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Trapper’s Moon

Summary

November 25th, 2015 It's barely been a month since the fire. The acting Sheriff of North Kill, Travis Hackett, has only just finished sweeping up the ashes left behind in the wake of his family's horrific mistake. The investigation is over, the kids are in the clear, and the Hackett's are resilient folk. He tells himself they'll all be stronger for this, in the end. Travis reckons it couldn't get much worse, when a family emergency calls him home to Hackett House. The full moon can really bring out the worst in people.

Travis Hackett pov \ Blood and Gore \ Body Horror \ Family Bonding \ 10k+

Read it here on my AO3 - part of a larger work, Witness to the Dawn

Hank Williams had devoted his entire life to serving and protecting the people of North Kill, New York, and acted as their Sheriff for over thirty years. He had never married and had quite intentionally avoided siring any children of his own. Although, if you asked around, a surprisingly large number of people would tell you they viewed him as a father figure, or a mentor at the very least. He possessed a paternal gravity that pulled the troubled and broken into his orbit, where he dished out sage wisdom, second chances, and tough love in equal measure. He had always been able to bring out the good in people, no matter how deeply it was buried within them. Not a soul in North Kill grew up without receiving at least one of his infamous speeches, and they typically walked away better for it. He was loved in life, and sorely missed in death.

And yet somehow, Travis Hackett was the only one willing to settle his estate. In the month since Hank’s tragic death, the former deputy and now acting Sheriff of North Kill had been the only one who volunteered to make funeral arrangements and carry out the stipulations of his predecessor’s final will and testament. Travis had cleaned up his house and sold it, making sure every last dime was donated to Hank’s preferred children’s charity organization. He had found a good home for his two big drooly hunting dogs, Scoot and Bill. He had even turned in a proposition to build a memorial for Hank, though it would have to pass through the mayor’s office first and Lord knows how long that would take.

He had done all of this on his own on top of taking over the duties of Sheriff, and not a single person in the village endeavored to help him. He was sure if he had asked, maybe someone might have, but he was a staunch believer that there were certain things one shouldn’t have to ask for. Or…maybe he took all that responsibility upon himself because of the guilt. His family had fucked up in a major way. And by extension, so had he.

Everything had happened so fast, Travis felt like he had a chronic case of whiplash. He wasn’t there when the fire started, but he was there to clean up the mess, both in the role of a police officer, and as a concerned uncle. He would never forget trapsing through those woods, air heavy with smoke, heat still radiating off smoldering trailers. The lingering smell of burnt flesh. Hank’s body, unrecognizable but for the charred star on his chest. Still nothing compared to the unholy shitstorm that occurred at Hackett House that next day.

He had quickly discovered his own niece and nephew had been responsible for the fire, in an attempt to “save” a caged little boy from the Harum Scarum show. In the process, Caleb had accidentally set fire to the entire goddamn campsite, engulfing dozens of people in flames. The little boy in question, Silas, ended up running off anyway, but not before assaulting Caleb first. Thankfully he had healed from the bite in no time. Travis could still clearly remember the ensuing argument, his mother switching rapidly between tearfully begging him not to arrest the kids and violently threatening him for evening considering it. Nothing he wasn’t used to, of course, but what he could not handle was the way his niece and nephew fell to pieces, cowering in their father’s arms.

Kaylee apologized over and over again through racking sobs, and Caleb refused to speak or move for days, practically catatonic. He couldn’t bear to see them like that. He loved them like his own, he had to protect them, no matter the cost. Family is the most important thing, after all. And so, he gave in to his family’s demands, like he always did. He had seen to it that any trace of the Hackett children was either misplaced or never found at all, and the cause of the fire remained a mystery. He blamed it on a lit cigarette carelessly tossed into a bale of hay. A tragic accident, and nothing more.

His career as Sheriff started with a lie, and he hated himself for it. He would give or do anything to make it better and, to that end, had been working himself to the bone over the past month. It wasn’t a sustainable pace, but it was no less than he felt he deserved. With Hank properly put to rest, and all his major affairs settled, Travis had more time to focus on the little things. He hadn’t even transitioned into Hank’s old office yet, and initially couldn’t stomach packing his belongings into boxes. Hank’s office had been more well-furnished than his own home; he had practically lived in the station.

As Travis removed certain framed photos from the walls and sorted through decades of clutter from the desk drawers, he couldn’t help but reminisce. He had a lot of fond memories of that office, good laughs and even better gossip shared over morning coffee. And some not so fond ones as well, which were the most impactful of all, in hindsight.

In his youth, Travis had sat across from ol’ Hank many, many times. The new Sheriff had a rap sheet, long since expunged, of adolescent drunk and disorderlies under his belt. And petty assaults. Travis remembered sitting opposite Hank, face black and blue from a particularly nasty back-alley fight, idly picking at his scabbed knuckles. Doing anything to avoid Hank’s disappointed gaze.

“You could do so much better,” he remembered Hank saying.

Travis had snorted in response; a skinny, arrogant punk with no respect for anyone or anything. “You should see the other guys,” he had laughed, halfheartedly.

Hank scowled and shook his head disapprovingly, “You know that’s not what I mean, Travis.” He leaned heavily over his desk, face searching for Travis’s gaze, making sure the boy looked him in the eyes. “You have so much potential and you are pissing it all away, and that’s a fuckin’ shame Travis.”

“Potential?” Travis had asked mockingly, looking up to meet the older man’s eyes. “I have the potential to kick someone’s ass when they talk shit about my family, that’s my potential.”

Hank’s calm, resolute expression did not falter. “What I mean is, you’re better than this Travis. I don’t know what kind of backwards shit your Ma and Pa have drilled into your head, but you are so much better than bar fights and shit stomping nonsense. You’re smart, Travis, smartest person in the room most of the time. I know you feel so strongly about what’s right and what’s wrong, and you can’t stand it when other people shit all over that. I know it’s exhausting. And I know, you feel like no one listens to you. And I know it makes you madder than hell-”

“You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about me,” Travis nearly yelled, venom oozing through his words.

Hank, God bless him for the patience of a saint, remained unphased. “Travis, I know you better than you know yourself,” he continued softly. “You have been in this office more times than I can count on both hands. I’ve been called to your house nearly as often, too. I have watched you grow up into a fine young man. I know…” he paused, considering his next words carefully. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you, son.”

