In the tradition of the Saturday matinee monster moves, here is a small bite of horror for your enjoyment. I hope to make this a regular feature on my blog.
Let me know what you think!
The pounding on the front door drew Jake from his bed. He blinked out at the circle of men with their flashlights and shotguns and hunting dogs.
“Sorry to wake you. Had to make sure you were all right. Been some mighty strange things going on last few nights.”
“Strange?” Jake scratched at the back of his head.
“Past three nights, Ol’ Tommy seen weird lights hovering over Witch Hill. Yesterday, Will here woke up to half his chickens torn to nothing but blood and feathers.”
“I’m sure Tommy sees lots of things when he reached the bottom of them paper sacks. And no offense, Will, but you ain’t really known for the quality of your fences.”
“But that’s not all. Tonight, Hank saw one of his cows being eaten by another one of his cows!”
One of Jake’s eyebrows arched upward. He nodded at the guns cradled in the men’s arms. “And you think I got a hankering for some beef tartare in my Halloween costume?”
One of the men spat on the ground. “You know that ain’t it. There’s some weird shit going on, and you’ve been all by yourself out here since Clara died. We was worried about you.”
“Well, I sure appreciate this well-intended invasion of my privacy. And if I see any of Tommy’s whisky lights, I’ll make sure to let you lot know.” He pushed back one of the dogs with his shin as it tried to nose its way into the house. “And when you find the coyote that got Will’s chickens, give him my best regards. Don’t trample the flowers on the way back home.”
The men grumbled but backed off. Jake closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. His heart pounded in his chest.
“Who was that, darling? It’s 3 AM.”
“Nothing. A bunch of idiots with no sense of time.”
“Come back to bed, then,” said the thing that wore his dead wife’s face. And, God damn him, he did.
