Chapter One

Clyde moved through the underbrush silently, holding his twelve gauge shotgun in one hand. It was early in the morning and he was hoping to catch sight of a deer. So far, he hadn't had any luck and had only seen a few birds, a squirrel and what might have been a fox.

He was headed towards a clearing where deer usually grazed. It was his fathers land, before he passed away, and now it was Clyde's. He hunted only occasionally and never just for trophies. As he reached the edge of the clearing, he stopped and found well hidden spot near a tree. The sun had still to come up and twilight covered the grassy area.

He waited for about twenty minutes before he saw anything. He squinted at the other end of the clearing where something had it's head bent over towards the ground. He moved the barrel of the shotgun up, pointing it at the unmistakable shape of the deer. But when he looked closer, he saw something else. On the ground by the deers head was a large, unmoving mass. He decided to get closer and see what it was. He didn't want to shoot the deer and scare whatever else was laying there if it were another animal.

Again, he moved slowly and carefully through the thick brush. He picked his way around the clearing, setting his feet down gently. When he was about twenty feet away from the deer, he bent into crouch and made his way behind it. It was still eating when he got close enough to see it and the other shape clearly. The silhouette on the ground was another deer and it appeared to be sleeping. The one standing up was ripping at the grass, its head and jaw working methodically.

But as Clyde looked on, he saw that the deer wasn't ripping at the grass, but was tearing chunks off of the other deer. Astonished, Clyde started to move backwards, away from the animal. But as soon as he took a step back, he stepped on a twig. The deer turned its head towards the snap, and, instead of running away, started towards Clyde. Its maw was covered in blood, its teeth stained red. Its head jerked periodically as if it had a twitch. There was something wrong with the way it moved. It seemed stiff and had a hard time bending its legs.

Clyde finally regained his composure and lifted the twelve gauge. His hands were shaking slightly and when he fired, he took out its front shoulder. The deer crumpled under its own weight and fell to the ground. but Clyde watched in horror as it started to crawl towards him seemingly unfazed by the blow. He took aim again and, this time, blew apart its head with one, clean shot.

Chapter Two

Clyde looked down at the animal but took a quick step back as a horrible smell met his nose. It seemed as if it had been rotting for some time. He stepped around it to check the other one. The mutilated deer still had its eyes wide open and most of its entrails covered the ground.

Clyde just shook his head at the two deer. The one that had attacked him must have been diseased somehow, like when a dog gets rabies. He doubted the meat was any good. It seemed wrong to waste two animals lives but the risk of infection wasn't worth it to Clyde.

As he made his way home, the sun just started to peak over the horizon, painting clouds orange and pink on its way. The house he lived in was a one story cabin. He had helped his father build it and it held quite a few memories for him. It was a good, sturdy home that had lasted its share of storms and abuse. Clyde kept in good repair and well furnished. He didn't have internet but he did have television, though he rarely watched T.V.

He made his way up the front steps as his dog, Fang, barked through the front door. Almost immediately after the door opened, Fang jumped onto Clyde. "Hey! Yeah, I missed you two buddy." He rubbed Fangs ears as he spoke. " You know I would take you hunting with me if only knew how but you just don't have the talent for it."

The gray wolf and husky mix cocked his head to the side and made a whining noise. Then, he turned his toward something outside, his ears perking up.

"What is it boy?" Clyde asked, turning to see what it was. The black tail of his cat, Belle, disappeared behind his car.

Fang growled before jumping down and bolting down the steps. Clyde chuckled to himself. Fang was, as the saying goes, all bark and no bite. If he managed to corner Belle, the most he would get out of it would be a few knew new scratches on his nose.

He turned and went in through the doorway, kicking off his boots by the door. In the kitchen, he started to poach some eggs while he got out the sausage.

After he had eaten the eggs and sausage, downing them with glass of milk, he turned on the T.V. and sat down on the mind was still on the deer he had saw and he wasn't paying attention to what appeared on the screen. He flipped through the channels, only hearing snatches of television shows.

