Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Charles took up the farmhand job, he didn’t think that he would be the only one on the land. He thought he would be surrounded by others, living off the land, and making friends. 

But when he got to the dirt road leading further into Appalachia, he felt like he was alone. 

A weird aura loomed over the trees as he ventured inward, passing trailer homes, and cabins alike. He didn’t see people, despite there being cars parked in front of every unit. He didn’t hear a single sound coming from them, as if the whole lot was desolate. 

Up ahead, someone was flagging him down, and like the good driver he was, he slowed. 

The flagger came to his passenger side, and Charles rolled down the window carefully. 

“This is private property.” 

Charles paused, “Oh. I didn’t see any signs.” Charles had noticed that the homes began to spread further out, and the last house he’d seen was a ways back. 

“Are you lost?” Asked the stranger. 

Charles was, but he knew he was on the right road. “I know where I’m headed, but if you could offer some help, that would be nice.” Charles reached over on the passenger’s seat, shuffling through opened envelopes and sticky notes. 

The stranger caught sight of a sheet of paper in Charles’ car. “You’re here for Shaw’s job, right?” 

Charles gazed up, “Yeah.” He found his slip, “ Ah, right here.”

“You’re his new farmhand?” 

“I am.” 

The stranger looked Charles over, and hummed as if he’d made an assumption about him on the spot. 

“If you could point me in the direction of Shaw’s estate, I’ll be out of your way.” Charles anticipated an answer, but was only met with a further suspicious gaze. 

The stranger squinted, “You keep heading up this road, and when you see the cow field, keep it on your left side. You’ll find the house.” 

Charles nodded to the obscure direction, and put down his papers, “Thank you. Have a nice day.” 

The stranger stepped back, watching Charles pull ahead on the road. 

Charles glanced at the stranger in his rear view and felt an eerie urge to keep clear from the people of the county. 

Charles continued down the bumpy dirt road, just about ready to give up when a stone wall appeared at the side of the road. He stared into the cow pasture, watching the cows graze, dotting across the acreage. Charles drove until he’d come to the corner of the cow pen, turning left, and keeping the pen on his left side. Sure enough, he’d spotted an old farmhouse up ahead. 

The dark windows refused to allow any light of warmth in, the rickety steps groaned in exhaustion as the wind whistled through them. The porch wrapped around the right side, a few items decorated the lawn. A rusted can, some trash, an old tennis ball, and a few other trash items got snagged under the porch. 

Charles cut the engine of the car, peering out of his driver window to the house, and back down the road. 

He could just turn back now, and find another job elsewhere. That would be an easier solution; the farmhand job was offering to pay him a handsome amount, a cabin on the land, paid living expenses, and all Charles had to do was slave away on the farm for a lease of one year. 

Apparently, every person before Charles had refused to stay the full year. He was willing to make it happen. 

As Charles was eyeing the landscape, the front door to the cabin opened, and a fellow dressed in a warm sweater, jeans, and tough boots stepped out onto the porch. Charles turned to meet his funny glare, and lingered by the front of his car. 

“ Hello .” Charles called, “I’m Charles Xavier. I spoke to Sebastian Shaw over the phone about the farmhand job? I was told this was his home by someone down the way-.”

“You spoke to the locals?” Was the first question from the stranger. 

Charles paused, “Well-, yes? I didn’t know if I was on the right road, but someone told me to stick to the road, and lean left when I saw the cow farm-.”

“Did they give you a name by any chance?” 

Charles shook his head slowly, “ No . No, he didn’t.” 

The man nodded, never introducing himself. 

“I’m sorry. I spoke with Sebastian Shaw, I was wondering if he was around?”

“He’s out of town right now, but he’ll be back before sunset.” 

Charles stared at this squeamish man on the porch. “Do you want me to come back when he does?” 

The man didn’t answer Charles’ question, instead he looked over Charles’ car, and back to the road. “You have everything you need to move in tonight?” 

“Yes sir, I do.” 

The man nodded, “I’ll show you your cabin then.” He turned for the house, “You won’t be able to drive the car down there. Park it around the back, and I’ll bring the cart around.” The man vanished inside. 

Charles hesitated for a moment before going along with what the man had said. He got back into his car, and while idling, he thought to pull out of the driveway and head back home. His thoughts were broken by the man coming back out of the screen door, and around the side of the house. He flagged Charles along, and Charles took it slow. Parked under a cedar tree, Charles unlocked his back door. 

He collected his two suitcases from the trunk, throwing his backpack over his shoulders, and as he shut the trunk door, he could hear the engine of a golf cart kicking up and moving in his direction. The cart had been modified with a hitch on the back, and a hay trailer had been attached. 

“This it?” Asked the man. 

Before Charles could approve, the man hoisted Charles’ belongings into the hay trailer, and began rounding the cart. 

Charles stood beside the seat, refusing to get inside with this stranger to be whisked off into the woods. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” 

“Hank McCoy.” Said the lanky fellow. 

“Hank McCoy. What is it you do here on the farm?” 

“When Shaw is away, I take care of it.” He stared up at Charles, “Are you going to walk behind or get in?” 

Charles cleared his throat, and sat beside Hank. He clutched the railing of the cart as they went over rocks and into sinkholes, Charles had been jostled around every which way. He glanced over to Hank, who looked like he would refuse to speak even if he were tortured. 

“Have you worked here long?” Charles asked over the bustle. 

“Three seasons.” 

Charles nodded, “Do you like it here?” 

“I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t.” 

Charles trailed off, “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, I’m just making small talk.” Charles turned away, looking back to his luggage and the foliage surrounding him. “The cabin is pretty far from the house, isn’t it?” 

“The farm is on a big piece of land.” 

“How much?” 

“62 acres.” 

Charles sat in awe, “All of it is Shaw’s?” 

“Yes.” 

Charles raised his eyebrows, and stared ahead. “Must need a lot of people to take care of it then.” 

“Not enough stay.” 

“Why is that?” Charles asked curiously. 

“I don’t know. I don’t ask.” He deadpanned, and continued in silence. 

Charles assumed it was time to stop asking questions as they traveled further down the path. A bubbling stream came close to their right side, but fled back out of sight. The chirp of birds sung around overhead, the clap of leaves welcomed him to this new land, and the bearable chill caressed Charles’ cheeks. An oddity considering it was only the summer of June, and not early Autumn in September. 

