THE INN

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

THE INN

By Randy Romero

 

It was 3 AM and Meredith was running on gas station coffee, chocolate, and nicotine. A perfectly healthy diet for a thirty-five-year-old divorcee. Of course, she couldn’t smoke with Amy in the car. So she had to pull off somewhere whenever the craving struck.

When she drove, her eyes burned like hot coals as she tried to keep them focused on the road ahead. Meredith hated the thought of disturbing Amy, who was sound asleep in the backseat of her red Honda Accord. But she couldn’t keep this up for much longer. She needed a good night’s rest to recharge her batteries.

The problem was they were smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Meredith wasn’t even sure what town or even what county they were in anymore. The roads were dim and full of unexpected curves and sharp turns, and the landmarks were few and far between. So she drove on and on, sipping her coffee, eating her chocolates, until finally, a beacon of hope. She spotted a green sign with big white letters that promised food, gas, and lodging. She took a quick right and followed the signs all the way to the Lamplighter Inn. The neon sign read VACANCY.

She turned in and parked next to the only other car in the lot, an old station wagon.

Amy started to come around, yawning, her eyes blinking rapidly. “Where are we?” she asked.

“A motel, sweetie. It’s late and mommy needs to rest for a little while.”

“Can we get two beds so we don’t have to share? No offense, mom.”

Meredith chuckled. “None taken, honey. Yes, we’ll get a room with two beds. Now come on, grab your suitcase and follow mommy inside.”

The main office was deserted. There was nobody behind the front desk. But there was ledger on the desk, and a bell right beside it. As soon as Meredith’s hand reached for the bell, a man emerged from the back room, startling her. He placed his palm over the bell to prevent Meredith from hitting it.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t expecting anyone to show up so late. You need a room?”

“Yeah, one with two beds, if you’ve got it.”

“Not a problem.” He was a portly man, somewhere in his late forties, with a puffy face and coke bottle glasses. His hairline was badly receding, forming an almost horseshoe-like pattern around his head.

There was a wall of keys behind the desk, and the man turned and plucked one down.

“Room 3. Just a few rooms down from the office. I’m here till dawn if you need anything. Name’s Myron. Myron Reed. All we ask here is that you please keep the noise down. You wouldn’t want to disturb the other guests.”

Other guests? Meredith wondered. There was only one other car in the parking lot. What other guests is he referring to?

She accepted the key to her room uneasily. She filled out the ledger in a rush, scribbling her name, and paid for her room upfront.

“Ya’ll have a good night,” Myron added.

Meredith hurried Amy to their room. Their were two double beds, as Meredith had requested. A writing desk. Antique mirror that hung above a small dresser. Beside the dresser, an old television set. No kitchen, no mini fridge, no complimentary mints on their pillows, no frills. But Meredith didn’t need anything extravagant. She needed a warm bed and a good night’s sleep.

Meredith laid down once she got Amy tucked in. She closed her eyes tight but couldn’t sleep. The noise kept her awake. She could hear people in the other rooms, rummaging around, talking softly, or making other strange sounds Meredith couldn’t decipher.

All we ask is that you please keep the noise down. You wouldn’t want to disturb the other guests. And why had the desk clerk phrased it the way he had. Why did he emphasize the word ‘you’, as if there was something about Meredith the other guests would find particularly offensive?

The noises persisted. Shuffling and scratching, coughing, talking, loud banging noises.

Thud, thud, thud.

Thud, thud, thud.

The noises grew so loud, Meredith was convinced the aforementioned ‘other guests’ were in the same room as her. She looked over and saw that Amy was fast asleep again. Meredith slipped out of bed, took a smoke from her pack, and snuck outside. A cigarette pursed between her lips, she lit it and took a look around the Inn. It was the first time that she noticed, despite the lack of automobiles in the parking lot, the lights were on in every room. She could see them shining through the curtains. She could even make out silhouettes behind some of those curtains.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Meredith squealed. She twisted around and saw the desk clerk standing behind her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean startle you…again. I was just going to ask you for a cigarette.”