Travis involuntarily winced at this and looked away, mouth screwed into a tight frown, pressure starting to build behind his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do,” Hank said with a simple nod. “You know what I mean. I like your folks, Travis, I do, and I won’t talk ill of them. I know you don’t like that. But that place is no good for you. You deserve better-”

“I ain’t better than anybody else,” Travis interrupted with a phrase he had heard many, many times, and damned himself for the tremble in his voice. He had swallowed hard and pinched the bridge of his nose swiftly, hoping to covertly catch his welling tears before they became obvious.

Hank sighed and leaned back in his creaky chair, sensing the conversation was going nowhere fast. “Travis,” he said, shifting the tone of the conversation to something more inquisitive. “Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?”

Travis recalled being completely thrown off by this question and chuckled to himself about where it had led. Hank thought he would benefit from the structure and discipline a career in the law entailed. That having something entirely his own would help him to gain a bit of independence from his family. The former was true, while the latter, in retrospect, was not. At least not entirely. He had moved out of Hackett House after receiving his first couple paychecks and settled into a nice little place of his own on the edge of town. Hank had sponsored his education at the police academy, along with a semester of pre-law at NYU. It was more than Travis felt he had the right to ask for, but Travis hadn’t technically asked and Hank was just like that in the first place. Generous. Selfless. Things Travis had always hoped to be, though he more often than not found himself falling short of that high bar. You can take the man out of the Hackett’s, but you can’t take the Hackett’s out of the man.

The only wall hanging Travis decided to keep on display was one he initially found a little embarrassing. It was a framed photo of him and Hank from the day of his academy graduation ceremony. Arms slung around each other’s shoulders, shaking hands. Hank was absolutely beaming, and so was Travis. His parents had been there too, of course, but nobody was or ever had been as proud of him as Hank was in that moment. Travis gently swiped the dust off the glass with the side of his hand and repositioned the photo in its original home on the wall directly behind the desk, taking extra care to make sure it hung straight.

He considered the photo for a moment longer, the familiar pang of grief beginning to swell in his chest. It wasn’t fair that bad things always seemed to happen to good people. It just didn’t make sense. He cleared his throat, and stamped the feeling down, back into whatever dark hole it had crawled out of. Just in time as well, as he heard a small, timid knock on the closed office door. “Come in, Darcy,” he commanded, quickly pretending to straighten papers on the desk. He wasn’t one to get caught being sentimental.

The office secretary, Darcy, opened his door just a crack and peaked her head into the dimly lit room. “Uh offi- er, Sheriff Hackett,” she corrected herself, “your brother is on line one. Says he needs to talk to you right away. Couldn’t reach you on your cell, sir.”

Travis pulled his phone out of his back pocket, and sure enough, no bars. The reception in North Kill seemed to drop in and out at the worst of times. He sucked his teeth, “Shit. Okay, I’ll be right out Darcy. Thank you,” he said to her, not bothering to look up from his useless device until he noticed her lingering in the doorway.

“It seemed…urgent,” she added with a wince.

Travis rolled his eyes and sighed, following Darcy out into the main lobby of the station. His brother made no effort to hide the fact he felt entitled to Travis’s sweet time, and in truth the two were still a bit sour with each other over the fire incident. Some very harsh names had been exchanged that first night, “shitty father” and “fascist pig” surprisingly being the worst out of all the many peppered motherfucker’s and asshole’s. “Chris,” he answered the phone curtly, “What’s up?”

“T, I need you to come to the house,” Chris responded quickly, voice soaked with obvious stress that immediately put Travis on high alert.

“Why what is it, what’s wrong?” His younger brother was not one to panic.

“It’s Caleb. I think he’s really sick man. I’m back and forth on taking him to the hospital, I don’t wanna leave Kaylee alone,” Chris explained.

“Sick how? Aren’t Ma and Dad home?” He asked, and noticed Darcy was still standing right next to him, anxiously biting her nails. He raised his brows at her, a silent plea for some privacy, and she seemed to take the hint, quickly scuttling behind her desk.

“Well, yeah. But…y’know,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I’d prefer to have a responsible adult around. C’mon man, please. It’s gonna be dark soon and Kaylee’s freakin’ out. I just- I could just use a little help.” He sounded so defeated. Kaylee had been especially…sensitive, after the fire. And who could blame her, it had barely been a month.

Travis held the phone to his chest and pursed his lips as he considered his options for a moment. It was late afternoon, on a Wednesday, and he was supposed to be on duty at least until nine, when he’d switch off with the officer on call for the night. Then again, his family needed him, although it didn’t seem like a huge emergency if he was being quite honest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Darcy wave for his attention, and silently mouth the words “just go”, followed by some indecipherable gesturing. He brought the phone back up to his ear, “Okay. Okay, I’m on my way. Hang tight.” He didn’t wait for a response before hanging up. As per usual, he could not resist the pull of his family.

He donned his jacket, a standard issue black number with faux fur trim, left the station in Darcy’s reasonably capable hands, and took off in his patrol car. He appraised the other officer on duty, deputy McGillan, of the situation via radio, and made short work of the long and winding drive to Hackett House. He decided to take a shortcut; an old and poorly maintained dirt road originally used for logging. People tended not to use it, as it only really led to Hackett’s Quarry, and Travis found he could easily get away with really pushing the pedal to the metal there.

The sun was just beginning to set over the trees as he pulled his vehicle in front of the ramshackle old house. The air had grown crisp since he left the station, and he could just barely begin to see the fog of his own breath in the cool November air. He wasted no time entering the gigantic house, boots thudding heavily as he traversed the front porch. He tested the front door handle and found it was unlocked. He allowed himself inside and immediately caught sight of both Chris and Kaylee across the foyer, sitting together on the bottom step of the grand staircase.

“Uncle Travis!” Kaylee shouted, jumping up and rushing toward him before he even had a chance to shut the door behind him. She flung her arms around his chest in a tight embrace, burying her face in his shirt. Her breaths came up shaky, like she had just been crying.

“Woah,” he laughed nervously, placing a gentle arm around her shoulders. “Hey kiddo, you okay?” He asked Kaylee but looked to his brother for the actual answer.

Chris slowly rose from his seat on the stairs and huffed a sigh of relief. “We’re alright,” he said solemnly, “just a little shaken up. Caleb’s running a pretty bad fever.” The two men both glanced upstairs, toward Caleb’s bedroom, then back down at each other. “Thanks for comin’ man-”

He began to say more, but was interrupted by Constance, shuffling in her own quick, distinct way through the drawing room and into the foyer. “Travis, close that door behind you! You’re letting all the heat out. Kaylee-girl, come with me hon, come help your Gammy fix supper.” She beckoned toward Kaylee, who finally released Travis from her nearly crushing embrace.