The cabin was quite simple; warm wood, short windows, no porch, with a small yard all around. Charles fell in love. 

“Shaw will see to it that you get a list of the rules for the farm and a working schedule before the end of the day.”

Charles watched Hank remove his bags from the trailer promptly, and turned back for the golf cart. 

“You get one key, and one key only. Don’t lose it.” Hank unhooked a single key from the jumble of keys attached to the golf cart carabiner. 

Charles waited for him to pause and ask for any questions, but he turned for the cart and reversed so he could get back down the road. Charles stared as it vanished down the trail, and the humming of its engine followed. He was at a loss. Standing in the woods, with his suitcases, with no real idea of what’s going on. 

He turned for the door, wiggling the key before getting it unlocked, and stepped in. 

The cabin was as simple inside as it was outside; essential furniture stood all around, an open kitchen sharing space with the dining table. The bed was a queen sized futon that doubled as a couch, an AM/FM radio, and a few other gadgets. 

Charles glanced into the empty fridge and sighed; he shouldn’t have expected there to be a full fridge when no one lived in the cabin. But paid in-living was assumed to also have paid food wages. 

He marked up on his mental list to get food in town, among other things. 

Despite all the strange encounters he’s had so far, he felt like this was something new and exciting. He didn’t know what he wanted to do first. Was he allowed to decorate his cabin? Could he garden outside in his free time? Could he visit that stream he saw along the way and find some interesting insects and amphibians? 

He paced the cabin until he’d become familiar with it, and later, rather than sooner as he’d like, he watched the sun tuck itself under the tree line and beaming a beautiful glow between the trees. 

A rumbling came along the dirt road that led up between houses, and Charles peered out of the window as the golf cart came back into sight, a black and white speckled dog at his side on the seat. This time, a man much older than Hank and himself was the driver. Charles exited the building before the man could cut his engine. 

“Good evening.” Charles welcomed. 

With no further introduction, the man eyed Charles down. “You’re the new hand Hank was talking about?” 

Charles paused, “Yes. My name is Charles Xavier?” The man before him had a recognizable voice, in person and over the phone. “You’re Sebastian Shaw?” 

“The only.” The man said, eyeing their surroundings. “Did Hank see to it that you got your things in order? Your belongings?” 

“Yes, he helped bring my bags up the road. It’s quite a ways from the yard.” 

“You won’t be dealing with the cow pen.” 

Charles furrowed his brow. “What will I be doing then?” 

“I hope you don’t need me writing this down for you, because it’s simple work.” Shaw said sharply. “You wake up at 7, get your belongings, and get down to the chicken coop. Collect the eggs, separate the broken from the good ones. You know how to tell a rotten egg from a good one?” Shaw asked. 

Charles nodded. “Yes sir.” 

“Alright. One less thing I gotta teach you then. The coop’s behind the house.” Shaw went on. “Then you gotta get down to the billys. They’re on the opposite side of the road across from the cow pen up front. I’m gonna say this once and only once, stay away from the black billy.”

“How come?”

“He’s an escape artist for one, and he’ll ram you and put a hole in your leg with pride. If he charges at you, for any reason you’re in the way, step to the side, grab him by the horn and yank that son of a bitch down to the ground. His pride will be hurt and maybe he won’t do it again. You just have to keep doing it until he learns.” 

Charles hesitated to the cruelty. 

“I’m nursing a team of mini horses until their owner comes back from vacation, whenever the hell that is. They share a pen down the stream between this house and mine. If you see ducks, shoo them off.” 

Charles nodded.

“Last thing you gotta do is just fetch the mail when you come in and out of the road. The damn mailman don’t come down the road and leaves it at the last house he sees. The neighbor set up a box to grab my stuff.” 

Charles nodded again, “Where do I find the feed for the animals?”

“They all have their own stables and sheds. You’ll find the food in them, and buckets to carry the water from the house down to them. There’s only one well, and it’s 50 feet from the septic tank.”

“So it’s 50 feet from the house?”

“You’ll find it. It isn’t hard to miss.” 

Charles nodded. 

Shaw turned to the cart, giving a whistle, and the dog jumped down to his side. “This dog is going to be your partner, attached at the hip at all times. He’ll herd if you have to, but you’re not moving any animals unless they got out so he won’t have to.” 

Charles looked down at the dog.

“His name’s Cain. He’s got a strict diet, and I’ll cover the expenses for him. He’s your responsibility. You take care of him, he’ll take care of you. Equal trade. Whenever you’re done with cleaning out the sheds, feeding, and refilling their water, you’re done for the day.” Shaw reached into the back of the cart. “You got anything to eat for tonight?” 

“No, I was actually going to head into town and grab some things.” 

Shaw held out a bag of items. 

Charles lingered for a moment, staring at it before taking the offered bag. He peered in at the items; two cans of soup, raw potatoes straight from the ground, beef cutlets wrapped in tinfoil, as well as some raw asparagus. 

“It’s not much, but it’ll save you the night, the dog can eat the asparagus and beef raw just fine. Plus it’ll keep you safe. Don’t go traveling out at night. Keep your windows and doors shut and locked.” Shaw started back for the cart.

“How come?” 

“Didn’t anyone tell you about the mountains?”

Charles furrowed his brows. “No? Did something happen?” 

“No. They just ain’t safe at night. Coyotes and all that stuff. Dangerous beasts traveling in the dark. Like I said, 7 am. You make sure you don’t leave this place before the sun comes up. I don’t want to stitch you up because something bit you.” He glanced at the dog, “And I don’t need to bury another dog because a caretaker was reckless again.” Shaw leaned forward on the steering wheel, “You hear me?” 

“Yes sir.” Charles said, “I’ll watch the dog with my life.” 

Shaw squinted gently at Charles, and started the cart. “Good night.” 

“Good night.” Charles deflected as Shaw turned around and headed back down the road. Charles lingered on the doorstep, watching the strange man he would call boss vanish from sight. 

The dog looked back at Charles, still sitting in his spot in the dirt. His royal blue collar said his name in bold, with little cross bones on them. 

Charles pushed his front door back open, glancing to his bag of food, and back to the dog. “Come on.”  