“I left my pack inside. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. Couldn’t sleep?”

“Too loud.”

“Yeah, it gets like that sometimes. Still, best to keep the noise to a minimum. The other guests can be rather ill tempered.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Myron simply shrugged at first. Then he said, “Lady, it’s their motel. We just run it.” With that, he left Meredith alone with more questions than answers. She finished her cigarette and made sure Myron wasn’t still lurking around.

On the way back to her room, the door to Room 1 creaked open and an older woman peered out.

“New here?” the woman asked.

“I’m on the road. Just spending the night.”

“Well, seeing as how we’re both awake, can I interest you in a drink?”

Meredith thought about it for a moment. A drink would ease her frayed nerves. It might even help her sleep. Then she thought about Amy.

“I really should be getting back to my daughter.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Come on in,” the woman invited her.

She was older, maybe by ten or fifteen years. She was a short woman with shorter hair, auburn in color. Her skin was starting to wrinkle and sag. She wore a green turtleneck sweater, which Meredith found odd considering the heat, but she wasn’t going to question her host. She had a bottle of wine on ice and poured two glasses. She waited for the woman to drink first before she took a sip.

“I’m Leslie.”

“Meredith Burns. My daughter, Amy, is in the next room. Maybe I can introduce you to her tomorrow before we leave.”

“Sure, that would be lovely. So, have you met any of the other guests?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Good, because some of them have quite the temper. Me, I like to keep to myself for the most part. But it’s nice to talk to someone every now and then.”

“Where is it that you came from?” Meredith asked.

“Oh, I’ve been all over the place,” Leslie said, avoiding the question.

“And how did you end up here at the Lamplighter?”

“Fate?” the woman said and shrugged, though she posed it as a question, as if she was uncertain.

Leslie took a sip and one of her sleeves rolled down, allowing Meredith to catch a glimpse of the deep scars on her wrist. No blood, but the skin was completely opened up. By all rights, she should be dead. Meredith didn’t address it. She finished her drink in a hurry, thanked her host, and said her goodbyes.

She let the door slam behind her and sprinted past it, but came to a stop at the next room.

The door to Room 2 was slightly ajar and she could hear voices on the other side…

 

 

***

 

 

Amy woke in darkness but not silence. It sounded like somebody was stomping around on the roof. Thud, thud, thud.

Thud, thud, thud.

It got so loud, it sounded like someone was stamping around the room.

“Mom,” Amy called out. No answer.

When she got no reply, she became frantic. “Mommy!” she wailed. “Mommy, where are you?”

“Hush,” a voice said. It was whisper quiet, but it was undeniable.

“W-w-who s-said that?” Amy asked, stumbling over her words.

In the corner of the room, she saw it. A dark figure, dressed all in grey. She couldn’t see its face. All she could see were its hands. No skin. Only bone.

 

 

***

 

 

The door opened on its own and Meredith saw things she could not unsee. The carpets saturated with blood. The walls streaked red. Fragments of brain and skull. Several body bags. Detectives mulling over the crime scene. Rainbow unicorn sneakers that no doubt belonged to a little girl no older than Amy, spotted with blood. She felt physically ill. She didn’t linger. Just turned and walked away.

Meredith returned to the room and found Amy waiting for her.

“Mommy…we have to go now.”

And Meredith seemed to concur. They left without even checking out. She left the key hanging in the door. She had already paid for the night. No reason to linger or say farewell. They were on the road in a couple of minutes and Meredith didn’t stop until she reached the next county, and that was only for more coffee.

 

***

 

 

Nine years later.

Veronica Hale was facing the ultimate teenage dilemma. She couldn’t decide what to wear. On one hand, her and her friends were only going to the movies. On the other hand, Shane Beecher was going to be there, and she wanted to make an impression. But she didn’t want it to seem too obvious.

“Should I dress casual? I don’t want Shane to think I’m desperate. But I don’t want to blow my chance either. Maybe I should wear a dress? No, that’s too much. Maybe a blouse and a skirt instead? Shit, I can’t decide.”

