Outside of Traverse City in the dark of the moon on the sixth of June in a Kenworth pulling logs a figure stepped out of the woods. He was moving slow and as I passed I could see he was dragging one of his legs behind him. I geared down and stopped not too far away. It was foggy and I was not familiar with the road.

I climbed down my rig and walked back the way I came so I could give assistance if needed. When I got to the rear of my truck a man drenched in red from the tail lights came at me. He tried to put his arms around but he was slow and I brushed him off. He seemed confused so I closer to him. I asked if he was OK. He seemed to be trying to speak but he was just mumbling. I bent closer and he bit my ear off.

I screamed. It was agony. The hole where my ear had been burned something fierce. I punched my attacker in the face and my hand sunk in. The odor was horrible, like a bum’s rotting teeth.

I rushed back to the cab of my truck, crawled in, I was starting to get sleepy and cold.