1934, Little Hill, Oklahoma
His prayers had been answered. A noise. A shrill screaming from not too far, about a mile of his house. It had caught Frank entirely off guard, leaving him stumbling to grab his lantern and his gun. He got on his feet and attempted to trace the scream. It seemed to come from up north through the patch of forest. A gunshot rang out, another noise tearing through the silence of the night.
It’s at the goddamn neighbor’s house!
He ran up the driveway and into the thick mess of trees and bushes that swallowed most of the land. The moon remained hidden, and there were no emanate glows from the fireflies to be seen. The night remained dead, dark. But in the air, he could feel a looming presence within the forest, as though something was watching him. He briefly stopped running, catching his breath in the underbrush. He looked back, and his suspicions rewarded him with what looked like sets of eyes, glowing white. The eyes watched over him, but didn’t move at the slightest. Whatever it was he saw out in the forest, it was real.
Wasting no more time, Frank rustled through the high grass and onto a dirt road. The neighbor’s house was visible, with lights providing the windows with a yellow glow. A Victorian 2-story, similar to Frank’s. Another gunshot erupted from the house, and in response, Frank dove onto the ground. He killed the flame from the lantern. From what he saw of the house, the front door had been left wide open. As he crept closer, he could see the interior of the front room. It had been ravaged, broken furniture lay over the living room rug. The stairway rail had been effectively torn from the steps, lying in pieces. He arrived at the front entrance. He could hear footsteps from upstairs, with every board creaking above him. As he was about to enter, a loud crackle of glass and the splintering of wood again broke the brief silence. Frank looked behind him and fell backward in terror. A tall figure landed on the ground and looked back at the house towards him. Its eyes faintly glowed white. Without his lantern, the eyes were all that he could see. In a panic, He aimed the gun at the strange silhouette, his hands shaking. It was like what he saw before. The same glowing eyes…
He fired the handgun. The bullet struck the figure’s head. On impact, the creature howled, a horrifying blend of human and non, a sound only describable as that of a siren of death. It retreated into the forest, swaying side to side, pushing off of the trees. In less than a few seconds, it had fully disappeared into the dark. Frank scrambled to his feet, running through the doorway and into the hall.
“Raymond!” Frank shouted. He looked into the kitchen. No sight of him. He ran up to the staircase, going up and into the second hall. The walls had been ripped from the top down, stained by sprayed lines of blood. To the left of him, the bedroom. He walked in, and there Raymond lay, tightly clutching his wife’s body.
“Oh, dear god, Raymond!” Raymond’s eyes were open wide, his face weathered by his tears and blood.
“I should’ve known,” Raymond stuttered, “I shoulda known this would happen. I’m a damn fool, Frank!” he looked at his wife. Her chest had been torn open, blood covered her blue nightdress. There was an obvious cavity from her breasts to her belly, her body seemed almost entirely hollow, empty. Her organs were absent, all but remnants in her upper half. Raymond was visibly shaking, inconsolable, unable to make sense of it all. Frank crouched over him, placing his hand on Raymond’s shoulder.
“It didn’t stop with er’ either,” Raymond began, before bursting into another sobbing fit. “They took my boy too, Dammit! They took im’…he don’t even have a body left! Oh god!” He looked over towards the other bedroom. Raymond seemed worse for wear, too. His shoulder had been broken, and lacerations on his arm and chest looked deep, almost lethal. Beside him was a break-action shotgun, a double barrel. Frank glanced over at the window, where a trail of black, almost stale blood trailed out.
“At least you saved yourself, Raymond! You must’ve put a bullet in that thing, wounded it.” Raymond darted his eyes upwards toward Frank. “The hell’s that matter?” He looked down again. His grip loosened, setting his wife’s corpse back onto the floor.
“She’s dead…Benny’s dead.”
“Raymond, listen! They’re dead now, but you’re not!” he took his hand off his shoulder, then stood up, extending out his hand. “I’d prefer it stays that way. So please, let’s get you on your feet, and patch you up before you bleed out.” Raymond sat there for a moment. Frank gave him some time to gain his senses. Then, without a word, Raymond reached out his hand. He grabbed it, and helped him up. They made their way down over to the kitchen downstairs, the only place untouched, it seemed, from the entity that attacked not too long ago. From there, Frank tried to cover Raymond’s chest with some rags, before tearing his own shirt and using the sleeves to tie it together.
“Seems we’ve got a story to tell back at town,” Raymond jokes, holding a rag against his arm.
“No shit,” Frank affirmed. They did have a story to tell. “But we’ve gotta survive the night first. Only issue is this place ain’t ready for another one of them things, and from what I saw, that ain’t the only one out there…I’d take us to my house, but those woods,” he said, as he pointed out the window, “Those woods aren’t safe.” He watched the forest through the window. Pairs of eyes remained distant, white, still.