“Veronica, take a chill pill,” Gina Caruso told her. “It’s Shane Beecher. He likes anything with a vagina. Whatever you wear is fine.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re perfect. I’m a mess. My skin is terrible. My hair is all frizzy. My wardrobe is my one shot at standing out.”

Gina sighed. “What are you reading about?” she asked, turning her attention to Max. Max wasn’t dating any of the girls. But he was Veronica’s next-door neighbor and they grew up together. They enjoyed a platonic relationship and trusted each other for advice on the opposite sex. They hung out together, ate together, went to the movies together, and that friendship extended to Veronica’s circle.

“Spirits,” Max said casually.

“I worry about you sometimes,” Gina said, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong with being curious about the afterlife? And you’re telling me ghosts aren’t real? Nobody here’s ever had a spiritual encounter?”

“My bedroom door slammed shut one time,” Veronica chimed in. “There was nobody here. No windows were open. There was nothing that could have caused it to slam shut like that. But I swear to God it happened.”

“One time, I felt something touch my arm when I was sleeping at my grandparent’s house,” Gina confessed. “There was no one in the room with me.”

“You sure it wasn’t your grandpa?” Max asked.

“Very funny, wise ass.”

“I had a pretty creepy experience once,” their friend said. “It was years ago. My mom and I were on the road, which is a nice way of saying we were on the run from my dad. My mom had finally divorced him and wanted to get as far away as possible. She was tired one night so we stopped at this place, the Lamplighter Inn. Just thinking about it gives me the creeps. I remember waking up and my mom was gone, but I heard footsteps. Then I saw someone standing in the corner of the room. We left immediately. My mom was afraid of that place too. She never told me what it was, but she saw something that really spooked her that night. I try to forget about it, but I can’t.”

“You said the Lamplighter Inn?” Max asked.

“Yeah, why?

“That place was legendary. A lot of crazy shit went down at the Lamplighter. Murders, drug deals gone wrong, mob executions, overdoses. Some broad went berserk and slit her wrists, then her own throat. Another guy fried himself in the bathtub. When did you say you stayed there?”

“Oh, it was years ago,” Amy said. “I was six at the time. And it was just one of many stops my mom and I made on the road.”

“So that would’ve been about nine years ago…it couldn’t have been the Lamplighter. I’ve read a lot about that place. The Lamplighter burned down twelve years ago. The guy who worked the night shift just snapped one night and doused every room in gasoline. Started the fire while he was still inside. Sick fuck. Some say the lingering spirits drove him to do it.”

A chill ran down Amy’s spine. “Do you remember the guy’s name?”

“Yeah, Myron. Myron Reed.”

THE NOISE OUTSIDE

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

THE NOISE OUTSIDE

By Randy Romero

 

Friday, October 8, 1993.

It was an unusually brisk, windy evening in Ravensville, Pennsylvania for early October, so Ray and his friends decided to stay in. Not like there was much to do anyway in a town like Ravensville. There was a house party four blocks down, but none of them were invited. They were freshmen and weren’t exactly popular with the sophomore or juniors, hence the lack of invitation.

“Who’s holding?” Smith asked. Of course, Smith wasn’t his first name. His first name was Matt. But everyone called him Smith to avoid confusion with the other Matt in the group, Matt Morgan.

“I thought you were holding,” Morgan said.

“And I thought Morgan was holding,” Kevin said.

“So nobody’s got any weed?” Ray asked. His parents were away until Sunday night. They left his grandpa in charge, but Ray knew he would be passed out by seven-thirty or eight. And right on cue, his grandpa was asleep in front of the television by eight o’clock sharp.

“This sucks,” Kevin exclaimed. “It’s Friday night and I just want to get stoned and play some Mortal Kombat on Super Nintendo.”

“We’re not playing Mortal Kombat, we’re playing Sonic,” Morgan said.

“Sonic is for the Sega Genesis, dumb ass,” Smith said.

“Chill out, dick wad. I know it’s for Sega. I brought mine from home.”

