I wandered the open field, my legs aching from hours of constant walking. "Miska!!" I screamed, my throat hoarse. How had I let this happen? My mind flashed back to events that had happened probably 2 hours ago. I had taken Miska, my black German Shepherd, into the backyard. It was totally dark outside, with only the meager light from a crescent moon to light the yard, so I had switched on the floodlights.
As I relished in the yellow glow, feeling gratitude for the light wash over me, I noticed something on the fence. As I wandered closer, I saw that it was a gaping.. hole. A massive hole had been just torn into our 6 foot tall chain link fence. Naturally, the ice-cold hand of fear gripped my heart as it beat faster.
I heard a rustling crash in the bushes behind me. I whipped my head around, only for another crackling sound to come from my right side, then my left. Whatever it was, making this sound, it was heavy and was in our bush that surrounded the yard.
What followed sent me into a panic. Even I, a 22 year old girl, who has hunted cougars, bears, wolves, and various other creatures in this Wyoming forestland, was afraid of the dark and what lay in it.
The sound I heard was a throaty, gurgling, blood curdling scream. In the next few seconds that passed, I heard my dog's howl of pain as she was just.. yanked.. into the bushes.
And so, this was how I had gotten myself into this mess. I kicked myself as I realized I should have grabbed my shotgun. Oh well..
I stopped to investigate something in a thick section of brush--it was a hole, like that in my fence. I heard a growl.
"... Miska.. ?" I said, my voice shaking. I knew it wasn't Miska. I just wanted to think it was. A pair of milky eyes with hairline red streaks in them opened, and the moon's vague light glinted on a set of unearthly teeth, each and every one of them long and nothing like your typical set of teeth, instead shaped like pencils and just as long, yellowed with age.
The beast stepped from the shadows, a rumbling growl in it's throat. The smell of blood and guts, familiar from years of hunting, filled my nostrils. It was as though a thousand things had just recently died. As I gawked at the creature's full height and build, I saw what it held--in it's grotesque maw, my dog's head sat, held by the trailing esophagus.
Slinging it's jaws back, the creature tossed the head away, fixing it's gaze on me, it's next victim.
"Hello, Altair," I said, my voice cold as I grabbed a large stick. "We meet again, old pal," I added, slowly angling the stick to defend myself. The creature grinned, I could tell, before slashing at me with it's one massive paw.
As I relished in the yellow glow, feeling gratitude for the light wash over me, I noticed something on the fence. As I wandered closer, I saw that it was a gaping.. hole. A massive hole had been just torn into our 6 foot tall chain link fence. Naturally, the ice-cold hand of fear gripped my heart as it beat faster.
I heard a rustling crash in the bushes behind me. I whipped my head around, only for another crackling sound to come from my right side, then my left. Whatever it was, making this sound, it was heavy and was in our bush that surrounded the yard.
What followed sent me into a panic. Even I, a 22 year old girl, who has hunted cougars, bears, wolves, and various other creatures in this Wyoming forestland, was afraid of the dark and what lay in it.
The sound I heard was a throaty, gurgling, blood curdling scream. In the next few seconds that passed, I heard my dog's howl of pain as she was just.. yanked.. into the bushes.
And so, this was how I had gotten myself into this mess. I kicked myself as I realized I should have grabbed my shotgun. Oh well..
I stopped to investigate something in a thick section of brush--it was a hole, like that in my fence. I heard a growl.
"... Miska.. ?" I said, my voice shaking. I knew it wasn't Miska. I just wanted to think it was. A pair of milky eyes with hairline red streaks in them opened, and the moon's vague light glinted on a set of unearthly teeth, each and every one of them long and nothing like your typical set of teeth, instead shaped like pencils and just as long, yellowed with age.
The beast stepped from the shadows, a rumbling growl in it's throat. The smell of blood and guts, familiar from years of hunting, filled my nostrils. It was as though a thousand things had just recently died. As I gawked at the creature's full height and build, I saw what it held--in it's grotesque maw, my dog's head sat, held by the trailing esophagus.
Slinging it's jaws back, the creature tossed the head away, fixing it's gaze on me, it's next victim.
"Hello, Altair," I said, my voice cold as I grabbed a large stick. "We meet again, old pal," I added, slowly angling the stick to defend myself. The creature grinned, I could tell, before slashing at me with it's one massive paw.
