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Kyle was near the edge of the
woods on the far end of the yard

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when he first saw the beasts.
He had been dreaming, yet it was

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the type of vivid dream young children
have, whereupon walking the veil between the

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reel and the imaginary becomes almost translucent. Kyle woke his sheets drenched in sweat,

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and stumbled downstairs for breakfast, anything
to take his mind off the nightmare.

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Ellen Gratty knew something was wrong as
she watched her youngest son drown his

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pancakes in syrup, his eyes glazed
as if they too had been coated in

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Vermont's own Is everything okay, sweety, she asked him, half hoping he

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would finish a fortful of buttermilk flapjacks
before answering, but her son merely nodded.

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He looked pasty white the color of
his napkin, and Ellen could see

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that his hands trembled. After washing
his breakfast down with orange juice and avoiding

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his mother's gaze, Kyle said,
I had another bad dream. This had

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been nothing new in the Grady household
since they had moved from Philadelphia to the

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country. Michael Grady, Kyle's father, had wanted to relocate to rural and

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Connecticut for the past five years.
It'll be good for the kids, Mike

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had told his wife, not that
she needed her arm twisted. The city

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had been fun when they were single, but it was no place to raise

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children. Their car had been broken
into several times, and some of Kyle's

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classmates had already begun vaping, and
one of them was hospitalized. The house

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they were looking at, in the
northwest corner of Ohio, a rustic three

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story colonial, had ten acres,
more than enough room for the vegetable garden

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Ellen had always dreamed to cultivate,
as well as a healthy place for seven

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year old Kyle and his brother Luke
to run around in. There was even

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space for a pool. A dreamer
husband had, like Clark Griswold on the

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vacation movies. Yeah, a country
life, totally isolated from the city,

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far from traffic and the smog and
the crime and the crowds and the stress.

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She looked at her son's blank expression, perhaps too isolated. She thought,

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I'm so sorry, Hun. She
combed over his damp hair. Was

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it very bad, very bad?
Didn't begin to describe it. It was

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the worst, he answered, softly, looking toward the window at the woods

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beyond the yard. He had been
walking in his dream along the edge of

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their property that bordered dense forests on
all sides. Their new homes, set

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halfway up the largest hill in town, cannot be seen until halfway up their

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steep drive. They had neighbors,
of course, is even most private ranchers

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in the most desolate areas of Texas
and Arizona half neighbors. But Kyle had

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never seen their houses. They were
through the woods, and he did not

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go into the woods. Chickadees and
finches fluttered from branch to branch, enjoying

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the afternoon summer sun of his dream. Then the birds scattered in all directions,

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and Kyle saw the trees moving.
Before he knew what was chasing him,

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he was sprinting back towards the house. All he knew was the things

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chasing him were on all fours and
made an awful noise. He could hear

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them crashing through the brush as they
exited the wood and entered the artificial security

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that was his backyard, and he
looked back over his shoulder, and what

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he saw made him scream. They
were dogs, four of them, but

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unlike any other dogs he had ever
seen. It would have been more accurate

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to call them hell hounds than anything
else, because hell was the only conceivable

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place to burst such creatures. The
beasts were about as tall as Kyle,

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and their heads bent like charging rams, lips drawn back revealing crocodile grins,

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and their eyes were like two hot
coals, and a mass of dark fur

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fixed on their kill. They were
the stuff of fantasy, what evil sorcerers

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kept his pets or were ridden into
battle by goblin cavalry. Dressed from snout

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to tail in spiky armor. They
were so fantastical, so otherworldly, that

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Kyle was amazed. He didn't immediately
wake upon seeing them. Yet they were

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all so so real. The grass
being trampled beneath their talon claws was real,

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and so was his fear. That
couldn't have been more real. The

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beasts were closing in on him,
and his house now seemed miles away,

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and it was at that point,
somewhere between the woods and the mirage of

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the house ahead of him, Kyle's
legs surrendered. It was as if concrete

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had been pumped through his veins,
and they became dead weight, and he

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stumbled forward falling to the ground hard. He woke just as he could feel

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the breath of his phantom pursuers on
his neck, moving his heart on.