The dog hurried inside, as if he’d known the dangers that was soon to lurk outside.

Charles was more than shocked to have found a spice rack hidden in one of the cupboards. He’d settled on saving half of his food, stuffing the rest in the cooler chest. He moved about to the sound of the wind against his windows, and the gentle hum of the stereo going. The beef cutlets crackled in the frying pan, the smell of rosemary lifting through the air as he opened the oven, checking on the potatoes.

He turned with his hip against the counter, eyeing the dog. 

Cain had lied down, his head on his paws, watching Charles cross the room over and over. He was a calm dog, not a single word out of him yet. 

Charles cocked his head aside at the dog, “I’m sorry I’m not as fun as the other caretakers probably were.” He mumbled, stirring the meat about. “But I can promise you, you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” 

When the food was done, Charles shuffled everything onto a plate, rinsed off his dishes for an easier clean later, and sat down at the table. Cain remained at his spot on the floor, but his head had lifted. 

Charles blew at a piece of beef before offering it out, “Cooked food is way better than raw.” He waved his hand, “Here.”

Cain then got to his feet, paddled over, and lapped at the food from Charles’ hand. He sat patiently munching on it before waiting for more. 

Charles went back and forth feeding himself and then Cain until the plate was empty. 

Cain returned to his spot on the floor, and Charles cleaned the dishes. 

The radio static eased in and out as the wind plucked up, and returned to it’s usual volume. Without further intrusion, Charles dried his hands and wiped down the table. He assumed it was time to head to bed, so with every light he’d turned on, he flipped them off. Managing to get the futon flat, he changed his clothes and lied down. 

The quietness of the woods around him was haunting, not even the crickets made a noise. 

Charles looked over to Cain on the floor, and patted the bed. 

Cain crossed the room but didn’t join him, instead he lied at the side of the futon where Charles’ hand lingered. With a gentle scratch of the dog’s neck, Charles settled in. 

He hoped to be enough for the strange man he called boss, and hoped to stay out of trouble for the time being.

Come morning, to the thrum of his alarm, Charles opened his eyes slowly. With the sun peering into his north-eastern most window, he panned his bleary eyes to the room. 

Cain hadn’t moved from his spot at the bottom of his futon, so sitting up and putting his feet over the edge jostled Cain awake. 

Charles rubbed his eyes, peering down at the dog. “Good morning.” He sighed. 

With a glass of water, Charles was up and at ‘em. He cooked the other half of his food, feeding himself and Cain, before briefly showering.

He did as he was told; he walked up the path with Cain towards the chicken coop, made friends with the lovely chicken, and collected their broken or ready eggs. He threw feed along the ground as he did so. When he deemed it was well enough to leave, he knocked on the back door of the house where Hank greeted him silently and took the basket. 

Charles bid him good morning and moved along without another word; he started for the billy goat pen and had his eyes on the black goat the entire time. The goat was wary of him, and Charles was wary of the goat. At no time did he have to wrestle the damn thing, and he was thankful. He cleaned out the shed, put in new grain feed as well as a block of hay from their shed. In due time, he’d gone towards the stream following it down until he’d come to the mini horse pen. The trio of horses were quick to ruffle his feathers, chewing at his jeans, and nudging into him as he moved about. 

By the time he was done with his chores, it was nearly noon. He had no food for lunch, so he assumed it was the rightful time to head out. He moved for the main house where Shaw was heading out himself. 

Mid-conversation, Shaw and Hank turned to Charles approaching as he wiped his brow. “Good afternoon.” Charles called. “I finished the chores.” 

“You finished the chores?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Cleaned out all the pens, fed, and brought water to the animals?” Shaw questioned incredulously. 

“Yes sir.” Charles squinted as the glare of the afternoon sun shined him straight in the eyes. The man before him was wearing a hardy, fancy hat while Hank hung in the shade of the porch. “If it’s alright by you, I was going to stop into town and grab some things to make to eat for the week.”

Shaw nodded slowly, “I’m heading into town anyways. No need to waste your car’s gas for that. I’ll drop you off at the store while I run my errands.” 

“It’s alright. I don’t want to hold you up if I take too long.” 

“It’s fine by me.” 

Hank glanced between the two, as if he had something crucial to say about the situation but refused to say it out of fear of judgement. 

Charles nodded, seeing no way out of Shaw’s pointedness.  “Alright.”

Shaw turned from Hank without another word of their conversation, and Charles followed Shaw to the truck. Nothing but an old beaten Ford, the red paint chipped at the wheel wells, and the doors creaked with every interaction. Shaw didn’t pull the seat belt over himself as he started the car and pulled in reverse as Charles had. The radio clattered between them, silence sitting like an unwelcome visitor between them. 

Charles stared out of the window as the homes on the dirt road blurred his vision again, and this time he’d spotted a few neighbors. 

Shaw glanced over to Charles, “Where are you from?” Shaw split the thin silence like a buttery cake.

Charles looked over, “New York City.” 

“You lived there your whole life?”

“I was actually born there. My mother is from England, and she met my father while she was studying in America.” 

Shaw nodded as he came past the last house on the road, peaking out onto the highway. “Any brothers or sisters?”

“One half-brother, but we don’t talk much.” 

“How come?”

“We don’t agree on a lot of things.” 

Shaw nodded again, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel absently. 

Charles resumed his idle hobby of gazing out of the window as they drove the 10 minutes towards town. It seemed like a well populated town, all the bustle and life was in that very spot. Shaw pulled into the lot of a supermarket next to a bus bench and Charles got out. 

“I’ll be back in some time, but if you don’t see me parked here when you come out, just wait for me.”

Charles nodded, shutting the door between them. 

“And kid ?” He called through the open window. 

“Yeah?” Charles turned regardless of the obvious mismatched name. 

“Don’t talk to strangers. This town makes plenty of weirdos you don’t want following you home.” 

Charles nodded slowly. “Yes sir.” 

Shaw pulled into drive, and drove away from Charles standing at the bus stop. 

Charles shook his head as he excused himself passing the doors and getting inside. 

Given a few minutes with a cart, Charles had stocked up on the organic items they had to offer; portobello mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, onions, garlic cloves, and many more fresh produce. He’d rounded the beverage aisle, set on maybe getting some tea or coffee for himself in the morning. He kept his eyes forward as an older woman passed before him, excusing herself, and stared at the same shelf as him a little ways down. 