Travis smiled at his mother, tight lipped and entirely fake. “Nice to see you too, Ma.” She ignored him and ushered Kaylee toward the kitchen. He closed the door, as instructed, and turned to his brother again. “Where’s Dad and Bobby?”

“Wrapping up at the scrapyard, I think,” he said dismissively. Chris looked uncharacteristically worried, the lines on his aging face deeply furrowed.

Travis put his hands on his hips, “So, what’s going on here? You said Caleb’s running a fever. How high?”

“101,” Chris said sheepishly. “It’s not good, but not terrible either. Y’know they say it’s best to let a fever run its course. Sometimes. If it’s not too high.”

Travis was starting to get a little annoyed. What was the point of him leaving work to rush out here if Chris wasn’t even taking Caleb to the hospital? Travis didn’t know much about medicine, but maybe he could convince Chris to leave. If not for Caleb's sake, then to at least make it worth the drive. “You don’t think this had anything to do with the fire, do you? When that kid bit him? Can’t be sanitary,” he suggested.

Chris thought for a moment. “No? I- I don’t know,” his tone was quickly becoming frustrated. “I mean he healed quick and he’s been healthy as a horse since then. Distant, sure, but physically okay. And then just a couple hours ago he did this total 360, he got real pale all the sudden, and he’s burning up. Says his stomach hurts, he’s really hungry but I’m not sure I should let him eat…,” he trailed off.

“180,” Travis corrected.

Chris narrowed his eyes at his older brother, confused. “What?”

“A 360 is a full turn around, 180 is when something is the opposite of what it was,” Travis explained.

Chris just stared at him blankly, face unable to mask the visible, bubbling anger slowly rising to the surface. “Y’know if you’re gonna be an asshole you can just go.”

“I’m not trying to be an asshole. You called me here to help and now nothing’s happening, Chris. Got me all worried for nothing.”

“Nothing’s happening?” Chris started to raise his voice, “Don’t you think enough has happened lately? I would fucking love for things to just stop happening around here for five fucking minutes!”

Travis didn’t much like his younger brother’s tone. He stepped forward toward Chris, closing the gap between them. “So would I, because I’m real fuckin’ busy lately cleaning up the mess you left me.”

“What, me specifically?” Chris looked incredulous. “Why don’t you get off your high fucking horse Travis and-” BAM!

Whatever foul sentiment Chris was about to spit at Travis was cut short by a loud thud from upstairs that caused both men to jump nearly out of their shoes. The force of it shook the entire house, causing the light fixtures to flicker as a wispy cloud of dust floated down from the ceiling. The two men stopped their bickering and looked up toward Caleb’s room, listening. “Caleb?” Chris called. “You alright buddy?” No response.

“Caleb?” he called again, to no avail. The moment Chris had placed his foot upon the first step, the pair heard a subtle, soft creaking of floorboards, and the younger Hackett brother paused his ascent to listen once more. What he heard next, however, was any parent’s worst nightmare: a sudden, ear-splitting wail of pain that was unmistakably Caleb’s voice, his little boy’s voice, followed by a wet, squelching sound that could only be described as a massive splat. Like someone throwing a sopping wet towel against a wall. Or heavy rain, blown sideways against the house by an angry wind.

“Caleb!” Chris screamed for his son as he bolted up the stairs, nearly tripping on his way to Caleb’s room. Even within those few seconds, the thumping and banging continued, and grew even louder, rattling the entire second floor. Travis began to follow his brother, but spied Constance and Kaylee rushing toward the foyer, no doubt coming to investigate the noise.

“Woah woah woah, stay right there,” he shouted, extending his left hand to stop to stop them, the other instinctively flying to the handle of his service weapon, releasing the single snap that held it in place. They both came to a screeching halt and the trio all looked up just in time to see Chris bursting into Caleb’s room, practically kicking in the door.

They all observed what felt like an eternal millisecond of silence before Chris let out a horrendous scream. It was a sound Travis had never heard before; it made his blood run cold. He was on the stairs in an instant, skipping steps two and three at a time, not daring to peel his eyes away from Caleb’s doorway, the deafening screaming still ringing from its dark maw. And something else, some other, primal sound. A low, gurgling growl, resonating several frequencies below the rest of the chaos.

“Chris!” Travis called his brother’s name as he reached the top of the stairs, and was promptly answered by the musical crash of broken glass. His own momentum had propelled him forward, and he crashed painfully into the doorframe, barely catching himself from tumbling into the room, one hand still gripping his holstered sidearm. Bright, white moonlight filtered in through Caleb’s broken bedroom window, now little more than a massive, jagged hole. Its wooden frame was busted into splinters, and shards of glass littered the ground, sparkling in the moonlight.

He found Chris slumped against the right wall, grimacing and groaning in pain but thankfully alive. He held his right shoulder with a white-knuckled death grip, absolutely oozing crimson red blood from a large, gaping wound. Travis quickly scanned the room and saw no sign of Caleb. He rushed to his brother, and knelt down beside him, “Jesus Christ, Chris, what the fuck happened here?” He lightly touched Chris’s shoulder but quickly pulled away when his brother inhaled sharply and stomped one foot against the hardwood floor.

“Fuck! Don’t touch it, don’t touch it,” Chris begged. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“What the in the MOTHERFUCKIN’ HELL is goin’ on up there?” Travis heard his mother shriek and turned to see her and Kaylee both poking their heads out from upon the staircase.

“Do not come up here Ma,” Travis shouted back at her, “Take Kaylee downstairs. Now!” He ordered. Normally, his mother would argue, would yell at him for raising his voice at her. His tone must have been convincing enough for her to actually listen to him for once, she obeyed his order without complaint, the tops of their heads quickly disappearing from his field of view.

Travis looked around the room once more, finally able to take a moment to really assess the situation. The walls were splattered with blood, running down in thick syrupy rivulets. Some sick and twisted mockery of a Jackson Pollock painting. Chunks of what looked disturbingly like skin, clinging to the wallpaper. “This can’t all be yours Chris. Tell me this isn’t all yours,” he said, looking at his brother wide-eyed.

Chris had been hyperventilating but was now making a concerted, labored effort to control his breathing. Desperately trying to regain some modicum of composure. “No,” he said after a moment. “Not all of it. It was like this when I got up here. And that-” he paused, and swallowed hard. “Something…attacked me. Tried to bite a fucking chunk outta me.”