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Any kid, said mister Grady when
he got home from work. Yes,

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but this is different, Michael.
He's really bothered by these dreams and they

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seem to be getting worse. I
just think I'll speak to him, he

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told his wife, I still glued
to the stack of sales receipts in front

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of him. Sensing his wife's displeasure, he clicked his pen and added,

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I'll talk to him tonight. Hey
sport, Michael Grady peeped around his son's

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bedroom door. His son was in
bed, leafing through a comic book.

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On the cover, Doc Savage was
slicing his way through jungle vines with a

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machete. Kyle glanced up at his
father with half smile. It's time to

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start thinking about bed, isn't it. His father liked this expression, which

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was a very bad thing to say, but it made little sense to Kyle.

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He was already in bed and reading
helped him go to sleep. It

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would be like his father saying time
to start thinking about dinner table, when

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what he really meant was eat your
vegetables now, his father looked about the

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room as if out of practice communicating
with his son. Most of the walls

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of the bedroom were still bare,
decorated with discolored shapes where past pictures had

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once hung. Ellen suggested they take
Kyle's shopping for his choice of paint color.

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He needs something to brighten his mood, she had said, And it

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wasn't until recently that Michael had begun
to notice this was true. Both his

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sons had been adventurous back in the
city, often bounding ahead of their parents,

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pointing and laughing, aware of the
traffic. They were streets smart.

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There had been acting vivities at the
why, sleepovers and pizza parties, all

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the things Mike never thought would stop
after moving to the country. Luke,

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their older son, had been reluctant
to leave his school, but during the

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first few weeks in their new town, had quickly made close friends. Your

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mother tells me you had another nightmare. Seems like this is becoming a nightly

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thing, Kyle didn't respond. Funny, I don't recall having many bad dreams

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as a kid, but your mother
did. Really, Oh yeah, she

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told me she used to have a
reoccurring dream of a big purple gorilla chasing

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her, and one night she turned
around and yelled, why are you chasing

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me? And the gorilla just said, I just wanted to say hello.

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Kyle tried to hold back his smile, but the image of his mom being

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chased by a friendly gorilla made him
laugh seriously. He asked his father.

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Mister Grady held up a hand scout's
honor. Now listen, yeah, all,

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I know, these are new surroundings
for you. The country is nothing

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like Philly. I realize that,
but you really have less to worry about

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here than in the city. Mister
Grady paused and started making a list in

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his head. Bears, snakes,
limes, disease, poison, ivy,

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poison oak, a lot less.
He said, yeah, I know.

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Kyle answered begrudgingly, scratching his nose. Okay, Michael thought, now run

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with it. Hey, you know, Luke is having some friends over tomorrow.

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Maybe he'll let you go exploring the
property with them, to say,

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His son looked hesitant at this proposal
was an understatement. He quickly shook his

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head. He didn't want to disappoint
his father, and the truth was he

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wanted desperately to spend time with his
brother and his friends as they explored the

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woods. He wanted to not be
afraid, but his nightly visions were speaking

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to him, warning him to stay
out of the forest. Play in the

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yard. They were saying, where
you'd have some chance of reaching the house

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where the monsters can't get you.
Sure things sport, his father said,

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trying to keep a positive attitude,
He reached out and hugged his son,

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now sleep well in the doorway,
He turned and asked, can I leave

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the light on for you? No, Dad, it's okay, and the

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room fell into darkness. By one
thirty in the morning, Kyle was deep

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in sleep. His eyes flitted back
and forth beneath their lids, and in

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his dream he was near the edge
of the property again, within feet of

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the woods. It was just an
afternoon strolled beneath the blue sky. His

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hands were in his pockets of his
shorts, and a breeze caressing the top

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of each tree. A scream suddenly
cut through the tranquil walk, coming from

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the deep in the woods, and
Kyle jumped in his bed, almost knocking

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the bedside lamp from its stand.
He was completely awake and alert in his

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dark bedroom, but he could still
hear the screaming. This wasn't a dream.