“Boys, boys, no need for childish name calling,” Ray said. “It’s my house and I say we’re playing Street Fighter 2. As for the weed, give me a minute.” Ray left his bedroom and came back less than a minute later with a Ziplock bag. The buds were little green nuggets that looked dried out and aged. They were light green, almost yellow in color, and looked as stale as it probably tasted.

“What decade is that weed from?” Smith asked.

“Shut up. It’s my grandpa’s stash. He rarely smokes anymore. An ounce can last him for years.” He tossed the bag at Kevin. “Roll it up.”

“Kev sucks at rolling,” Morgan said. “Let me do it.”

“No way,” Smith said. “You never take out the stems or the seeds.”

“What are you talking about? My joints are perfect.”

“Would somebody just roll it so we can get this game going?” Ray said.

Kevin passed the bag to Morgan. He took out a few smaller buds that looked like dry moss and started grinding them up with his fingertips. Ray passed him the rolling papers.

“Wanna hear something totally fucked?” Kevin asked as they waited on Morgan to finish.

“Always,” Smith said.

“You know how people sometimes try to smoke magic mushrooms instead of eating them like you’re supposed to? I heard a story about this dude who tried injecting shrooms.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“I shit you not, bro.”

“So what happened to the guy?”

“What do you think? Dude almost died. The shit started growing inside his veins. He was nauseous, disoriented, his skin turned as yellow as that weed we’re about to smoke. Eventually the dude started vomiting blood. His organs were all starting to fail; liver, lungs, kidneys.”

“But the guy made it?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, he was hospitalized, but he pulled through. Crazy shit.”

“Where did you hear that from?” Smith asked.

“My mom,” Kevin said. “Dude was a patient at the hospital where she works.”

“Done,” Morgan said. “Are we smoking it here?”

“Yeah, fuck it,” Ray said, opening his bedroom window. “Just don’t get any ash on the rug.”

“If we’re smoking in here, I’ll do the honors,” Morgan said, lighting the joint. He took a few puffs and passed it to Ray, since it was his house. Ray could tell from the smell that Morgan had used too much paper, and had neglected to remove the seeds and stems.

Ray took a few small tokes, seeing as he was the light weight of the group and passed it to Kevin. They went around in a circle. Puff, puff, pass, as they called it. You take two puffs, pass it to the next person.

The noise was sudden and brief, but it made Kevin nearly rise out of his skin. He had been in a daze, his mind on video games and Doritos until he heard that horrible din. His head pivoted towards Ray’s bedroom window, then back to the circle of chairs they had formed.

“Did you hear that?” Kevin asked.

“Hear what?” Smith asked.

“The noise outside.”

“And what noise was that?”

“I don’t know, it sounded like a shrieking, screeching noise. Like a bat, or a raccoon or something.”

“Dude, I think you’ve smoked way too much of that weed,” Morgan said.

“Wait, none of you guys heard that?” Kevin asked.

They all shook their heads. “I didn’t hear a thing,” Ray added.

“I’m telling you, I heard something outside.”

“Smoke this,” Smith said, passing him the joint. “You’ll feel better. Or maybe you’ll have a few more auditory hallucinations. Either way, enjoy.”

They resumed passing the joint around, all the while Kevin’s head drifted back and forth between the window and his friends. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something dash past the open window. All he made out was a tall, dark figure, and, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, a black cape…

“What the fuck! Please tell me you guys saw that.”

“Saw what?” Morgan asked.

“Something just moved past the bedroom window.”

“Dude, now you’re tripping for real,” Smith said.

This time, they all heard the noise, and it made their blood run cold.

Kevin was the first to stagger to his feet. “I’m going outside,” he announced.

“Whoa! Hold the phone, bro,” Morgan said. “Haven’t you ever seen like any horror movie ever? You never go outside to investigate a strange noise. That’s a death sentence.”

“If there’s something out there, I want to know who or what it is.” Call it bravery or curiosity. Call it stupidity, but something inside Kevin made him move from Ray’s first floor bedroom to the front door without even thinking twice.