"...should expect an increase in temperature tomorrow.."
"...cases of people biting other..."
"...can you count them? say it with me! 1, 2, 3,..."
"...and empty cemeteries, unknown as to why..."
"...and the dead shall rise again. Amen. ..."

Clyde jumped up suddenly as something crashed outside. He ran out around the back, where he had heard the noise. Fang was barking at something behind one of the trash cans. The other one was knocked over, the source of the crashing sound.

"Fang, what are you doing?" He walked around to where Fang was looking and saw...

Nothing.
Fang was angrily growling at the black trash bags set beside the trash cans and nothing more. Clyde kicked one of the bags but nothing came running out.

"Fang, I think your getting old. Come on boy" he said, whistling when Fang didn't come.

The dog took one last look at the bags before reluctantly following his master.

But as Clyde walked away, something crawled out from underneath the trash bags, something that wasn't quite alive, but wasn't dead either.

Chapter Three

It was late at night and Clyde was just drifting off to sleep when Fang started barking and howling from the kitchen. He got up, cursing under his breath.

The polished wood quietly groaned under his bare feet as he walked down the he wondered if having a dog was even worth it. But then again, he thought, dogs didn't complain as much as people.

Fang was still barking when Clyde walked into the kitchen. "Hey!" he yelled. "Hey, come on boy, stop that!"

The dog continued barking at the door. Clyde finally figured that there must be something really important outside for Fang to be causing such a racket. He was usually a quiet dog at night and told Clyde when he had to go to the bathroom by shoving his nose under his hand and whining, not barking like mad.

"All right, all right. Calm down boy." He rubbed Fang behind the ears, who stopped barking almost immediately,with one hand as he grasped the door knob with the other. He twisted the handle and pulled the door open, letting in a cool breeze of night air.

Fang whined and backed away from the door, his tail drooping between his legs. Clyde glanced at him.

"What's the matter with- ?" He stopped when he heard something shuffling outside. He squinted into the darkness and saw a bulky shape, low to the ground. Clyde had a sudden flashback to when the demented deer had started to crawl towards him on its crippled leg. He reached towards the umbrella vase by the door and grasped a cool, leather handle.

Clyde pulled the Louisville Slugger he used to scare off trespassers, from the umbrella vase. He didn't usually get trespassers, but when he did, his large frame standing on the porch with bat in hand, Fang growling beside him, was usually enough to scare away anybody sneaking around at night.

But what Clyde heard wasn't footsteps, but more of a dragging sound. It was repetitive and seemed to be getting closer. Clyde stepped out onto the porch and called.

"Who's there? Whoever you are, I hope you know that trespassing is a crime!" He listened, but he couldn't hear the noise any more. He waited to see if anything would move out in the darkness but the night was still.
He turned to go back in the house when he heard what sounded like a cross between a gasp and a hiss right behind him.

He spun with the bat swinging out but was too late as someone grabbed his legs and pulled him down.

He had the wind knocked out of him as his back hit the unforgiving wood of the porch. He kicked as hard as he could and heard a snap as his foot connected with his attackers face.

He stood up and looked down at the assailant. What he saw was a horrendous sight. The mans head was bent too far back, his neck apparently broken from Clyde's kick. He was wearing a shirt that might have been a different color once, but was now a dirty brown. The man who lay writhing before Clyde was not whole. His legs were completely gone and hanging from the stump was what Clyde assumed were the mans innards. They were covered with a mixture of dirt and blood and a stench wafted off of him that was indescribably bad.

Clyde backed up until his back met the wall. The man- no, the thing - in front of him was still crawling forward and all he could was stare at it. It was close enough to grab his legs again when he remembered the baseball bat in his hand. He brought it up and then down with a tremendous force, driving it straight down into the head. The skull crumbled inward easily and rotting flesh littered the porch. Clyde dropped the baseball bat and went backward into the house.

He couldn't remember how he found his way to the couch but he sat there the rest of the night. Fang eventually jumped up next to him and placed his head on Clyde's lap.

He couldn't sleep but, then again, he didn't really want to.