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Kyle had once walked in on his
father watching a clockwork orange and during

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the scene where young Alex has his
eyes forced open with metal hooks, Kyle

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now felt like that, except instead
of being strapped to a chair, he

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felt frozen in his bed and his
eyes wide and beginning to water and piercing

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through the window into the night.
His small hands clenched the bed sheets,

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and his heart thundered in his chest
like the sound of stampeding hounds in his

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dreams. The scream was blood curling, the scream of a woman being murdered,

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and the volume was all over the
scale. It was loud enough to

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have woken him, and then retreating
to a muffled sound, as if a

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hand were trying to cover the victim's
mouth. The scream faded out and then

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erupted once more before cutting out completely. The last sounds were so pitiful that

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the tears welling in his eyes began
to freely pour down his cheeks. He

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stayed awake in bed for what seemed
like hours, until sheer exhaustion swept over

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him and he fell asleep. When
daylight came, Kyle ran to his father

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and told him what he had heard
in the night. He would not hide

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behind his nightmare any longer. The
noise had been proof that there was something

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terrible in the woods, and his
father was a man who needed proof.

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He expected his father to reach for
the phone to call the police and report

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a murder, but instead his father
said it was a rabbit and returned to

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slurping his coffee the way a child
slurps his soup. Oh what, Kyle

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said? It was a rabbit,
you heard I heard it too. It

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was a great horned owl. Most
likely. Kyle's jaw dropped and his father

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had clearly lost his mind. Rabbits
and owls one of the first things Kyle

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remembered learning in school were the sounds
animals made and owls hooted in rabbits,

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well, they just wiggle their noses, his father explained, Yes, Kyle,

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owls hunt rabbits. They're one of
their favorite meals. And the rabbits,

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well, they scream. I know
it's hard to believe, but it's

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true. I first heard it while
hunting in upstate New York. Scared the

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pants off me. He folded his
newspaper. You're going to hear a lot

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of new sounds out here, Kyle. I'd rather hear carl alarms, he

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answered. Luke's friends arrived at noon
the following day, and his brother asked

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him if he wanted to tag along
and build forts with them in the woods.

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Kyle thought the offer sounded rehearsed,
as if their father had taken his

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brother aside and told him exactly what
to say. Let's have a water balloon

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fight instead, Kyle suggested he didn't
and his brother going into the murder woods,

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despite having a band of friends in
tow. Now, maybe another time,

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you sure you won't come, And
he didn't ask a third time.

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Kyle watched as the group disappeared into
the thick forest, his heart sinking into

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the pit of his stomach. It
was nearly July and the empty carcasses of

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firecrackers still lay strewn in the grass. It was one of those humid summer

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days that required cool water, and
seeing how his parents had not broken ground

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on their swimming pool, the sprinkler
would have to suffice for the closest beach

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was a two hour drive. The
pond and lake were also out of the

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question. Since Kyle had heard his
father talk of snapping turtles and their ability

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to separate toe from foot. Uncooling
the stubborn snake that was the garden hose,

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Kyle attached the sprinkler head and turned
the knob, with three rusty squeaks

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lighted in the fan of water arcing
before him, projecting a colorful spectrum in

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its mist. He was conscious of
where he was in the yard, looking

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over his shoulder at the woods every
few minutes. He was a fast runner,

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one of his few physical attributes,
perhaps faster than his older brother despite

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his shorter legs, and he knew
he could easily make it to the safety

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of the house had anything burst forth
from the trees to devour him. Looking

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down at his fingertips and seeing they
had become small prunes, Kyle was about

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to call it a day when he
began to feel as if he were being

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watched. He looked across the yard, lush and green like a golf course

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of a country club, expecting to
see his brother, or mother or someone

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standing there, but there was no
one. The sprinkler hissed at his feet,

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and then something caught his eye just
over the stone wall that bordered the

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northwestern edge of the yard. Kyle
froze a statue in the fountain and squinted,

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focusing his eyes on a patch of
woods behind the stone wall, where

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two eyes seemed to be staring back
at him. At first thought, these

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were the eyes of one of the
horses or cattle that grazed the meadows beyond

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their stone wall, a farm operating
to the north of the fields, which

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Kyle had never seen but had no
reason to doubt existed. But Kyle had

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seen enough horses and cows in his
young life to know their eyes, and

