement outside. The sound like a mound of dirt shifting. It's coming. Think of it this way, I say to Boyd. We help feed the world. We're putting food on tables so people can eat and stay healthy and live their lives. So, in a way, you're helping to feed the world too. Even though the people eating the food that comes from our farms will never know your sacrifice. They'll never know mine either.

The creature, Sir Nunitus, Chuck said its name was, comes into view, ducking through the barn door. Two branch-like appendages are positioned over its shoulders. the eyes at the ends of them looking at the boy. The creature's two long arms shift forward, and I see the glistening claws at the ends of them. They're shiny and black, reminding me of obsidian. I noticed that its two trunk-like feet end in giant hooves, and that its skin looks exactly like the bark of a burn tree.

Its large-mouthed opens, revealing rows of sharp, shifting black teeth. Boyd screams through his gag. Take solace in the fact that you're giving your life for the greater good. I say to him as the creature approaches. I know you're just a boy. I'm sorry it had to be you. I really am. Now be quiet and don't worry.

It'll be over fast. You won't hardly feel anything. I shove the boy forward and the creature sweeps him up, a dozen more eyes creaking around from its back to look hungrily at the boy in its grasp. I watch as the creature shoves Boyd's head into its mouth. and clams down with those dark shifting teeth. A spray of blood erupts as Boyd's head separates from his neck. I turn away, thinking of Sandra and Isaac and Bethany.

When I turn back, there are six pairs of eyes looking at me from their places on the creature's back as it lumberes away into the darkness. I can just see Boyd's tennis shoes sticking out from between the creature's right arm and its body as it cradles the dead boy protective. taking him somewhere to finish the meal. As I close the barn door and head back up to the house, I make a promise to myself. I promise I'll tell Isaac about this when he's ready,

before it's too late. I'll do my son the favor. My dad never did me.