Charles was choosing between two different coffee brands when the woman came a little closer, plucking something off the shelf at his side. 

“ Sorry .” She hummed. 

“It’s alright.” Charles stepped aside. 

“I can’t always find the one I want anymore. There’s all these different flavors now.” She chuckled sweetly. 

“There are.” 

“And now coffee’s so expensive too. But the husband always wants it in the morning the moment he wakes up. Can’t live without it, you know?” 

“Sometimes it’s a necessity.” Charles smiled.  

“It is, huh?” She laughed, putting her choice in her cart. “Say, I’ve seen you around somewhere. I just can’t put my finger on it.” She tapped her finger against the cupid’s bow of her upper lip with an intrigued hum.

Charles furrowed his brow; he hadn’t mingled with anyone in town, let alone been in town long enough to know anyone but the people at the ranch house. 

“That’s it!” She pointed at Charles. “I must’ve seen you back at home, down Shaw’s road.” 

Charles stood in awe. 

“You’re the new farmhand, aren’t you?” 

Charles cleared his throat, “I am.” 

She snapped her fingers, “I knew it. I knew I wasn’t losing my mind.” She laughed, “I heard he’d been looking for some extra help around the ranch for a while, he was offering up some good money for it too. But no one was biting.” She eyed him, “I don’t mean to be a stranger,” she put her hand out, “My name is Lettie, I live down the way from him on the same road.”

Charles shook her hand, finding her fingertips to be cold, but her palms were warm. “Charles.” 

She smiled, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charles.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He said through his teeth. 

“How is Shaw? He keeps to himself these days, Lord only knows what shenanigans he’s up to.” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t speak for Shaw.” Charles stated. 

“Well, I can only hope he’s doing good.” She clutched onto the handle of her shopping cart. “I won’t hold you any longer. It was nice to meet you.” 

“You too.” Charles raised his hand in a wave and continued down the aisle. He didn’t heed Shaw’s word of making nice with strangers, and instead brushed it off. He paid for his things and continued outside towards the bus bench; Shaw’s truck was nowhere in sight. So, standing on the side of the market, several bags in hand, Charles looked like a lost soul. 

Lettie had just exited the supermarket as Charles spotted Shaw’s truck entering the lot. “You’ve got a ride back, honey?” She called.

“Yeah.”

“If you don’t have a ride, I’d be more than happy to drive you back.”

“That’s alright. Thank you though.”

Shaw’s truck came before Charles, and Lettie and Shaw met eyes as he opened the door. 

Lettie’s smile diminished slightly, “Hello Sebastian.” 

“ Elizabeth .” Shaw retorted indifferently. 

Charles shut the door, and looked back to Lettie. 

“You watch yourself.” Lettie called, “Stay safe out there. Coyotes aren’t the only monsters in our neck of the woods.” 

Charles nodded, “You too.” 

Shaw pulled away from the shop and onto the road, he looked Charles over and back to his driving. “I thought I told you to keep to yourself?” 

“I didn’t speak to her.” Charles hummed, meeting his eyes. “She spoke to me.” 

Shaw’s eyes were stern and reprimanding, as if he’s seen terrible things in his life in order to make him this way. “From here on out, you keep to yourself.”

“I’m sorry, but if there’s something important that I’m missing, I should know about it.” Charles stared in Shaw’s direction, “If I’m going to work under you any longer, I should know if I’m under any danger.”

Shaw chuckled and it burned Charles’ annoyance. “You want to know about the dangers?” 

Charles stared. 

“ Alright .” Shaw turned on the highway back to the farm house. “The last three farm hands I had were responsible for a dog, as you are. The job was simple; stay inside when the sun goes down, do your job, take care of the dog. Well, they thought it was smart to ignore my warning. Every one of them went out at night. One was hospitalized and later pronounced dead because a pack of coyotes ripped him to shreds. The others got out alive, but my dogs were killed. None of them lasted even a month, and it set me back. If you’re going to be as reckless as them, tell me now, and leave. I ain’t responsible for any more dumbasses.” 

Charles kept quiet the entire ride back, watched the traffic thin out, and stared at the houses on the dirt road. When they came to a stop in front of the house, Charles collected his bags and rounded the front of the truck. Cain waited patiently on the porch, cocking his head up as Charles passed. 

“ Kid .” Shaw called. 

Charles turned.

“Like I said, if you think I’m going to bury another farmhand just because you’re curious about the woods, you’ve got me mistaken. Leave first sign of light in the morning, if you’ve got a death wish.” 

Charles whistled to Cain, patting his thigh, and shook his head turning away towards the road leading back to his cabin. Cain followed closely behind. 

Shaw turned to Hank who stepped out onto the porch. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He said, handing over the stuff he’d gotten from town. “First thing tomorrow, post up listings for a farmhand again.”

“Something happen?” Hank asked.

Shaw shook his head, “Just another idiot trying to get himself killed.”

“Did you tell him?” Hank leaned in, staring at Shaw intently. “About the woods?” 

Shaw turned away, “Told him about the previous farmhands, and the coyotes that tore my dogs apart.” 

“Nothing else?” 

Shaw turned back to Hank with a hand on his hip with a stern look. “You know damn well if I told the kid about what’s really going on, he’d run through town looking like a lunatic. We’ve got enough to deal with on our own.” He stated. 

Hank looked to the dirt road, thinking about Charles and Cain. 

“Don’t worry about the kid. He’ll be gone by tomorrow. I know plenty of guys like him. They’re reckless and replaceable .” 

Shaw put the last bag in his hand and both turned for the house for another night.

As the sun came over the horizon, shining it’s golden face, Hank entered the kitchen. The house was quiet. He lingered by the window, seeing that Charles’ car had been moved. Another farmhand gone, but this time without any harm done. He was grateful.

Where was Cain? 

Hank stepped out onto the porch, looking around. He saw no danger in sight, and the birds didn’t warn of a lurking predator. He whistled among the fields, waiting for a sign of Cain on the road. Cain came from the billy pen. 

Hank furrowed his brow, “What’re you doing over there?” 

Cain stood before Hank, eyeing him in curiosity on why he was called. 