“Something? What- who? Was it Caleb? Where is Caleb, Chris?”

“I don’t know!” Chris snapped at him. “I have no fucking clue what’s going on right now!” He shifted onto one leg, rising to his feet with great effort, despite his brother’s protestations. “Either my son is missing, or-or he’s…,” he paused, and gave Travis a look that was nothing short of piteous.

Both brothers slowly turned their heads in unison, looking out toward the obliterated bedroom window and the night sky beyond. “No,” Travis said in disbelief. “No fucking way.”

Chris turned abruptly on his heels, rushing back down the staircase, followed quickly by Travis, who was a ball of nerves and confusion. “Wait, Chris!” he called after his brother, close on his heels. “Where the fuck are you going? We need to get you to a hospital.” Chris rounded the bottom of the stairs and stomped down the central hallway, a man on a mission. He threw open one of the many closets and linen cupboards that lined the long expanse and pulled out exactly what Travis had predicted: their father’s hunting shotgun. One of many. He slung the long, heavy weapon over his left shoulder by its strap, grunting out loud from the pain that accompanied the simple movement. “Chris,” Travis addressed is brother, trying to remain as calm as possible. “I need you to listen to me-”

“No,” Chris interrupted, “I need you to listen to me.” Finally able to see his brother’s face, Travis’s heart sank lower than he had ever thought possible. A clear stream of tears flowed down Chris’s cheeks, cutting straight paths through the still fresh blood smeared across his face and neck. “My son-” he began, choking back an emerging sob. He pointed one trembling finger toward the front door, “My son is out there. Alone. He’s obviously very fucking sick, and I need to find him. What I need you to do,” he said, now pointing at the center of Travis’s chest, “Is stay here, and protect the girls. I need you to do that.”

Travis stared at his brother, mouth agape. “Chris,” he protested, “You can’t go out there alone. You’re hurt, and you don’t know if that thing was Caleb, or something else-”

“Just try to get a hold of Dad and Bobby on the radio, okay? They need to know what’s happening here,” he pushed past Travis, marching in a straight line toward the front door.

“Daddy?” Kaylee’s small, shaky voice called out from the drawing room. The brothers both turned to see Constance and Kaylee, lingering in the doorway. Kaylee had obviously been crying, her face red and puffy, wet tears trickling down her cheeks. Chris took the first step toward her, and father and daughter met each other halfway. Kaylee tried and failed to speak in between sobs that shook her entire body.

Chris grimaced through what was likely a very painful hug before bending down to look into his daughter’s frightened face. “Hey sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He wiped away her falling tears with the pad of his thumb. “It’s okay baby. Caleb’s gonna be okay too, you hear? I promise you. I have to go look for him right now, but I’ll be back. I’m gonna bring him back to us.” He tried his best to look reassuring, and genuine. “Your uncle Travis is gonna stay here with you and Gammy, he’s gonna keep you guys safe while I’m gone. He would never let anything bad happen to you,” he looked at Travis as he said this, and Travis confirmed with a solemn nod. Chris gave his daughter one last, swift peck on her forehead. “You get Dad and Bobby on that radio Travis,” he reminded his brother as he walked backwards toward the front door. “I’ll be back.”

Chris slammed the door behind him, leaving Travis, Constance, and a crying Kaylee behind in stunned silence. It didn’t last long though, as Constance gave Travis a harsh shove, shaking him out of his incredulous stupor. “What the fuck happened up there, Travis? Why won’t nobody answer me? Where the fuck is my grandson?”

Travis ignored her barrage of questions. “It’s a long story, Ma,” he answered simply. He couldn’t begin to explain what happened because he just couldn’t understand it himself. “Kaylee,” he addressed his terrified niece, “why don’t you go take a seat in the other room, okay?”

“Why did Dad have a shotgun? Is Caleb gonna be alright?” she asked, vigorously wiping the tears from her face, making no move to leave the foyer. “We need to go help him!”

“It’s gonna be fine, now go sit down,” he commanded, trying to bring a gentle authority to his voice. She didn’t seem to like that but turned and trudged into the drawing room all the same. “Ma,” he turned to Constance, “You go to the hall, grab Dad’s other shotgun. The short one!” She gave him an affirmative nod and disappeared down the hallway.

Travis began to fiddle with the P25 radio perpetually hooked to his belt, and finally found the family’s typical frequency they used to communicate in their cellular dead zone of a property. “Dad, Bobby, come in. It’s Travis, over,” he all but yelled into the walkie attached to his shirt, pacing back and forth across the foyer, still riding an adrenaline high.

“Travis?” He heard Bobby’s familiar voice over the walkie. “I didn’t know you were comin’ home tonight! I guess Mom’s making that chicken parm you like…” Bobby prattled on, blissfully unaware of the dire nature of their current situation.

“Bobby, you and Dad need to hightail it to the house, we need you here. We have a- a uh…a situation. Over.”

“Uh oh,” he heard Bobby say sheepishly, “Is it about the fire? Oh shit, is it the cops? Over.”

Travis pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, brows knitting together in consternation. “No, Bobby, I am the cops. Look, there’s no time to explain…” He saw Constance emerge from the long dark hallway, loading shells into the smaller shotgun that still looked almost comically large in her frail grasp.

She reached out and yanked Travis’s walkie from his hand, “Bobby you and your father need to get your fuckin’ asses back here right this instant, no questions asked do you hear me boy?” She screamed at her youngest at breakneck pace with all the authority of a drill sergeant. “Over,” she added politely, shoving the receiver back into Travis’s grip before turning to join Kaylee in the drawing room.

“Okay,” Bobby whined, “Jeez…over.”

Travis allowed himself a sigh of relief and grazed one hand over his head and through his black hair, smoothing it away from his sweating face.

“Kaylee?” He heard Constance call from somewhere deeper within the house. “Kaylee!” He rushed toward his mother’s voice, finding her in the dining room, practically spinning around in circles, frantic. “Travis, I can’t find Kaylee. She’s not here!”

Fuck. “Did you look everywhere?”

“Yes I fucking looked everywhere, I’m not goddamn blind!” She screamed at him, and he took an immediate, involuntary step back. Just then, looking past his mother and into the kitchen, Travis saw through the picture window the distant white gleam of a flashlight appear and quickly disappear into the trees bordering the property. “Fuck!” he yelled, pushing past Constance and into the kitchen. “She went out the side door.”