He opened the door and tiptoed out to the front porch. “Is somebody there?” he called.

It happened so fast. He saw only quick, terrifying flashes. A dark figure descending upon him. Wings. Fangs. A black cape with red lining.

His friends didn’t see it happen at all. They only heard the screams and saw the aftermath. Saw the bloody stumps that were once his feet. Whatever it was, it came down with such force and strength that it ripped him out of his shoes, literally. Two shiny white knobs of bone pierced through the meat of his ankles. In the distance, they saw it take flight, its vast, membranous wings flapping effortlessly in the breeze. And it was carrying something with it, or rather, someone…

KISS OF DEATH

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

KISS OF DEATH

By Randy Romero

 

 

The vagrant lingered in the alley, propping himself up against a brick wall to keep his balance. He was clearly drunk. If his lack of equilibrium wasn’t a dead giveaway, JP could smell the whiskey wafting off of him. As far as vagrants smelled, this one carried an exceptionally offensive odor.

JP could not hide his disgust, nor was he required to as far as he was concerned. The alley was behind JP’s nightclub, The Wild Stallion. It was his nightclub, and that meant this was his alley. This was JP Taylor’s territory, his jurisdiction, his property. He’d be damned if any scruffy, mangy vagrant was going to stink up his alley.

JP didn’t just own The Wild Stallion. He owned half of Spring Harbor. JP’s money and influence came with a considerable amount of power. A power that JP was perpetually drunk on.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the vagrant, either. Sure, plenty of them have come and gone over the years, but this one JP remembered from his filthy red-and-black flannels and lime green hat that was stained white from bird shit.

JP was a tall, slim, athletic young man, dressed in a charcoal gray Brioni suit with an immaculate cut. For some, that suit was almost six months salary. For JP, it was what his club made in a single night.

JP adjusted his navy blue tie, slicked back his dark brown hair, and took his phone from his breast pocket and pressed a few buttons. “Security,” was all he said, and in seconds, two of his bouncers walked around back, at his beck and call.

“I can’t have this skunk stinking up my alley,” JP told them. “Get rid of him. Don’t hurt him too bad. Just enough to send a message to the other bums. Let them know that this alley is off limits.”

JP didn’t stick around to watch. He never did. He went back inside where his assistant, Gregory, was waiting for him in his office. Gregory was a meek, spineless shell of a man whose answer to every question was yes, unless JP wanted the answer to be no. That made him the perfect and most dependable assistant for JP. Never mind he was twelve years older than JP. He didn’t mind taking orders from a spoiled rich kid, so long as he got a taste of the spoils himself. “That Veronica chick is on line one. I can’t fucking get rid of her.”

“Did you try simply hanging up the phone?”

“She’s relentless. She wants your head on a spike.”

“Who doesn’t?” JP said, lighting a Cuban cigar. He puffed away and a thick, pungent smoke filled the air. “I’ll deal with her.” He picked up the phone. “Veronica, baby. Miss me much?”

“I went to the police,” Veronica said vehemently. “I filed a report. I already spoke to a lawyer.”

“Good, and he can speak with my attorney in the morning. Try as hard as you want, you’re never going to win. You don’t stand a chance against me.”

“You’re a monster,” she cried.

“A rich monster. And that entitles me to do just about anything I desire. Don’t you know who I am, you dumb little bitch? I’m JP fucking Taylor. I’m the man that other men can only dream of being. I have it all. I own more than half this town. I own the bars, I own the clubs, I own restaurants and music venues. And if you haven’t figured it out by now, I own the cops, too. But do feel free to drop by anytime you want. Your first drink is compliments of the house.”

“Rot in hell, you slimy piece of–”

JP didn’t give her a chance to finish that thought. He hung up the phone, finished his cigar, gelled his hair, fixed his tie, and headed back downstairs.

It was Tuesday night, and Phil, the bartender, knew what that meant. The owner would be on the prowl for that evening’s unlucky prey.

