You crawl, a sad act of desperation. If they come out at night, they can do anything, surely catch a mere boy struggling on hands and knees through the mud. But what else can you do.

Over your own labored hyperventilating you swear you can hear a slow, methodical plodding behind you. The movement is quiet, as though something still thought it was being sneaky. You curse the darkness, and you curse them, though you know you shouldn’t.

All the old tales flash through your mind, the old horrors revisited. There has been peace, an uneasy equilibrium for so many years. Some even consider the whole idea half myth now. Myth seems imminently upon you now, and the bad dreams of yesteryear seem a welcome respite from the reality of this night. They aren’t supposed to come out at night!

Ka-Boom Thunder erupts over your head, and a flash lights the fog in a brief orange glow. Ka-Boom Again the night is rocked, and your ears go numb. A heavy hand takes the back of your shirt, momma’s hand.