He made a move to open the screen door that connected the kitchen to the eastern side of the house, but paused when Constance clutched his arm, pulling him back. “I’m comin’ with you,” she insisted.

He turned back to face his mother, wide-eyed. He knew she would only slow him down, more likely to hurt herself than actually be of any help. He gingerly placed his hands on either of her shoulders and spoke as calmly as he possibly could, gently pleading with her. “No, I need you to stay here to catch Dad and Bobby when they come. We can’t have everybody running around in the woods at once-”

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She interrupted, face absolutely aghast.

He gave her a stern look. “You tellin’ me Constance Hackett can’t take care of herself?” He knew well by now that playing into her ego could get her to do almost anything.

She stared at him a moment, eyes searching her son’s expression for anything resembling insincerity, or mockery. Evidently finding no trace of either, she inhaled a deep and calming breath, lifted her chin high and proud, and cocked her shotgun. “I’ll hold down the fort. You go get my grandbabies back,” she ordered.

Travis couldn’t help but spare her a small, appreciative smile. “Yes ma’am,” he said with a nod. He wasted no time with further goodbyes, bursting through the door and running full tilt into the woods where he had seen the flashlight beam disappear into the foliage.

He decided it was finally time to draw his sidearm, and held it pointed low in his right hand, a small flashlight in the other dimly revealing the path ahead about ten feet at a time. The trek across the lawn had been bright enough, the full moon illuminating the overgrown grass in silvery shades of blue. In the trees and the underbrush, however, the thinning canopy of fall leaves seemed to obscure almost all of the moon’s radiant glow. He moved as swiftly as caution would allow, eyes scanning ahead for any signs of light or movement.

“Kaylee!” he called out after his niece, perhaps a little too loudly. That…thing, was still out here somewhere. Travis hadn’t seen it himself, and didn’t know what it looked like, or if it could have possibly been his nephew. Whatever it was, it’s bite certainly wasn’t human. Just the thought of the deep, distinct ring of teeth marks that encircled Chris’s bleeding shoulder sent a shiver down his spine. It looked too much like the shark bites Travis had only seen on TV; nothing any human mouth could possibly inflict. “Kaylee,” he called again, this time more of a whisper than a shout.

He made himself jump with every twig snapped underfoot and gritted his teeth at the way the leaves crunched as he tread across the forest floor. He could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. He had lost sight of the house, its yellow porch lights quickly diminishing behind him as he trekked deeper and deeper into the woods. He felt, in that moment, incredibly stupid. Inept. Useless.

He had rushed into the woods with no game plan and no real way of tracking Kaylee and had realized it far too late to turn back. All he could do was stumble around in the cold dark and pray he caught some sight or sound of her. Or Chris, for that matter. Fuck. He had promised Chris he’d look after the girls, keep them safe. Now Kaylee was running around in the fucking woods, unarmed, and their mother was stuck in the house all by herself with a shotgun that would probably dislocate her shoulder if she fired it. He cursed himself for a damned fool, always acting before thinking. He cursed this whole situation. Hadn’t his family been through enough? Hadn’t he been through enough?

A sudden rustling in the brush ahead had snapped him out of his little pity party. He stopped abruptly and crouched low, double checking that the safety on his pistol was turned off. “Kaylee?” He called softly, shining his light over where he had heard the noise. Whatever had rustled the brush suddenly took off like a bullet, away from Travis, and he leapt into a full tilt run after it. It was too far ahead to tell what it was, but he couldn’t take the chance not pursuing if it might be Kaylee.

He ran as fast as his old legs could carry him, ignoring the sting of bare branches whipping his face, and narrowly avoiding tripping over the tree roots and large stones that littered his path. In all his years of police work, he never had to run like this. It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. “Kaylee!” he yelled once more, breathless. The thing he pursued, whatever it was, suddenly stopped, and Travis almost stumbled from the sudden loss of momentum. He held his pistol in front of him, and lightly rested his finger on the trigger. “Kaylee?” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

The brush before him rustled gently, and he fought the near overwhelming urge to squeeze the trigger as two gleaming yellow eyes materialized in the beam of his flashlight. “Jesus Christ,” he swore through gritted teeth, as the round form of a wild hog waddled out of the bushes. He lowered his weapon and released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. The small, adolescent sow blinked at him stupidly. He angrily stomped his foot in her direction, sending her scampering back into the dark underbrush. “Fuck. Stupid asshole,” he cursed, smacking his forehead with the butt of his flashlight. He grumbled to himself as he surveyed his surroundings, unsure of where exactly his false query had led him, “Goddamn hogs…wild fuckin’ goose chase-”

“-it’s okay…”

Travis whipped around, hearing a small voice somewhere, not too distant. He stood as still as possible, careful to not make a single sound, and listened intently.

“It’s just me. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here…”

His eyes followed the voice to his left, where he could just barely spy the glow of moonlight, illuminating a break in the trees. Something within him, some inner voice of instinct, screamed for him to not speak a word. To make as little noise as humanly possible.

“…let’s go home…” he heard a girl’s voice say, as he crept quietly toward the clearing. He lowered his flashlight to the ground, hoping its light would not give away his position.

As he broke through the tree line, he was grateful his approach seemed to go unnoticed. He discovered the source of the voice, which he now knew was unmistakably Kaylee Hackett. She was crouching down in the grass on both knees, back facing toward him. One hand braced against her bent legs, while the other extended out toward the shadow of a great twisting oak tree. Beckoning to something. To someone. “Caleb,” she said, voice trembling, “take my hand. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Please.”

Travis squinted into the darkness, barely able to decipher the shape of a humanoid figure, curled into a tight ball. It’s knees were drawn into its chest, and bare arms wrapped tightly around them. The figure rocked itself back and forth gently, and while it made no noise, Travis thought he could just barely see the glint of a single eye, peaking over its hunched shoulder. She had called it Caleb. He had to know whether or not this shadow was his nephew. Being unable to suffer the silent tension one moment longer, he slowly raised his flashlight toward the thing under the oak tree. “Caleb?” he called.