To answer his question, Charles came around the side of the house with a bucket of well water. He spotted Hank, nodded, and continued towards the billy pen with Cain following behind cheerfully. Baffled by Shaw’s wrongful prediction, Hank went inside.

It continued like this for a while. 

Charles would wake up at the first sign of light, long before 7 am, do his chores, grab the mail from the neighbor’s house and come back. He’d be done just in time for lunch where he would sit alone on a dry stump of a tree cut years before out front. He’d share his food with Cain, and Cain would further entrust him with his loyalty. Charles got paid handsomely by the end of every week, and he saved nearly all of it, rationing the remaining part for food and essentials. 

He’d never seen the inside of Shaw’s house, never spoke to the neighbors, and kept to himself. 

It remained that way up until September, four months into Charles’ lease. The cold wisps of autumn haunted the nights, even if it weren’t for another few weeks. 

Charles had been taking care of one of the mini horses when Shaw came around, leaning on the fence. Charles glanced over, stopping his chore to stand in the doorway. “Good morning.” 

“Morning.” Shaw hummed. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” 

“No.” Shaw shook his head, looking at the mini horses. “I just got a call from the owner of the horses, says she’s coming around later to grab them.”

Charles nodded, “Alright.” 

“You know how to chop wood?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Good. ‘Cause since winter's coming, you’re going to need to stock up for the wood stove. I’ve got a few trees that need to be mowed down, Hank will help you clear them, and cut them. You just gotta cut them and haul them back to the cabin with the cart.”

Charles nodded. 

Shaw continued to stare at Charles as he returned to work. 

Charles turned back, “Anything else?” 

Shaw lingered, “I’m going to be heading out of town for a few days. Hank will take care of things while I’m gone. You got any problems, you go to him.”

“Yes sir. Anything else?” 

Shaw squinted, “You see or hear anything at night?” 

“No sir?” Charles furrowed his brow, “Only the crickets.” 

He nodded.

“Should I?”

“The coyotes normally come around this time of year. They yip and howl at dusk. I haven’t caught wind of them yet.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell you when I hear them.” 

Shaw nodded, wavering a moment before turning back for the road. 

Charles watched him go, and hesitated to continue working. He did slowly, and went on to having lunch in his usual spot. He watched Shaw put his things into his truck and say a few final words to Hank on the porch before getting in, and moving towards Charles. He slowed as he came along, glancing to Charles and Cain. 

“You watch yourself while I’m gone. Keep Cain close. When those coyotes come, you’ll know .” 

“Yes sir.” Charles nodded. “Stay safe yourself.”

Shaw made no further comment as he took off down the road, and vanished around the bend. The smell of his trunk trailing behind. 

Charles looked down at Cain, and Cain eyed his sandwich. Charles chuckled, pulling out a slice of his turkey, and handing it to the dog. 

Later that day, a young woman came along with a horse trailer. She greeted the horses with a familiarity, and the horses ate up her affection. 

Charles and Cain were walking up the road past her when Cain strayed from his side to hers, she beamed at Cain, and knew just where to scratch him to have him begging for more. 

“Well, hello, Cain-y. How are you?” She cooed at the dog. Seeing Charles, she stood up, eyeing him. “Who’re you?” All playfulness dropped from her tone. 

Charles stared at her, “I could ask you the same.” 

She jut out her hip, a hand on it, her blonde hair waved about. Her eyes panned down Charles’ entirety. “Shaw didn’t say anything about new faces hanging around.” 

Charles swayed, “ Well, Shaw doesn’t hold up much conversation if you know him well.” 

“Do you ?” 

“Not one bit. I just work for him.” Charles shrugged. 

The young woman eyed him some more, but stuck out her hand. “Raven Darkholme.” 

“Charles Xavier.” He shook her warm, soft hand.

“So you’re a new farmhand?” 

“I don’t think four months is new anymore.” 

“To Shaw, it’s new enough.” She began unravelling her lead from the trailer to get the horses in order. “I’m assuming I just missed him?”

“He says he’s going out of town for a few days.”

“How convenient. I say I’m showing up, and he leaves.” She scoffed, “He’s got a lot of nerve picking a fight with me about my horses and then running away from the fight every time.” 

Charles stepped forward, “Do you need help with them?”

“I don’t need help.” She retorted.

Charles gestured, “Do you want help with them?” He stood before her, and gazed down at her. 

She was stunning to look at, with all fiery attitude and looks. She propped her hands on her hips again, “What do you know about caring for minis?” 

“Considering I spent the last four months taking care of them,” he climbed the fence, stepping onto the other side, “ A lot.” 

“You took care of my horses?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Where’d you learn it from?” 

“My father. He owned some farmland before he passed.”

Raven hesitated a moment as Charles got the lead onto the horses, “I’m sorry.” 

Charles glanced at her then back to his work, “Don’t be. It’s only natural. Parents pass, and we learn to cope.” Charles guided the minis out of the pen and into the back of the trailer. Raven did the rest of the work to blind fold them so as to not spook them, and closed the door after them. 

“What’re you going to do now that I’m taking your job from you?” Raven asked, walking alongside the truck to the front. 

“I still have other things to deal with on the farm. If anything, you’re taking the workload off of me.”

“How generous of me.” She joked.

Charles chuckled, anyone gazing at them from a distance would say it was a blushing giggle. 

“Where are you from?” Raven asked. 

“New York City.” 

“New York. How cultured.” 

Charles laughed again, “It wasn’t my choosing. I was unfortunately born there.” 

“Ah, how unfortunate indeed then.” 

Charles smiled, meeting her wonderful eyes again. 

Hank, from the side of the house, approached. “Raven.” He called. 

The pair glanced over. 

“Hi Hank.” She turned. 

“I didn’t get your call.” 

“I didn’t call. I thought I’d show up unannounced to catch you guys off guard.” 

Hank glanced between the two, “Will you be staying long?”

“I can’t, I have to get the horses back home before sundown. Azazel is watching Kurt right now, and he has the night shift.” 

To the name, Hank seemed to deflate. “How is Kurt?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s got his father’s attitude about everything, so, what more could I ask for?” She noted rhetorically. 

“Tell Azazel I said hello. ”

“It’ll be sure to boil Azazel’s blood, so, of course I will.” She smiled, then turned to Charles. “It was nice to meet you, Charles.” 