JP had it all. Money, good looks, clear healthy skin, a pearl white smile. And he had a routine, a plan. First, he would select that evening’s sexual conquest. He’d have Phil or whoever was working the bar that night send her a few free drinks, compliments of the owner. That would be JP’s cue to sidle up next to her and introduce himself. He was smooth and suave and the girls took to him like flies on shit. He had a white rose, one single rose, for every girl he approached. It was his signature, his calling card. And most of the girls fell right into his hands. His routine worked every time.

JP was well known and he had a reputation for being a womanizer and a heartbreaker. But that didn’t stop the girls from trying their hand with one of the youngest, richest bachelors in all of Spring Harbor.

JP helped himself to a few complimentary drinks of his own and scoured the dance floor. Nothing of interest there. But the girl at the bar caught his perverted eyes. She was short, slender, had jet-black hair, and eyes as green as a cats. He gave Phil the signal to give her a free drink. Then he slithered in beside her and offered up a white rose, along with a Cheshire grin, which let JP flash and flaunt his pearly whites.

“JP Taylor,” he introduced himself. “I own the place, but you own my heart.”

She laughed. “Does that cheesy pickup line really work?”

“Most of the time, yes, actually.”

“I guess I’m not most girls.”

“You can say that again,” JP said, still showing interest. “What brings you here? Don’t break my heart and tell me you’re waiting for a date.”

“No, I’m alone tonight. But I was hoping to meet someone…”

“Really, who?”

“You.”

“Oh, now you’re pulling my chain now.”

“No, I’m serious. I heard the owner was smart, handsome…rich.”

“That I am.”

“You know, I can hardly hear myself over this music. Let’s go outside.”

JP was all smiles. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

She led him to the alley where the vagrant had resided a few hours prior, twirling the white rose in her fingertips. She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“You’re sweet,” she giggled, placing the rose in the palm of her hand. “I can see why the ladies fall for you. You’re handsome, you’re smooth, you know exactly what to say. But not everyone falls for your act.” She clenched her fist, rose petals squeezing out between her fingers.

He recoiled from a sudden burst of pain. “What the…what did you do to me? What did you do to my face?”

“I gave you a taste of your own medicine. All those girls you’ve used and abused. All those lives you’ve destroyed. All those hearts you’ve poisoned. Now I’ve poisoned you. Did you really think you were invincible? Did you think you could get away with things forever?”

“What are you?”

“Justice,” she whispered.

The spot where she kissed him felt swollen and irritated. He touched his face and winced. His skin stung when he grazed it. Bumps and blisters and boils began to emerge. He stumbled back inside, ran straight for the bathroom. He recoiled again at what he saw in the mirror.

“My face!” he wept. His features were grotesque, his face unrecognizable. For once, the monster in the mirror reflected the monster deep inside of him.

This mysterious infection, this curse, it spread across his face like a carnivorous cancer, until it all but enveloped his identity. When they found JP, he tried to alert them of his assailant, but by then, he couldn’t speak; his face was completely obscured, and his airways were blocked. And by then, his assailant was long gone. Like a goodnight kiss, her presence was fleeting but everlasting.

MISSING

Genre: Horror 

 

 

 

MISSING

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

It all started with Ms. Kinsey’s missing cat, Oscar.

Don’t ask me why, but she loved that cat. Oscar was a plump grey tabby, and I say plump from all the overfeeding on Ms. Kinsey’s part. She spoiled that cat rotten. Must’ve fed him three or four cans a day.

And don’t get me wrong, I love cats…all except Oscar. When he prowled around the neighborhood, people knew not to get too close. Oscar was known for leaving his autograph on people’s arms with his jagged claws that Ms. Kinsey rarely trimmed. He was so grumpy and miserable that we all nicknamed him Oscar the Grouch behind Ms. Kinsey’s back.

I, like many others, absolutely hated that cat. But I still felt bad for her when Oscar disappeared. That poor old lady flooded the town with flyers and missing posters, offering a reward for anyone who found and returned Oscar safely. She called all the shelters. She even tried to file a police report.

