pulled the knife free and it came away with pieces of long, dark matted hair and blood.
I took the knife and ran outside. There, I caught a glimpse of the killer. He was a giant hairy beast with grayish fur, long arms that hung down to his knees, and curled claws. He dragged Linda behind him; his claws wedged in her long dark hair. My son was nowhere in sight.
I charged, brandishing the hunting knife.
The beast howled, dropped my wife and batted me aside, but, I’d impaled its palm, the knife ran straight through.
I hit the ground hard, my breath knocked out.
The beast gave a horrible screeching wail and ripped the knife from its hand.
I got to my feet and headed for Linda. I could see her chest slowly rise and fall, she wasn’t dead yet.
The beast looked at me and then at my wife, I noticed some intelligence there, cruel and full of malice.
The beast lifted the knife and brought it down in the middle of my wife’s spine. She jerked with the blow and then went limp.
I screamed and attacked.
But, instead of fighting me, it ran.
I stopped charging when I reached Linda’s body. Her eyes were wide in terror. She was dead.
I tried to wretch the knife from her back but it was stuck.
I ran into the forest after the monster, screaming, cursing, and following its blood trail the best I could.
I chased the beast well into the morning hours. I never saw it but I could smell its skunk like odor radiating throughout the area. The blood trail got thin and then disappeared altogether. The forest grew dense and it grew harder and harder to navigate.
Eventually, I found a road and sank to my knees, out of breath, out of time, angry, alone, and full of seething rage.
The police stumbled on me trying to find the beast’s trail as it transitioned from road back into the woods.
Foolishly, I told them everything: how my wife had called, about the beast and how it had murdered my family, how it had stabbed my wife, and how I couldn’t find my son. They took me in, investigated the property, and locked me up until everything got straightened out.
In the end, they only found pieces of my boy’s teeth, and my wife was missing her head. Apparently, the beast had come back while I chased it, circling around, and claiming a prize. The police blamed it on a black bear and locked me up in an Asylum called, The Garden.
They found and killed the supposed black bear, but my son’s remains and chunks missing from my wife weren’t inside its belly. The media used the bear as a means to an end, wrapping up the terrible travesty, and claiming no monsters existed in the wilds of the forest, and everyone was safe . . . but I know better. I know what I saw.
Years passed.
I drew pictures of the beast in my padded cell and in therapy. The doctor’s laughed behind my back calling it, Bigfoot, and saying that I was crazy.
I was locked out of sight. Nobody talked to me, and I was haunted with the need for revenge. I began to jog and lift weights each day. I grew stronger, fast, and focused all my pain and loss into strengthen my body.
I told the doctors I’d been lying about seeing the beast. I told them it was a black bear. I lied about everything, played sane, and after countless tests I was released.
Now, it is past the third anniversary of my wife and son’s untimely
I took the knife and ran outside. There, I caught a glimpse of the killer. He was a giant hairy beast with grayish fur, long arms that hung down to his knees, and curled claws. He dragged Linda behind him; his claws wedged in her long dark hair. My son was nowhere in sight.
I charged, brandishing the hunting knife.
The beast howled, dropped my wife and batted me aside, but, I’d impaled its palm, the knife ran straight through.
I hit the ground hard, my breath knocked out.
The beast gave a horrible screeching wail and ripped the knife from its hand.
I got to my feet and headed for Linda. I could see her chest slowly rise and fall, she wasn’t dead yet.
The beast looked at me and then at my wife, I noticed some intelligence there, cruel and full of malice.
The beast lifted the knife and brought it down in the middle of my wife’s spine. She jerked with the blow and then went limp.
I screamed and attacked.
But, instead of fighting me, it ran.
I stopped charging when I reached Linda’s body. Her eyes were wide in terror. She was dead.
I tried to wretch the knife from her back but it was stuck.
I ran into the forest after the monster, screaming, cursing, and following its blood trail the best I could.
I chased the beast well into the morning hours. I never saw it but I could smell its skunk like odor radiating throughout the area. The blood trail got thin and then disappeared altogether. The forest grew dense and it grew harder and harder to navigate.
Eventually, I found a road and sank to my knees, out of breath, out of time, angry, alone, and full of seething rage.
The police stumbled on me trying to find the beast’s trail as it transitioned from road back into the woods.
Foolishly, I told them everything: how my wife had called, about the beast and how it had murdered my family, how it had stabbed my wife, and how I couldn’t find my son. They took me in, investigated the property, and locked me up until everything got straightened out.
In the end, they only found pieces of my boy’s teeth, and my wife was missing her head. Apparently, the beast had come back while I chased it, circling around, and claiming a prize. The police blamed it on a black bear and locked me up in an Asylum called, The Garden.
They found and killed the supposed black bear, but my son’s remains and chunks missing from my wife weren’t inside its belly. The media used the bear as a means to an end, wrapping up the terrible travesty, and claiming no monsters existed in the wilds of the forest, and everyone was safe . . . but I know better. I know what I saw.
Years passed.
I drew pictures of the beast in my padded cell and in therapy. The doctor’s laughed behind my back calling it, Bigfoot, and saying that I was crazy.
I was locked out of sight. Nobody talked to me, and I was haunted with the need for revenge. I began to jog and lift weights each day. I grew stronger, fast, and focused all my pain and loss into strengthen my body.
I told the doctors I’d been lying about seeing the beast. I told them it was a black bear. I lied about everything, played sane, and after countless tests I was released.
Now, it is past the third anniversary of my wife and son’s untimely
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