Chapter 1
This isn’t the experience promised by the Airbnb ad. It promised relaxation, quiet. I imagined waking up to the sun, watching the snow glide over the trees while drinking hot chocolate. I thought I’d play board games, read a book, snowshoe, maybe even pretend to be a kid again and make a snowman with my niece. But that clearly isn’t what happened.
I don’t actually know what happened. All I know is that my family is missing. My sister, Tate. Her husband, Jake. Their daughter, Faith, who was so proud to recite the alphabet to me. And my twin brothers, Brody and Pete. They’re just gone. It would be one thing if there was a sign of a struggle. Broken glass or blood or something. But there’s none of that.
It all happened when I went down to the cellar, scrummaging for soda and some snacks. That’s when I felt the tremor. The ground cracked and shook so violently like it was going to rip open and thrust me down to the darkness below. If that didn’t get my adrenaline pumping, the screaming that followed did! I’ve never heard such terrible noises. They were insanity-inducing shrieks of utter terror, until they weren’t. They just…stopped. Like someone flipped off a TV.
I rushed upstairs—it was only 30 seconds or so since the initial trembling — but when I made it to the landing, the cabin was empty. All the stuff was where it should be, except my family. They were gone.
A rush of cold air prickled my skin as I realized the door was open. I tried to rein in the panic. They probably just went outside. But I knew that was a lie. I ran to the door, but before I could even leave a print on the fresh blanket of snow, my eyes caught hold of something, and I forced myself back inside. Heart racing. Mind trying to understand what my eyes had just seen, I gingerly closed the door and slid to the ground behind it.
I’ve been pacing in the cabin for at least an hour now. Long enough for my mind to make sense about what I saw. They’re obviously some kind of humanoid creatures. Elongated faces stretch out like ghastly horse muzzles. Their stretched-out bodies, maybe 7 or 8 feet tall, are completely black and shiny like beetles. Their skin—more like exoskeletons—reflect light in the same way blackened oil does, and I’m able to see their muscles and tendons flex.
I peek out the window careful to not be seen. They’re still there, just roaming the woods like dementia patients who’ve forgotten where they are. Their gangling arms grab at everything they come across. Slithering tentacles spread over their arms like new growths on a tree branch. These feelers expand and shrink as the creatures wander the forest, with their unsettling gait. It’s as though they’re meant to walk on all fours, like a goat, but can’t seem to figure that out. Their legs bend backward, so as they step, it’s like they’re galloping.
I’ve never seen or heard of anything like them.
Luckily, their attention is elsewhere right now, so I’m safe. Not sure how long that will last though, and it’s getting cold inside the cabin—whatever was heating the place before is no longer working. But I’m afraid to turn on the wood-burning fireplace because the smoke may draw their attention.
So, what do I do? I have no idea where to find the keys to the Jeep. I think Jake may have had them last. I doubt I can outrun them, nor would I know where to run. And my cellphone has no reception.
I’m trapped.
And I’ve never been very effective at critical thinking. I guess that’s why I’ve failed out of three, or maybe four, colleges. I need Tate. She’s always been level-headed. She’d know what to do.
Where could she be?
A loud banging noise erupts from outside the kitchen. Turning my head, I see one of them has crashed into the window. Instinctively, I crouch down, hoping it didn’t notice me.
Its tentacled arms rub against the glass leaving smudges. The thing stumbles off.
Think.
But I can’t. I’d be terrible on one of those game shows because my mind disappears almost completely when I feel any sort of pressure. It wanders.
Crash!
This time by the back door. An enormous, boil covered tongue slides across the glass of the door. Huge fangs scratch at the glass. It reminds me of a toddler tasting the world.
I let out a tiny chuckle—filled with nerves and confusion and amusement. I stifle it and cower on the floor. The creature moves on.
Just think.
Do I have any weapons? I scan the room. I can’t find anything sharp or dangerous-looking, but I do find an umbrella and a broom, so I grab them. Twirling them in my hands, I imagine fighting my way through these beasts, but in reality, I’m no action hero. I trip over my own feet on a daily basis, so fighting off a group—how many are there? —of giant monsters, I’d be dead in a second.
The panic returns. But amidst the anxiety, I have the thought to count how many monsters I see. I slowly walk toward the giant viewing window in the living area, hide behind the curtains, and peek out into the snow.
I count at least five of them. Well, four and a half. Oddly, there’s one small one standing close to the larger ones. They’re all wandering around, looking completely lost. Maybe they’re somehow frightened too. I don’t see how they could be—they’re hulking masses of terror. But what if they aren’t as terrible as they appear?
That thought disappears as soon as I spot a sixth creature. This one doesn’t seem confused or scared. It stands a foot or two above the others, and stiff as board. It surveys the area with real thought. The expression on its face and its body language suggest confidence.
Is this the leader?
I’m not sure whether my anxiety is making me see things, but I swear it’s staring at me now. The pounding in my chest bangs so hard, I’m afraid someone or something may hear it—the telltale heart. But I don’t move. I can’t.
It can’t see me. No, it can’t. No way.
Only my right eye is visible, and at this time of day, the glare on the windows would make it impossible for the outside world to see through.