We thought it was an isolated incident. Dogs and cats run away; they go missing. It’s sad, but unfortunately it happens. But then Mr. Sheridan’s Corgi, Cooper, disappeared one afternoon. One minute the dog was in his front yard, and the next minute, he was gone.

But it didn’t stop there. There was Mrs. Freemont’s Maine Coon, Popcorn, that vanished without a trace. But the most unsettling incident was the case of Mr. and Mrs. Pickman’s missing German Shepard, aptly named Grizzly. That dog was one vicious beast. The Pickman’s couldn’t keep him in the house. Grizzly had a doghouse outside but he spent most of the days chained up in the backyard so he wouldn’t hop the fence and attack anybody. Mr. Pickman went outside to feed him one day and found Grizzly’s chain snapped in half. Cats and Corgi’s are one thing, but how does a dog that big disappear without a sound?

Was someone in the neighborhood abducting animals? Everyone had their own theories or suspicions. I had a theory of my own, but it was one I didn’t dare share with my parents.

My mom and dad couldn’t figure it out. But they were worried about Archie and so was I. Archie was a boxer that we had adopted from the local shelter. She’d been with us for five years and she seemed to prefer to sleep outside in her doghouse.

My parents were quieter than usual at dinner that night. And they decided that Archie would stay in that night. Archie didn’t seem too happy about it, scratching at the back door and howling away. But my dad wouldn’t budge.

“Ronnie, don’t you dare let her out,” my dad ordered me. I promised him I wouldn’t. And I was grateful that he called me Ronnie. It was my mother’s idea to name me Ronald, after my uncle on her side of the family. Most people called me Ronnie instead, which I preferred. Some kids at school called me Ronald McDonald, which I didn’t appreciate that much. But hey, I was fourteen and kids my age could be real dicks sometimes.

I took that moment alone to be candid with my father. “Dad, whatever this is…I don’t think it’s human.”

“Beg your pardon, Ronnie?”

“All these animals vanishing without a trace…there’s got to be a cause for it. And whatever’s behind this, I don’t think it’s like you or me. I think it’s…” I trailed off and let his mind fill in the blanks. I couldn’t bring myself to say something so ludicrous.

“Son, there’s no monsters out there. You want the truth? It’s probably some sicko going around kidnapping people’s pets for the reward money. Some people will do anything for money, Ronnie. And people would pay practically anything to get their pets back. I heard about two guys pulling a scam once years ago. They’d kidnap people’s dogs, wait for them to put up flyers offering a reward, then they’d show up at their front doors and say they found the dog, collect the reward money, and move onto the next sucker.”

My dad was probably right. And as sane and realistic as that sounded compared to the idea of a monster devouring animals in the neighborhood, I still wasn’t convinced.

Archie finally stopped scratching on the back door and settled down that night on the floor of my bedroom. We all settled in too and slept through the night until about four o’clock. We woke up to what felt like a massive earthquake. I was half asleep and my eyes were barely open, but the first thing I noticed was that Archie was missing.

I figured she got spooked by the earthquake and hid somewhere in the house. But when the ground settled, we searched high and low and couldn’t find her anywhere. But my mom was the first to notice that the door leading to the garage was open. My dad surmised that Archie must’ve escaped through the dog door he had installed in the garage a few months back. But where would she have gone?

Everyone in the neighborhood woke up that morning to discover that their pets were missing. And that’s not all they found. On the hood of Mr. Clark’s BMW, they found teeth marks. Embedded in the concrete, they found footprints, bigger than any humans.

My dad looked terrified just trying to imagine what could’ve left those footprints behind. Whatever it was, it was big enough to make the ground shake and cause an earthquake-like side effect. Everyone was at a loss, nobody had any explanations.

But there was still my theory. I believed that this creature, this thing, was slowly consuming pets around the neighborhood, growing with each animal it consumed. Until its hunger finally took control and it grew to monstrous proportions. I was just a kid, so what did I know. But you know what, I wasn’t too far off from the truth. Soon, people from the neighborhood started disappearing instead of animals.

That’s how it all started. How it ended was a very different story.