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those animals had eyes on the sides
of their heads, and the eyes staring

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from the woods sat side by side. Kyle's next two suspects chilled him to

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the bone, and he shivered,
stepping away from the water, hitting his

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shoulders. The eyes belonged either to
a peeping tom, a stranger spying on

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him from the woods, or to
a mountain lion, which had been spotted

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in the area at higher elevations.
Both had been known to be hornful to

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children, and so not stopping to
turn off the hose, Kyle sprinted to

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the front door of the house without
looking back over his shoulder. Did you

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have fun outside? His mother called
after him as Kyle bolted upstairs. A

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short while later, he could hear
his father hollering from the foot of the

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stairs. Will you come out here
please. Kyle opened his bedroom door and

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didn't have to be told why he
was being called. Each carpeted step was

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littered with blades of wet grass,
forming the shape of a seven year old

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foot. Dad, I saw something
in the woods. I don't want to

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hear it, Kyle, Now clean
this up, his father said sternly.

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Chance, the family tabby cat,
appeared around a corner and sniffed the grass

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with curiosity. Purring, he began
to eat some, making a small smacking

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sound. Thanks Chance, but I
can manage, and walked off, defeated

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to retrieve a towel. As parents
go, Coyle's were very sociable people,

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and dinner parties had become a weekly
occurrence. Being the new family in town,

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they wanted to make friends and acquaintances, and what better way to leave

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an impression than with his father's cooking
and his mother's talents as a gracious hostess.

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Guests would leave all fed, albeit
rather tipsy, and if they didn't

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respond, in kind with an imitation
to a dinner party, cocktail sworet our

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backyard barbecue. Their names would be
added to his mother's shit list. This

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was not a physical list, but
rather a rolodex in her head that she

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would occasionally rifle through and pull out
a name and with a bitter undertone,

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say, oh, that's so and
so we invited them to our New Year's

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Eve party, but have not seen
the inside of their home. That evening's

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dinner guests and potential future shit list
honorees were mister and Missus Wilkinson, who

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lived at the end of the street
in a house painted the color of unhealthy

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yurine. Missus Wilkinson was a published
author, but his father couldn't have cared

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less about that, for mister Wilkinson
was a big game hunter, having been

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on safari numerous times. Kyle's father
wished to hear stories of these hunts and

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pick his brain with questions on rifles
and permits in the local land. Around

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a quarter past seven, Kyle,
who was quarantined to the upstairs during these

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adult only parties, could hear the
all two familiar sounds of slit drums.

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The year they had moved into their
Connecticut home. His parents, it seemed,

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owned only three records which they would
play during these dinner parties. The

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best of Linda Ronstat, the best
of Joan Baez, and the soundtrack to

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the nineteen eighty seven film Out of
Africa, which was now playing. Turned

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the home into some exotic marketplace of
smells and sounds. An hour later,

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Kyle had grown restless for a bowl
of ice cream, and he quietly made

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his way down the stairs into the
kitchen. He could hear his father's commanding

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tone coming from the dining room.
I just don't get it. I thought

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this part of the state was supposed
to have healthy population, a whitetail,

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but it's like something has chased them
off or killed the entire population in the

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area, his father told the dinner
guest. The man responded, but his

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volume was much softer than Kyle's father, Or perhaps the man simply didn't want

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their wives to overhear the conversation,
who were happily engaged in their own topic

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of discussion involving the planting of perennials. Whatever the reason, Kyle had to

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tiptoe closer to the dining room to
hear the man speak and even then only

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heard bits and pieces dead deer carcass
high up tree. He expected his father

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to repeat the story back in his
booming voice as is to clarify, but

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he just looked at the dinner guests
with an expression of bewilderment. At that

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00:20:11.559 --> 00:20:15.759
moment, his mother got up to
fetch her dessert of homemade apple pie keeping

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warm in the oven, and Kyle
dashed back upstairs for risk of being seen.

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Sleep was fitful that evening. His
mind raced to find the answer as

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to who or what could have placed
a dead deer high in the canopy of

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the trees, and he wondered if
it was still there, one dead eye

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reflecting on the moon, waiting to
be snacked upon. The summer months rolled

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into fall, and by deer season
his father had finally bagged his first buck.