Right?
Wrong!
It squares up its shoulders and somehow seems to grow an extra foot. It lets out a shrill, almost barking sound. Immediately, the others scramble over to it.
It barks again and the pack falls in line.
They begin tramping toward the cabin.
Now I don’t think. I just react.
I fall back, grab the broom, and smack it across my leg. The wood splinters into sharpened halves. I break off the brush end and hold these rudimentary weapons in front of me.
If they’re coming for me, I have to fight. As dumb as that sounds, there’s no other option. Of course, my lousy body has other ideas. It shakes so furiously that I’m having trouble holding onto my weapons. And the click click click of my teeth chattering sends pains through my skull.
I try to settle down and prepare for the battle ahead, but as I breathe, my bowels begin churning. I’ve heard that when your body is in fight or flight mode, your intestines and stomach try to remove any extra weight so you can flee quicker. It does this by forcing you to relieve yourself. Hence, the upset stomach.
Well, there’s no time for that. They’re at the door!
Hot tears stream down my face, blurring my vision. I wipe my eyes until they’re clear. That’s when I see the doorknob turn.
These aren’t just mindless creatures. At least the leader isn’t anyway.
I square up and hold the brooms in front of my face.
I can do this. I can do this. I can….
The leader glides through the threshold, staring directly at me. It barks and the other follow behind.
They surround me in a semi-circle. Those tentacles splaying out of their arms seemingly taste the air, trying to make sense of it.
My feet are frozen. And not like I’m too scared to move. I mean, it feels like there is some force holding them to the spot. Magnetic. Are they doing this?
A ringing begins in my ears and quickly becomes a sharp needle penetrating my mind. Flashes of visions cross my consciousness, but they’re coming too fast and too fragmented for my brain to make any sense. Light, darkness, moving shapes, water, earth, snow, an enormous metallic thing floating in the sky, stars, more creatures.
And my family.
In the cabin! They’re in the living room, laughing.
Now screaming!
Then darkness again.
A quick flash of light and my family now stands in a row, eyes glazed over, facing the front door. Facing one of those things.
The next second, they’re gone, replaced by four large creatures, and one not-so-large one standing in a tight line.
The vision stops. I collapse, still unable to move my feet. My makeshift weapons clang and slide across the floor. Looking back up, I notice their eyes focused on me. All but the leader. But what is the look in their eyes? It’s not anger. It’s not hunger. It’s…
Longing?
They bark at me. One at a time, then in unison. But I don’t think they’re trying to scare me. It feels more like they’re trying to communicate.
That’s when the smallest one takes a clumsy step toward me. It reaches out an arm, only centimeters from my face.
But I’m not scared. I should be petrified, but I feel contentment.
Its long hand brushes the skin on my cheek, stroking it gently.
Peace. This creature somehow looks familiar. Something in its eyes remind me of someone.
The force holding my feet to the ground subsides, and I’m able to stand.
“Faith?” I ask, furrowing my brows.
The creature nods.
She holds out her hand and I take it. It’s oddly comforting. Not slimy or bony like I would have expected.
We walk toward the giant one in the middle. Faith releases my hand and falls in line with the others.
I stare into the leader’s eyes. Behind the alien façade, I can sense strong emotions—human emotions. The confidence I sensed before is gone. It actually seems scared now. No, not scared, lonely.
Lost.
I’m very familiar with that feeling. I’ve been lost for years. Floundering from job to job, city to city. Being around people, but not really being connected to anyone.
I feel for this creature. And for some odd reason, I have an intense desire to help it. I feel compelled somehow. I’m about to say something when it opens its mouth wide, revealing layers of sharpened teeth and a long slithering, charcoal tongue.
It flicks it, producing a snapping sound like a whip. Some type of greenish, phlegmy liquid flies from its tongue and lands over my eyes.
I should panic. In any normal situation I would be on the verge of ugly crying, especially since my vision is disappearing, but my heart rate thumps steadily. I don’t even try to remove the goo.
I’m a calm statue.
I do close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them again, the goo is gone, soaked into my skin. And the room has changed colors. Not really changed colors so much as the colors have become inverted. Like a negative image from a camera.
Everything is distorted. My perspective has somehow changed too. The floor looks farther down than it had even 10 seconds earlier.
What is happening?
My body feels foreign. I don’t recognize the weight or the mass of it. And when I take a step, I fall, landing hard on my arms. At least, where my arms should be. They’re now covered in those alien tentacles splaying out from two branch-like extremities.
No, no, no!
The panic I should have been feeling the entire time has started.
This can’t be.
I look around at the creatures. They step closer, suffocatingly closer. They begin barking. Well, at first it sounds like barking, but the sounds quickly turn into recognizable words. From voices I know!
Tate? Jake? The others? They’re beckoning me to join them.
The room spins. It’s nauseating. I think I need to sit down.
“Uuuuppppp!” An unfamiliar voice bellows. “In line. We have work to do.”
I obey without question. I stand behind Faith at the tail of the group. And we walk, the seven of us, outside. Now I’m completely lost. I don’t know where we are or what we’re doing.
All I know is that I need to follow my master. He will know what to do next.
Chapter 2 . . .