Kaylee gasped loudly, almost a scream, and turned her head to look back at her uncle. So much happened in the following seconds, following the moment Kaylee broke eye contact with the thing she called Caleb. In the glow of Travis’s flashlight, and in reaction to Kaylee’s startled outburst, the figure beneath the oak tree uncurled its folded limbs. Long, sinewy arms spread wide like wings, revealing the dark, hairless form that had been hidden beneath them. Thin to the point of emaciation, all harsh angles and jutting bone beneath its tight skin and torn rags of clothing, caked copper red with coagulating blood. It released a deafening snarl, and its impossibly wide mouth unhinged like a snake, revealing rows of jagged, gleaming white teeth. It rocked back onto its heels, and in an only an instant, sprang toward Kaylee; hand still outstretched, staring at her uncle.

It tackled her, knocking her off her knees and onto her back with a hollow thud, her outstretched hand already enclosed within its gaping maw. Kaylee screamed. Travis knew he had screamed, too, though all he could hear was the wet, meaty smack of the creature burying its teeth into his niece’s flesh. Maybe action was better than thought after all. Travis raised his weapon and didn’t hesitate as he pulled the trigger.

The first bullet hit the creature’s shoulder and caused it to drop Kaylee’s arm from its mouth. It whined like a kicked dog upon impact and turned to roar at the Sheriff. Travis marched toward it, stride unbroken by the bone rattling thunder of its growl, acting on pure instinct and adrenaline. He was able to get within just a few feet of it before delivering his next bullet, shooting it right in the throat. Its hot blood sprayed from it like a fountain, raining down on the Sheriff in a foul-smelling deluge of red. The creature toppled backward, off of Kaylee, its gangly limbs flailing violently. The Sheriff took aim, ready to unload his entire clip into the abomination, when he felt Kaylee grab his ankle. “Don’t!” she screamed at him, choking on her own blood and tears. “It’s Caleb!”

He stared at her in shock. How could she still think this thing was her brother? The Sheriff looked up only to find the retreating form of the creature, taking its opportunity to escape into the woods. He wanted nothing more than to blindly empty his gun into the trees, to do anything to put that monster down, but Kaylee was more important.

Travis fell to his knees beside his niece and brushed the hair out of her eyes, matted and wet with blood. She nursed her mangled left arm close to her chest as Travis helped lift her into a seated position. Kaylee burst into loud, trembling sobs and buried her face against his shoulder. “Shhh,” he said, rubbing small circles on her back, “Shhh, it’s okay now. It’s gone. Kaylee, look at me honey.” He held her face in both hands, looking her over to assess the extend of the damage. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital, okay? I need to take a look at that arm first.”

She wept into his hands. “I can’t. I can’t,” she began to hyperventilate, and withdrew her bloody arm further away from him.

“Okay. That’s okay,” he reassured softly. He knew they were running out of time, sitting out there in the open. That beast was able to just run off after being shot through the throat. He was afraid to find out what it took to actually kill it. He was very afraid indeed, but he couldn’t let Kaylee see it on his face. He pressed his forehead to hers and looked into her eyes. “Let’s just breathe, okay? It’s gonna be okay Kaylee.” He allowed his eyes to flutter closed, “Deep breath in. Do it with me now.” He didn’t look, but he could hear Kaylee take in a shaky breath through her nostrils. “And sloooowly exhale,” he said, and followed it with a whooshing sound from his mouth.

He repeated this process with her several times and could gradually hear her breathing begin to steady. When he felt she had sufficiently calmed down, he opened his eyes again and smiled at her. “That’s a good girl,” he praised her. “Will you let me look at that arm now?” She sniffled and nodded her head in response.

There was no denying her arm was in a pretty bad state. He could tell it was broken just from looking at it, the way her forearm bowed slightly in the middle. The swelling of her wrist. The bite itself didn’t nearly resemble the clean impression of teeth Chris had the displeasure of receiving. Ribbons of jagged flesh crisscrossed each other from the base of her pinky finger all the way down to her elbow, looking disturbingly similar the lattice work of an uncooked cherry pie. A blue-black bruise was already beginning to settle into her skin, traveling past her elbow and onto her bicep. She looked away while he inspected her arm, shivering all the while. Travis knew he couldn’t do a damn thing to help her at that moment. He had nothing to wash it with and nothing to treat the pain. He secretly prayed whatever shock she was experiencing right then would last until they reached the hospital, residual adrenaline hopefully mitigating the sensation of pain.

He ripped off his black tie, gently wrapped it around her wrist, and tied it behind her neck, underneath the hood of her yellow sweatshirt, trying his best to keep her elbow at a consistent 90-degree angle. She choked back sobs through the pain, but toughed it out, nonetheless. She was a stubborn little fighter, Travis had to give her that. He shrugged out of his puffy officer’s jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It practically swallowed her tiny form. Her shivering was more likely from shock than from cold, but he hoped the warm jacket would at least help her feel just a little bit safer. “Can you stand?” he finally asked her, after he felt he had done all he could do.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I think so.” He took her good hand in his own, and the pair helped each other to their feet.

“Okay,” he continued, ready to lay out the game plan. “We’re gonna have to walk now, either to the road or to the house. I’m gonna get you to the hospital either way,” he told her.

She glanced around their position in the clearing. “Which way?”

In truth, he had no idea. He had completely lost his bearings after his red herring with the wild hog. When he was a kid, he used to know his family’s woods like the back of his hand. But it had been a long time since he was a kid, and admittedly, everything looked different in the dark. The moon was high in the sky, and he had never paid enough attention to astronomy for the stars to tell him anything of value. He quickly ruled out the direction the creature had retreated in and was left with three equally vague options. “This way,” he said, pointing to the general area from which he had arrived.

“What about Dad?” Kaylee asked, concern etched across her young face. “And Caleb?”

Travis sighed. “If I know your father - and I do, better than anyone - he’s probably back at the house already, with Caleb. Or, they could be halfway to the hospital by now.” He began to walk, ushering Kaylee to follow beside him, where he could see her.

“But,” Kaylee protested, “that was Caleb. Just now.”

“Kaylee, I don’t know what that thing was, but it was not your brother. It attacked you-”

“I know my own brother!” she snapped back at him. He gave her a sideways glance from the corner of his eye and she remorsefully lowered her defiant stare. “He was just…scared. That’s all.”

Travis decided to drop the issue; there was no sense in getting her any more worked up than she already was. The pair trudged through the woods in steady silence, the sound of dead leaves crunching underfoot their only accompaniment. Travis preferred the silence because it meant he could listen for any sign of that monster returning. He kept his weapon drawn by his side, and his eyes peeled.

“Uncle Travis?” Kaylee broke the silence after some time, though she maintained her steady pace by her uncle’s side.

