As I step into the light spilling at the barn door, a weird sensation prickles the back of my neck. Shaking off my foreboding, I step inside and turn on the interior lights. The center aisle is flooded with brightness, and all looks well, just as I left it not long ago. All the stall doors are shut and bolted. One of the horses lets out a whinny that sounds like a greeting, not a whimper of fear.
I move forward, traversing the aisle and double-checking to make sure each stall door is still bolted shut. At King’s stall, he nickers, but I don’t offer a greeting. I’m listening for the sound I heard before. Dealer is quiet, almost as if he knows I need the silence to figure out what’s going on.
I walk the remaining length of the barn to the back door, also shut. I turn the latch and step outside, thankful for my foresight in installing lighting on the back of the barn too. I’m immediately bathed in a soft, sulfurous glow, but it only extends so far. Past that, I peer hard into the dark, but I can’t see anything.
Because I don’t want to get back into the house and have the horses set off again, I decide to walk the entire outside of the barn to make sure everything looks okay. Between the lights on the front and back of the building, there’s enough castoff illumination to see where I’m going, so I easily move around the back corner and head toward the front.
After only two steps, I trip over a shovel I must’ve left on the ground. Falling forward, I land on my hands and knees, my gun tumbling out of my grasp.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter as I push myself up and wipe my dirty hands on my leggings. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, even though no one could’ve seen me except maybe a foraging chipmunk.
Bending over, I grab the shovel in one hand and the shotgun in the other. Just as I straighten, I catch movement from the corner of my eye, and I whip that way.
I’m boggled and frozen in fear for I am now face-to-face with what can only be described as a monster from a nightmare.
CHAPTER 3
Thalia
Am I dreaming?
Stroke?
Psychotic break?
Blazing red eyes radiate pure evil, clearly not a man or animal even recognized by man. I take it all in quickly—tall, standing on two legs with arms hanging almost to its knees, reed thin except for a potbelly, blotchy gray skin, and completely hairless. It has a squashed-in face, and when it peels its lips back to reveal yellowed, pointed teeth, I know I can’t afford to consider this a psychotic break.
I have to believe this is very real.
I’m right-handed and that is where my shovel is gripped. I’m not able to muster up a big swing, but I bring it across my body as hard as I can, catching the thing in the side of the head.
If it were a man, it would have dropped him to the ground. But my blow did nothing except cause the creature to snarl.
With lightning-fast reflexes, one long arm shoots out and wrenches the shovel away from me before tossing it aside where it bangs into the side of the barn. I take a few steps back, horrified as it stalks toward me slowly, matching me step for step. Its head pushes forward, tilting back and forth as it creepily appraises me.
As if I’m its next meal.
Without hesitation, I take a large step backward, raise my weapon, and shoot. There’s no aim required as it’s a shotgun and my target is only a few feet away. The blast catches the thing in its upper right arm, causing it to stumble backward. I almost gag when I see the arm is torn—muscle gaping to expose bone—and the monster looks down at the wound almost curiously.
It attempts to move its limb, but when it dangles uselessly, the beast becomes infuriated. Head swiveling my way, it opens its mouth, tips its head back, and lets out an indignant, earsplitting screech.
I don’t stick around, pivoting hard and running to the door at the rear of the barn. As I round the corner, I slam into something hard and let out an involuntary scream of terror, assuming it’s another hell-beast.
A hand comes down over my mouth, my shotgun is torn from my grasp and tossed to the ground, and then I’m being dragged through the open barn door. My adrenaline surges, and I punch, kick, and claw at my captor.
The arm squeezes around me tighter, and then I feel lips near my ear. A deep, rumbling voice says, “Hush and be still. I’m here to help you.”
Understanding that this is a human speaking and not a slimy creature from my worst nightmares, I sag with relief.