Charles shook her hand again, “The pleasure was mine.” He smirked. 

“I doubt it.” She turned away, opening the driver’s door. “Tell Shaw I’ll send him a check through the mail.”

“You know he doesn’t like that.” 

“Unfortunately, I’d like to see him face to face again one day, so I’ll keep sending it through the mail because I know it bothers him.” She stepped up into the truck, and started it up. She blew a kiss to Cain at Charles’ side, and continued down the road. 

Hank gave a stare to Charles before turning back to the house. 

Charles looked down at Cain, raised his eyebrows, and scratched his head. “Talk about a woman.”

The next few nights remained uneventful. Growing to be an avid reader to occupy his WiFi-less, no-service living, he was on his 5th book of the year. He turned the next page when he heard it; a yowl like he’d never heard before. 

It sounded like the pained scream of a banshee, blood-curdling and haunting. It shook Charles from the futon, and Cain was already on his feet. The line up his spine was sifted up in defense, his head hung low as he glared at the locked door. 

Charles watched the dog as he crossed the room, peering into the darkness outside of the cabin. He couldn’t see a thing, but the crying of the animals sounded like they were growing closer with every call. 

Cain snarled at the cabin door, growling deep in his chest as his head kept low. 

Charles watched, sinking back onto the futon, and clutching his book. “We’ll be safe in here.” He stated. “It’s alright Cain.” 

But Cain refused to settle. He sat at attention, facing the door all night. 

As Charles brushed his teeth, he watched the dog. He snapped his fingers, and Cain’s concentration never broke. “Hey.” Charles called, stepping before him. 

Cain leaned around him, never turning from the door. 

“It’s alright.” Charles scratched his head. “The coyotes aren’t going to come in anytime soon.” He insisted, “ Relax .” 

But Charles couldn’t relax either. He’d never heard a coyotes howl like that, or even seen a coyote in real life. At most he’d seen a fox or two on his father’s land but nothing as vicious as a pack of coyotes, he kept on edge but didn’t let it bother him much. He fell asleep soon enough. 

Cain never moved from his spot, watching the door, fending the cabin from the monsters. 

The following night, as Charles was readying for bed, the call of the coyotes came again. This time much closer, and hungrier than ever. Charles thought the beasts had gotten in with how loud it was. 

Cain growled and snarled at the cabin door again, this time standing on all fours with a heap of his fur sticking up in defense. 

“Cain.” Charles called, and snapped his fingers at the dog. “ Hey. Here.” 

Cain snapped his jaw at the door, and Charles could hear it: 

The inward huff of another animal on the other side of the door. 

Charles froze in his spot, holding just his toothbrush, standing in his nighties. He watched the door with a gaze of fear in his eyes, and said nothing as Cain continued to growl. 

After a long while, Cain reverted to silence but continued to gaze at the door. Charles had settled on the futon, his back against the wall, eyeing the door as well. He didn’t feel ready for sleep just yet, but the drowsiness would tempt him to shut his eyes for just a moment too long.

They couldn’t get in.

What was he worrying about?

Everything was going to be fine. 

Charles woke with a jolt, shooting up from the futon, and looked around the room. The distant sound of the cows crying bloody murder awoke him, and he remained on his couch collecting his thoughts. The sun would be up in an hour. He’d be able to see the aftermath then. 

The aftermath was not pleasant: 2 calves dead, their innards pulled from their body, still warm. Both Hank and Charles stood at the foot of the fence. 

“Dragged the poor calves out from the pen and killed them.” Charles grimaced, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Hank shook his head.

“What did this?” 

Hank glanced over and back, “Coyotes.” He answered simply. “I have to call Shaw and tell him he’s down two calves.” Hank started for the house.

“What about the bodies?” 

“He’ll tell us what to do with them.” 

Shaw’s instructions were simple; leave the calves out in the road, and the coyotes will grab them. As in humane as Charles deemed it, he couldn’t do much but pity their demise. He sat on the porch, staring out into the road. 

Hank came back out, wiping his wet hands on his shirt. “Did you hear or see anything else last night?” 

“Aside from the screaming, I didn’t see anything.” Charles said over his shoulder. 

Hank nodded. “Shaw wants me to ask if you know how to shoot a gun.” 

Charles looked up at Hank apart from the sun’s glare. “Why?”

“Because he’s going to do something as stupid as giving you a gun.” He leaned against the furthest corner of the railing, eyeing Charles. “Well, do you?” 

“I haven’t shot a gun since I was a kid.” Charles insisted.

“So that’s a yes?”

“ Yes .” He said through gritted teeth. 

“Alright then.” Hank stood. “When Shaw gets back, he’ll show you how to shoot a gun again. It should be fun.” Hank headed inside, leaving Charles to his thoughts. 

As night fell, Charles kept himself busy as to shut out the inevitable sounds of the coyotes return. He didn’t know why Shaw didn’t just drive them off the land, but instead he stood in fear of the things. It wasn’t like they were radioactive or protected by the rangers, no one would miss them. 

But Charles kept to his own, listening to the stereo as it cut in and out of focus. As it droned out again, he could hear the cry of the coyotes nearby. Charles glanced at Cain, but Cain wasn’t staring at the door. 

Cain was staring at the kitchen window, where Charles was washing dishes. 

“Hey.” Charles called, but upon noticing - Charles fixed his eyes on the window. His own lit reflection stared back at him, and nothing else. The darkness swallowed all of the woods around him. 

He could hear the howling wind, hear Cain’s huffing as he gazed at the window, he could even see Cain sitting on the ground behind him. But he couldn’t see anything past himself. It gave him a heavy, uneasy feeling in his stomach, like something could be looking back at him and he wouldn’t have a single idea. Charles shut off the tap and stepped back from the window. Just as he was about to turn away, he spotted something flashing past the window, a sheen of fur, or flesh, he didn’t know. It’s scattering footsteps following along the corner of the cabin, circling towards the door. 

Charles’ heart pounded in his chest, making him dizzy with fear. He followed the sound as it trampled noisily towards his door like a stranger trying to escape the cold, and Cain’s barking and snarling amped up tenfold. He seized, snapping his jaw up at the door. Charles stood frozen in his spot, praying the door would hold. A slow drag of scraping sounded against his door, and the very blood drained from his face. 