“Yeah? You okay?” Travis asked. Stupid question, he thought to himself.

She ignored it. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

The question made Travis stop dead in his tracks, his niece mirroring the motion and turning to look down at his feet. “Kaylee…no. Why would you ask that?” He stared down at her, confused, and concerned.

Her face instantly scrunched in on itself, lip quivering and eyes welling with tears. “Is this all because of what we did?” She put her good hand over her face, covering her eyes from his view.

“Woah, hey,” his body moved of its own accord, dropping down into a low crouch in front of her. “This is not your fault Kaylee. This isn’t anybody’s fault,” he tried to reassure her.

She still wouldn’t look at him. “Then why is this happening to us?”

Travis was at a loss for words as he stared up at his niece, and his heart broke for her. So much pain and suffering in fourteen short years, and not an ounce of it deserved. He remembered holding her as a baby, fresh and new, and hoping that things would be better for her than they had been for him. He had made a silent promise to both his brother’s children that he would do all he could to make the world a better place for them. That’d he’d keep them safe and do everything in his power to give them a happy life. He seemed to be making a lot of promises he couldn’t keep, as of late.

“Kaylee Anne Hackett,” he addressed her after a long pause of consideration. “You, young lady, are the kindest, most gentle soul I have ever had the pleasure of knowing in all my years on this earth. And you know, that’s more than a few now.” He faked a little laugh as his voice began to tremble, joking at his own expense. “You have such a good heart Kaylee, and I know you never meant to hurt anyone. You were just doing what your heart told you was right. How could that ever make you a bad person?” She began to hiccup tiny sobs, knowing he was referring to the fire, and he felt like his heart was going to crack in two. “I know you, Kaylee Hackett. I’ve been with you all your life, for every bit of good and bad that’s ever come your way. And I can say, beyond the shadow of a doubt, you don’t have a single bad bone in your body. You’re golden, kid. I love you, with all my heart, and I am always gonna be on your side, no matter what.”

Kaylee began to properly weep at this and launched toward Travis, throwing her good arm around his neck, squeezing him tight. He reciprocated her hug, trying to hold her to him as close as possible, being mindful of her injury. He was grateful that she hadn’t seen his face as he allowed his own sparse tears to fall, buried in the faux fur collar of her borrowed jacket. “I love you too,” she sobbed into his neck.

This time, he didn’t try to calm her down. He let her cry, let her get it all out. Everything she had bottled up inside herself the past month welled up and burst to the surface, like a geyser. Emotion is a force of nature, after all. After her breathing had calmed down naturally, and the sniffling had stopped, Travis gently patted her on the back. “Okay kiddo,” he said, breaking the long hug. “We gotta get a move on. Get that arm looked at.”

Kaylee managed a small chuckle, and hurriedly wiped the tears from her face. “Yeah, and you kinda reek, if I’m bein’ honest.” Travis actually laughed at that, and had to admit she was right. His face was still caked in the creature’s blood, now dry and flaky. It smelled…salty? Or sulfurous. And musty, like a wet dog. “My arm doesn’t actually hurt so bad,” she continued, finally making eye contact with her uncle.

Travis’s face quickly dropped. Deep purple rings surrounded Kaylee’s eyes, and he could tell it wasn’t from crying. The veins in her face had taken on a dark blue hue, to the point of being almost black. Her short brown fringe clung to her forehead, which sparkled with a fine sheen of sweat. “Jesus, Kaylee,” Travis said, bringing the back of his hand to rest against her forehead, “Are you feeling okay? You’re burning up.”

Kaylee just looked at him, puzzled. “I feel alright. Kinda hungry,” she said, considering her condition. “Do I not look okay?” Anxiety crept into her voice.

Travis, not wanting to cause her to panic, decided to keep her appearance to himself. “Just a little red is all. Probably from crying.” He stood up sharply, taking Kaylee’s good hand into his own. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

Kaylee didn’t protest and the two managed to emerge out of the woods about fifteen minutes later, seeming to have successfully avoided any further encounters with the monster. They had arrived in quite an unexpected location. Whatever path Travis had blindly led them on had spit them out at Hackett’s Quarry Summer Camp, right at the edge of the cabins. “Shit,” Travis cursed. “We’re further from the house than I thought.”

“At least we know where we are now,” Kaylee mused. Travis glanced at her face again; she was looking worse every minute. She may have said she felt alright, but Travis was unconvinced she could handle the long walk back to the house, even if they had a road to follow. He was no expert, but there was clearly some kind of infection setting in. Something from that creature, working its way through her blood. As they trekked through the camp, he searched frantically for any mode of transportation.

He spied the side-by-sides parked in their small carport but knew they couldn’t hold enough diesel to get them into town. He almost didn’t want to go back to the house, afraid his mother’s inevitable fussing over Kaylee would cost them too much time. An idea suddenly clicked in his mind, and he swiftly redirected Kaylee toward the lodge. She looked up at him with befuddled, bloodshot eyes. “We can take the van,” he said, trying the mask the growing panic in his voice. “I know your dad keeps the keys in his office. We'll take the logging road. It’ll get us to the hospital in no time.”

“I really don’t feel so bad, Uncle Travis,” Kaylee tried to reassure him. “It hardly hurts at all now.” Even in Travis’s limited experience, he knew that was a very, very bad sign. He quickened his pace, holding her hand closely by his side, almost afraid to let her go.

As they approached the lodge, Travis sighed in relief at the sight of the large white minivan, shining like an ivory chariot in the dappled moonlight. Chris used it to shuttle counselors to and from the main parking lot a few minutes down the road, and Travis was grateful it had stayed put since the camp closed for the season. He jogged up to the van, Kaylee in tow, and gave the driver’s side door an experimental tug. Locked, as he had suspected. Of course, nothing could just be easy for him.

“Kaylee,” he said, turning toward his niece, bracing her shoulders with either hand. “I’m gonna go inside the lodge. I have to get the keys from your dad’s office. I need you stay with the van, okay? I’ll be right back.” He didn’t like the idea of splitting up, but she just looked so sickly, he was worried dragging her through the lodge would be too much.

She simply nodded her head in the affirmative, and he took that as his cue to make a mad dash for the big green building. As he stomped up the front staircase, he heard her holler out behind him, “Check the mug on his desk! Sometimes he puts the keys in there!”