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This was only after several frustrating days
sitting in the woods, cold and

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without so much as a deer track
or scat piled a sight. Calling mister

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Wilkinson, they decided to try their
luck in the neighboring county, and Kyle's

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father blamed the disappearance of the deer
in the woods to coyotes, but admitted

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that he hadn't heard the familiar course
of yipping as a pack of hungry codes

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took down a deer. It was
a good thing too, or Kyle would

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have been having nightmares about that.
Mister Wilkinson also pointed out that codies don't

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hide their kills in the top of
trees, and now that the trees had

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lost their leaves, the woods seemed
somehow less intimidating to Kyle, knowing that

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if there were creatures in the woods
looking to eat him, they would be

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easier to spot. So it was
that on the afternoon of November fifth,

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Kyle skipped out the front door,
his knapsack slung over his shoulder, and

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crossed the front porch to the garage. The smell of blood wafted from the

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open door, and Kyle could see
his father's tractor sitting like a sleeping dragon,

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waiting for the snows to melt in
the grass to return. Kyle glanced

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toward the rear of the garage,
where he thought the machette might be stored,

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and what he saw sent his stomach
into a cartwheel. His father's kill

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hung from the rafters, its front
legs bound by a thick rope the image,

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reminding him of torture methods used in
medieval dungeons. The accused dangling about

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a foot off the floor and head
craned back. The animal was opened from

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gullet to groin, and the enterds
and organs since removed, and Kyle could

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make out the ribs that lined the
gaping hole. Newspaper were strown about the

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floor. Beetled Bailey smiling up at
him, his helmet crusted in dried blood,

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pulled down over his eyes. But
the worst part about the grizzly display

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was the deer's tongue limp as the
head hanging like a flap of meat and

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pinched between the deer's teeth as if
trying to hold back one last scream.

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Kyle looked away, and his father
was an excellent cook, and he had

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always enjoyed the venison meal's place before
him, But now seeing the source of

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those meals in front of him,
he doubted if he would ever eat deer

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00:23:18.119 --> 00:23:23.279
again. He suddenly felt ashamed seeing
this deer and had to remind himself of

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what he came inside the garage,
for the smell was becoming unbearable, and

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he scoured the walls for the machete. He found it hanging on a hook

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behind his mother's gardening tools. Snatching
it off the wall, he walked briskly

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back toward the door, catching the
deer out of the corner of his eye.

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Watch yourself out there, it seemed
to say. Kyle marched across the

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lawn, filling his lungs with the
chilly November air and avoiding his father's office

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00:23:55.799 --> 00:24:00.160
window. He approached an area along
the edge of the woods, not far

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00:24:00.240 --> 00:24:04.599
from where the eyes had watched him
several months before. Here some stones had

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been removed from the wall, revealing
a path cut through the trees. This

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is where his brother and band of
merry adolescent men had made their way.

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00:24:15.960 --> 00:24:18.920
He recalled that they had come back
with cuts and scrapes from the many briers

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along the path. But they didn't
have this, he thought, removing the

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machete from its leather scabbard, blazing
in the sun's reflection. Kyle didn't like

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sharp things, but it was for
this reason he had brought the blade.

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It was, not, however,
the only reason. Kyle only hoped the

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thorn bushes would be the only victim
of his merciless blade. Placing one foot

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on a secure stone, Kyle lifted
his weight up and over the wall,

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landing on the other side. That's
one small step for Kyle, and with

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a new found confidence, began hacking
at the thorn bushes that blocked his sending

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00:25:00.440 --> 00:25:07.279
small twigs and nesting birds flying in
all directions. He pressed on farther from

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the house until he found himself in
a clearing at the base of a steep

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00:25:11.039 --> 00:25:17.480
meadow, trees surrounding him on all
sides. This is where he had seen

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00:25:17.519 --> 00:25:22.519
the livestock grazing from the upstairs window. Looking down at his feet, he

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00:25:22.640 --> 00:25:26.519
noticed what it first resembled a pile
of frozen mud, was actually a cow

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00:25:26.640 --> 00:25:32.880
pie. He knelt down to investigate. Poking at the thing with a gloved

305
00:25:32.880 --> 00:25:37.319
finger hard as a hockey puck,
he ripped it from the ground dead grass

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00:25:37.359 --> 00:25:41.880
stuck to the underside, and with
a flick of his wrist, flung it

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00:25:41.920 --> 00:25:47.160
into the woods like a frisbee.
After a few minutes, Kyle had reached

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the top of the meadow. Looking
back, he could make out the small

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00:25:49.559 --> 00:25:53.880
gray box that was his house,
about the size of a model train structure.