This wasn’t a coyote, coyotes wouldn’t singularly scratch at his door. Wouldn’t be tall enough to pass his window, wouldn’t be a shade of white that would reflect moonlight. 

This wasn’t a coyote. 

Charles’ eyes were fixed on the doorknob; maybe he was imagining it, maybe he was so high on adrenaline that he was losing his mind. 

He watched the doorknob very slowly turn. 

Both the chain lock and deadbolt were engaged, keeping the door shut. 

The doorknob stilled, as if the intruder on the other side refused to let it go, or maybe even was pressed against the door to see if it would open gently. Then - it snapped back into it’s resting position with a loud clap. The intruder figured the door was locked, letting go of the knob. 

The scattering footsteps staggered around the corners of the cabin again, and Charles figured - the intruder was going to look in through the window. 

Charles snapped to life, seizing across the room to shut off the light, and submerged himself in darkness. He stood stock still against the wall beside the lightswitch, staring into the darkness towards the window. 

Silence joined him. 

Charles waited with bated breath, listening to the world outside of the cabin. There were no more footsteps, no more noises. He could hear his own heart beat in his ears, feel it in his neck, his hands trembled, his legs locked up under him. 

Cain’s barking had dwindled to a low growl, somewhere among the distant darkness. 

For what felt like minutes on end, Charles stood in that spot, holding the lightswitch. 

He could see the glow of the sun coming over the umbra of trees. 

But he refused to move just yet.

Cain hadn’t come to him. 

The glow of light allowed his eyes to adjust just enough to see Cain was still fixed on the window, his fur was still protruding from his back, but he was quiet now. 

Charles took one deep breath, letting his hand fall slowly to his side. 

The scattering of footsteps descended from the cabin window, and Charles froze once more. 

The creature, whatever it may be, waited outside his window for as long as it needed to assure Charles was still there. Still hiding. Now that the sun was coming up, Charles was safe. Until the sun would come down again. 

He waited until 7 to leave the cabin, keeping Cain close to himself as he left. Cain circled the cabin, sniffing the ground around it. Charles surveyed his surroundings over and over for the white flash of a creature again, but it never crossed his vision. He walked with a quickness to his steps, and spotted Hank and Shaw talking by the side of the house. 

Shaw looked over Charles’ ghost-like state, and it brought Hank to look over as well. “You alright there?” 

Charles stared at the two, shaking his head, “I just spent the whole night.. In fear.” 

Shaw furrowed his brow as if he didn’t know what was happening. “What’re you going on about?” 

“The cabin? The woods?” He began to raise his voice. “Tell me you aren’t playing some sick game, right now.” He pointed to the ground. “I want the truth .” 

“What in hell are you talking about-”

“I saw something go past my window last night. Dogs aren’t the height of a window. I saw something run past my window. It circled my cabin! It waited until sunrise to leave!”

Hank kept his gaze on Charles as if he were a lunatic. 

Shaw put his hand out to steady Charles and it only drove him further up the wall. 

“What is out in those woods ?” Charles pointed back towards the cabins. 

“Calm down.” Shaw gestured. “Cain, here.” He snapped his fingers to get the dog out of the way of Charles’ panicking. “Whatever you saw, I’m sure there’s a reason for it.”

Hank looked at Shaw incredulously, but refused to speak. 

“Maybe you were tired.” 

“I know what I saw.”

“Then what was it?”

“A thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“It was white. It ran past my window.” 

“Did you see it’s eyes? It’s height? Maybe what it really looked like?” 

Charles shook his head, holding his palms against his temples. “I’m not crazy. I know what I saw.” 

“Hank, why don’t you run inside and grab the boy a cup of coffee?” Shaw said over his shoulder.

Hank glanced at Charles, and back to Shaw, before heading inside. 

“Why don’t you sit down for a bit?” 

Despite feeling too antsy, Charles sat down on the porch while Hank approached with a cup of coffee. Charles accepted it, but refused to meet anyone’s eyes. He felt crazy now, these two people were staring at him confused, and he was spewing nonsense. Even the dog wasn’t at his side anymore to comfort him. 

“Did you eat anything you weren’t supposed to last night?”

Charles furrowed his brow. “No.”

“Drink expired milk or something?”

“ No.”

“Maybe inhaled some fumes-”

“Look, I’m not sick or anything. I was awake. I saw it.”

“Whatever it was.” 

His tone was parental, and Charles didn’t want to be there anymore. He shook his head, looking towards the end of the porch. 

“Hank tells me you used to shoot guns when you were young?”

Charles didn’t speak. 

“Maybe it’ll do you some good to brush up on it then. Make you feel safe out in the woods.” Shaw said. “Son, look me in the eyes.” 

Charles slowly panned over Shaw’s features. He’d just been back from his trip, just in time to see Charles lose his shit. Perfect. 

“I need to know that if I hand you a gun, for protection reasons, you ain’t gonna shoot your brain out and kill yourself.”

Charles looked to Hank. 

“Well?” 

Charles turned back to him, “I wouldn’t even think about it.” 

Shaw nodded, settled back with his hands on his belt. “Alright then.” He sniffled, “Get off your ass and get your job done. Then we’ll talk shooting.”’

Charles ran over every possibility of what could’ve happened that morning and none of them added up. He couldn’t think of a single monster that was tall enough to pass his window, couldn’t think of anything that could turn his door handle, nothing other than a person. But what person would be moving around in the dark like that? Stalk like that? Rogue hill billy’s? It was the only thing he could come up with. 

After he’d finished with the animals, sweat beading down his back and forehead, Shaw approached him with a shotgun over his shoulder and a toothpick in his mouth from lunch. 

“Get to stepping.” Shaw gestured along, “Come on.” He moved towards the golf cart.

Charles got on, and they followed to a spot where Charles had never been. He scanned their surroundings as Shaw readied his shotgun. 

“Pay attention.” Shaw whistled. “This is a Ruger. It’s a standard hunting rifle, it’s taken down bucks and stunned black bears before. So it can do it’s job in taking out coyotes too.” 

Charles watched Shaw. 

“It shoots magnum cartridges. You know what a magnum is?”

“Hand gun.”

Shaw stared, “ Revolver .” He corrected. 

Charles rolled his eyes when Shaw wasn’t looking. 