He didn’t bother to try the main door, already knowing it would be locked tight. Instead, he went straight for the second window to the right, sliding it open with ease. It had never locked properly, and he was perhaps the only person who knew that little fact, having been the one to sabotage the lock in the first place. He used to sneak into the lodge when he was a kid, both as a camper and later, a counselor, to steal cigarettes from his parents' stash. Among other things. He slipped in through the open window with far less finesse than in his younger years, and significantly more noise.

His boots thumped loudly across the wood floor as he ran to Chris’s office. He could navigate the building blindfolded in the dark, although tonight, he didn’t have to. Moonlight streamed in through the venetian blinds of the building’s large windows, casting disorienting stripes of black and white across Travis’s path, like some funhouse illusion. This place had always been so much creepier at night, even without man-eating creatures to worry about.

Travis burst into Chris’s office, making an uninterrupted beeline to his brother’s cluttered desk, where to his dismay, he found quite a large number of empty mugs littering its surface. He rolled his eyes and almost laughed in disbelief at his predicament, never having imagined his brother’s slovenly habits could mean life or death someday. He grabbed at each one, inspecting its contents, knocking over precarious stacks of paper to the floor in the process. He’d apologize later, provided they all survived this night. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and plucked the jangling keys out of an orange mug that read “I’m a Monster Without My Coffee!”

He ran back through the lodge at full speed, able to actually exit through the front door this time. He heaved a deep sigh of relief, able to see Kaylee by the van from his high vantage point. “Got ‘em!” He yelled to her as he shuffled down the stairs.

“That was quick,” she said, maybe a little to cheery, but he was grateful for it. The whole experience felt like ages to him, and he was becoming increasingly anxious to get on the road. He couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched. Hunted.

He loaded Kaylee into the back seat, encouraging her to lay down if she needed to and accepting no protestations as he took his place behind the wheel. The engine purred to life and he could’ve almost cheered with joy, he was so relieved. He peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell, kicking up a cloud of dry, dusty dirt behind them. Travis drove past Hackett House as quickly as possible, not wanting to create any opportunities to delay their trip to the hospital. He spied Bobby’s truck in the front lot, parked next to his own cruiser. Chris’s old blue Bronco was still there, too, and he hoped Kaylee didn’t notice it.

“How you holdin’ up back there kid?” he asked, in an effort to distract her.

In the rearview mirror, he could just barely see her face, chin folded down into her chest. She held his jacket slightly open with her good hand and was looking at something inside it. “I’m fine,” she snapped at him, quickly clutching the jacket tightly over her injured arm. “Sorry,” she said after a long pause. “I’m just…” she trailed off.

“It’s okay,” Travis said softly, glancing back and forth between the road and his niece. “This is almost over, Kaylee. It’s gonna be okay.” He smiled warmly at her, though she likely couldn’t see it.

They finally hit the logging road and Travis laid his foot on the gas pedal, heavy as lead. He breathed deeply, reassuring himself mentally that it would all be over soon. He’d get Kaylee to the hospital first, then he’d figure out what happened to Caleb and Chris. One thing at a time. It was all going to be okay. He repeated it like a mantra in his head. It was almost over.

“Uncle Travis…” Kaylee piped up after a few minutes of silence. He looked once again into the rearview mirror at his niece, slightly alarmed by her tone of voice. Soft and strained, and just a little bit deeper than normal. His gaze was met by a pair of glowing, yellow eyes. “I don’t feel so good-”

Travis’s vision went red. His eardrums practically burst from the sound of an excruciatingly loud, wet pop. It was abrupt and jarring, and he would have thought it was a gunshot, if not for the hot spray of crimson blood that splattered across the windshield. And everything else. His ears rang, his heart thundered against his ribcage, he lost sight of the road. Something growled behind him in the backseat.

In an instant of blind panic, he cut the wheel too harshly, careening the van off the road and directly into the trunk of a large pine tree. His head collided with the steering wheel upon impact, and for a moment, everything went white. He couldn’t see. Could barely hear. It felt like his head was underwater. The loud ringing in his ears overpowered a distant, muffled banging sound that echoed painfully through his skull. His vision came back swiftly in bursts of light, flickers of a red dashboard, the pale white of his own fists, still clenched around the wheel. He tasted copper. The ringing gradually subsided, giving way to the low rumble of an animal growl. Very, very close.

Travis came to full consciousness in an instant, suddenly too aware of the danger he was in. In one desperate motion, he grabbed his door handle and shoved, tumbling sideways out of the vehicle directly onto the compact dirt of the logging road. Fireworks burst once more across his eyes and he cried out in agony. He rolled onto his back, either too weak or too shaken to stand, and pushed himself backward away from the violently shaking vehicle.

By the time he reached the middle of the road, the shaking abruptly stopped. Travis froze, staring in wide-eyed horror as something emerged from the gaping driver’s side door. One long, bony hand reached out, curling slowly around the door frame. The sound of its long, sharp talons dragging across the metal made his teeth hurt, a thousand times worse than nails on a chalkboard. Two yellow eyes slowly emerged from the dark cab, it’s interior light casting a dim scarlet glow through the thick film of blood that now covered it. The creature emerged into the moonlight, supporting its weight on long, spindly arms. The light of the full moon glinted off its pearly canines as it bared its teeth at Travis, and emitted a low, clicking snarl.

Travis couldn’t move, didn’t even think to move, as it slowly crept toward him on all fours. He could do nothing but tremble in the small eternity it took for the creature to reach him. It clambered over his prone, outstretched body, and came within mere inches of his face. Its yellow eyes bored into his own, and he could feel its hot breath fanning across his skin, moving with him as he tried to lean back further on his elbows.

Travis jumped as the creature suddenly inhaled sharply, and deeply. It shifted even closer to his face, and sniffed him rapidly, like a bloodhound tracking a scent. It paused, just as suddenly as it had started, pulled away from him slowly, a let out a sharp snort through its disturbingly human nose. It crouched low, all four limbs coiling in on themselves, and sprang clean over Travis’s head. He heard it land somewhere behind him with a hard thud and take off into the woods, the sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves growing increasingly distant.

Travis remained where he was, in the middle of the road, blinking in disbelief. He slowly exhaled a long, shaky breath and collapsed fully onto his back. His head hit the road hard, and he couldn’t tell which stars in the clear night sky were already there, and which were fabricated by his fear-addled mind. He closed his eyes and allowed the black mercy of unconsciousness to take him wholly.

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving kudos/comments on my AO3

Read Witness to the Dawn - an ongoing, Hackett-focused fic beginning a year before the events of The Quarry!

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