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00:25:56.160 --> 00:25:59.240
Turning, he continued along the top
of the ridge until he came to

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a curious structure covered in dead vines
near a small stream. Upon closer inspection,

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00:26:06.720 --> 00:26:11.400
he discovered that the structure had once
been a farming plow, but with

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00:26:11.480 --> 00:26:17.119
time it had decomposed to a rusty
skeleton. He crouched down his back against

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00:26:17.119 --> 00:26:21.319
the frame of the plow, and
Colin zipped his bag and removed a sandwich

315
00:26:22.039 --> 00:26:25.839
he had brought lunch on the off
chance that the woods were not dangerous that

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00:26:25.920 --> 00:26:30.880
he could sit and enjoy a meal
there. Halfway through his peev and Jay,

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00:26:30.279 --> 00:26:37.240
he thought this to be true,
but the atmosphere changed quickly. The

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00:26:37.359 --> 00:26:41.640
dogs emerged from the trees. Not
the hell hounds of his nightmares, but

319
00:26:41.680 --> 00:26:45.799
it was a pack of coyotes.
He had never seen them in the while

320
00:26:45.880 --> 00:26:52.359
before, only in pictures. They
were smaller than wolves and looked unhealthy.

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00:26:52.079 --> 00:26:56.279
They were hungry. One of them
looked to be salivating, like a cartoon

322
00:26:56.400 --> 00:27:02.440
cody who was always trying to chase
the road run. They surrounded him,

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00:27:02.799 --> 00:27:06.119
eight or nine of them, all
bobbing their heads, none of them wishing

324
00:27:06.200 --> 00:27:11.599
to keep eye contact for too long. Kyle reached for the machete line next

325
00:27:11.599 --> 00:27:15.279
to him, when suddenly there was
a sound above his head. He heard

326
00:27:15.359 --> 00:27:21.160
metal being struck, followed by a
tikety tick of something sharp. Something had

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00:27:21.279 --> 00:27:26.480
jumped on top of the plow.
Kyle flung himself around and saw what looked

328
00:27:26.519 --> 00:27:30.680
to be the largest of the coyotes, the pack leader, baring its teeth

329
00:27:30.680 --> 00:27:34.319
at him. If any of them
came close to resembling the monsters of his

330
00:27:34.559 --> 00:27:41.440
dreams, it was this one.
It was the alpha male. It will

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00:27:41.519 --> 00:27:45.559
rip out my throat or be run
through by my machete. Kyle thought running

332
00:27:45.759 --> 00:27:49.319
was not an option. They were
faster and there were too many of them.

333
00:27:49.839 --> 00:27:55.799
He had to stay and fight.
But at that fight or flight moment,

334
00:27:55.920 --> 00:28:00.240
the woods became silent around them,
and a powerful stench entered his nose.

335
00:28:00.559 --> 00:28:06.359
It was the odor of urine and
feces and skunk and rot, mixed

336
00:28:06.400 --> 00:28:10.480
with the smell similar to that of
their golden retriever after coming in from the

337
00:28:10.559 --> 00:28:15.480
rain. The smell burned its nostrils
and made him feel sick. The coyote

338
00:28:15.599 --> 00:28:19.240
smelled it too, and they could
sense that something bigger was near, and

339
00:28:19.279 --> 00:28:25.119
they turned tail, bolting north into
the timber yipping in fear from what Kyle

340
00:28:25.160 --> 00:28:30.119
could not see. The coyote facing
him. The leader held its ground but

341
00:28:30.200 --> 00:28:36.119
scanned the tree line. Clearly,
the hunger of this animal outweighed any fear

