We stood there for a while. Silent. Just staring at the…thing in the crib.

“What the fuck is it?” I said, finally.

“What the fuck does it look like?” Frank answered.

As if in response, the sleeping thing whimpered, stretched and stuck it’s tiny fist into it’s misshapen mouth. The thing sucked happily and settled back into contented sleep.

I turned to Frank, unable to look at the thing any longer. “Where did it come from?”

“The cute little fella’s momma was getting…friendly…on a regular basis with a German Shepard,” he grinned, left hand pawing at his crotch.

“The Minotaur,” I whispered. “Bullshit, Frank. Impossible.”

“Seems like the impossible is getting more possible every day. If not, you wouldn’t have a job, right?”

“The mother?” I asked.

“Taken care of.” Frank licked his lips. “Personally. What about the kid?”

I was ready to break the sick bastard’s face. Instead, I turned back to the crib. It was awake, gazing up at me, its little hairless tail wagging. It was almost… cute.

“Burn it.” I said.

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