342
00:28:36.160 --> 00:28:40.759
of death, and instead of retreating
with its pack, the animal dug its

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00:28:40.799 --> 00:28:45.880
heels and leapt at the boy.
Kyle shut his eyes, raising the machete

344
00:28:45.960 --> 00:28:49.079
up with both hands. There was
a great gust of wind, followed by

345
00:28:49.119 --> 00:28:55.200
a loud yelp. When Kyle opened
his eyes, he saw that the coyote

346
00:28:55.240 --> 00:28:59.079
was now seven feet off the ground, suspended in the air by the grip

347
00:28:59.119 --> 00:29:03.920
of the largest he had ever seen. Kyle blinked, his vision returning and

348
00:29:04.039 --> 00:29:08.039
quickly realized this was not a man, for it was covered in head to

349
00:29:08.039 --> 00:29:14.799
toe in thick, reddish brown fur. Its shoulders were massive, whiter than

350
00:29:14.839 --> 00:29:18.799
a tractor, and it stood on
its legs as thick as telephone poles.

351
00:29:19.240 --> 00:29:23.440
It held the kicking code in one
fist, the size of a boulder.

352
00:29:25.160 --> 00:29:29.440
But it was the creature's face that
Kyle was fixed upon. It was not

353
00:29:29.640 --> 00:29:33.640
quite human, yet not animal,
with a flat Semian nose, but eyes

354
00:29:33.759 --> 00:29:37.839
similar to a man. In fact, they were the same eyes he had

355
00:29:37.880 --> 00:29:45.200
seen peering at him through the trees
weeks before. It lifted its furrowed brow,

356
00:29:45.839 --> 00:29:48.799
softening the deep wrinkles, and it
let out a loud grunt, exhaling

357
00:29:48.880 --> 00:29:53.839
hair through its mouth. And then
it shifted its gaze to the struggling animal

358
00:29:55.240 --> 00:29:59.720
and with the flex of its bicep, snapped the code's neck with the ease

359
00:29:59.759 --> 00:30:04.200
of breaking dried spaghetti. It let
out another grunt, and, as if

360
00:30:04.279 --> 00:30:08.440
not satisfied the dog was dead,
grabbed the animal by the tail with its

361
00:30:08.440 --> 00:30:14.039
other hand, and with the speed
of a rancher lassoing a steer, it

362
00:30:14.119 --> 00:30:18.279
whipped the animal against the trunk of
a nearby tree. There was a thunderous

363
00:30:18.359 --> 00:30:23.960
crack as the animal exploded on impact, sending blood and enterds hurling in all

364
00:30:25.000 --> 00:30:30.920
directions. The beast had swung so
hard that pieces of the coode's ribs had

365
00:30:30.960 --> 00:30:34.960
embedded into the tree. Kyle didn't
know if this was done to impress him,

366
00:30:36.440 --> 00:30:40.359
or if this was some kind of
territorial sign to all local coyotes and

367
00:30:40.440 --> 00:30:45.480
any other animal for that manner.
The creature uncurled its fingers, dropping the

368
00:30:45.519 --> 00:30:52.400
bloody stump of the tail, and
it started at the boy again. Kyle

369
00:30:52.559 --> 00:30:56.920
was shaking uncontrollably now and had emptied
his bladder but managed to mount the words

370
00:30:57.359 --> 00:31:03.839
thank you. The creature's lips parted
and it grimaced at him with a mouth

371
00:31:03.880 --> 00:31:07.640
of dirty teeth, and Kyle wondered
if this was meant to be a smile.

372
00:31:07.680 --> 00:31:12.039
And with that, the creature turned
and with fluid steps, walked back

373
00:31:12.079 --> 00:31:17.359
into the brush, the trees closing
behind it until all he could see were

374
00:31:17.400 --> 00:31:22.359
the swaying branches of pine saplings.
Soon, the sounds of the forest returned,

375
00:31:22.680 --> 00:31:30.079
unmuted, rising in clarity. Kyle
walked back to his house, dazed,

376
00:31:30.119 --> 00:31:33.839
but with a little smile, for, as it turned out, there

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were monsters in the woods after all, and the biggest of them had his back.