“It shoots 450 feet per second. It only holds 5 rounds.” He popped out the magazine below the bolt handle, holding it out for Charles to see and began pushing the bullets into their spots. “It’s not long range, if you’re expecting to hit something 200 yards out, you’re pushing your luck. You know how to do math, right?” 

Charles stared at Shaw.

“I’m just pulling your leg.” Shaw smirked. He turned with the shotgun set against his shoulder.

Charles hadn’t noticed that there were items set up in the distance to hit, this must’ve been Shaw’s homemade shooting range. 

“You’re going to set it up a little high on your object, if you’re going over 200 yards so the bullet will curve just right.” 

“I thought you said don’t shoot over 200 yards.” 

“Well,” Shaw gazed ahead, propping his ear plugs in. “Sometimes you don’t want to get too close to what’s coming at you.” 

Charles plugged his ears the moment Shaw fired off, the sound punched Charles in the chest, and he flinched back. 

At the end of the shooting range, a bottle was completely decimated. 

“You ain’t recoil sensitize, are you?” 

Charles glanced at Shaw, “I don’t think so.”

“You should be fine.” He held out the shotgun to Charles. 

With a moment’s hesitation, Charles slowly took the shotgun from Shaw, and put his hands where Shaw’s just were. All the spots he’d touched radiated with warmth, and assured Charles in some way. 

He remembered when he was young when he would go hunting for small game with his father, Charles never really shot anything, but his father would say that they’d caught it together. Charles’ mother never approved of the activity, but she couldn’t deny her husband’s happiness. 

It was one of the few things that brought his father happiness. 

Charles set the rifle against his shoulder, holding it like he’d remembered, but back then he was a child. He was lanky and awkward, the gun would send him back and he’d lose his train of sight. Now he was a grown man holding a hunting rifle, - and it terrified him to step back into his shoes. 

“Keep it steady,” Shaw remarked, “But don’t take all day,” he looked to the horizon, estimating their track of daylight. 

Charles took a deep breath, lining up his sights towards the targets, and like a raring memory at full charge, he could hear his father’s words in his ear. 

“Don’t be scared of being afraid. Fear is a useful emotion. You don’t have to like it. But use it.” 

Charles’ finger hung over the trigger, and with a gentle pull, the loud snap of the bullet whipped through the air - right past his target. Charles’ shoulder ached from being shoved back. 

Shaw gave a chuckle, “You’ll get it. Give it another try.”

Charles moved back into position with the same motion; steady breath, clean pull of the trigger, and snap. The bullet chipped the stand the targets sat on. 

“A little higher.” Shaw remarked.

His comments were starting to irk Charles. 

Shaw gestured, and snapped his finger. “Come on.” 

Charles gave a noisy exhale, firing again; the bottom of the glass bottle remained on the stand, but it’s neck was clean off. 

“That’s a little better.” Shaw swayed.

Charles, without warning, fired his next shot. This time, the bottle was decimated into pieces. The gun magazine ran empty. 

Shaw clapped a strong hand on the back of Charles’ shoulder, jostling him forward. When Charles met his eyes, he’d seen the most proud smile he’d ever imagined. One as proud as his father’s when he’d fired his first gun without flinching. “With a little practice, you’re alright.” Shaw took the rifle from his hand to reload the magazine. 

Charles felt powerful.

They’d fired rounds back and forth for a while longer before Shaw looked to the sky and it forewarned of night. He got Charles back to the cabin before the sun had time to dip below the tree line.

Charles had an unimaginable strength coursing through his veins, and he didn’t know how else to describe it. It was addicting. 

Shaw promised to get a better gun for Charles, but left him with the shotgun for now. He was warned to keep it out of sight, but never out of reach - Charles kept it within the doorframe of the bathroom. 

Charles passed Cain several times, cleaning up the cabin before deciding he would head to bed early. He shut off all his lights, except for one, and lied down. He had this creeping feeling that he was being watched, but the aching feeling had haunted him since his encounter with the creature from the woods. 

He still wasn’t settled on the idea of it being a pack of coyotes, as Shaw insisted. 

Charles wasn’t crazy. 

He shut his eyes for what felt like seconds, only to be woken by the crunch of leaves underfoot and a skulking drag outside his cabin, Cain’s low growls was now known as background sound. The sound circled the corners of his cabin, and he carefully moved to glance in the direction of his lingering light. It cast a glow against the parallel window, allowing him to see just a fraction of the room. 

Passing the window, he saw a gangly, milk-white frame of a creature. Patches of it’s skin was covered in light hair, as if it were fuzz. Charles could near see how it’s bones pressed against the upper layers of skin like latex, pulled tight and at any sudden movement it would tear. It’s emaciated body was no match in horror to it’s face; yellow bright eyes that had sunken into it’s seemingly decomposed skull. 

Charles felt the blood leave his face again, and possibly his body. 

His eyes flickered to the door jam where the shotgun lingered. He gently brushed the blanket off of himself, setting one foot on the floor - Charles froze. 

The creature straight off of an undeveloped film turned it’s head, as if it could see Charles among the darkness. It couldn’t have! Charles stood in a dark corner, the light didn’t touch him! But the creature gazed into Charles’ very soul, knowing what it’s complexion was capable of. 

Charles wasted not another second - he ran to grab the gun. 

Just as his hand clamped around the barrel of the Ruger, he was jostled by the sound of hammering against his door. Like the heel of a firefighter slamming against the door, he listened to the lock hold steady against the assault on the other side of the door.

It was trying to get in . 

With trembling hands, Charles snatched Cain by the collar, pulling him back from the line of fire and engaged the pin. He snapped his finger on the trigger and with a loud CLAP - there was silence. 

A hole had been punctured through his door, and he stared into the near darkness at the door. 

The banging stopped. 

The creature was harmed. 

Charles took Cain by the collar, shutting him in the bathroom, and turned back for the door. His heart was beating out of his chest, his hands trembling on the trigger as he neared the door ready for another bang. He looked through every window and found no sign of the beast, he heard no shuffling, no howling, no movement. 

Charles kneeled carefully before the hole he’d made in the door, peering out into the darkness. Maybe he’d wounded it? Maybe he’d caught it in a fatal organ? Maybe it was dying? Charles wanted to know what it was, wanted to stare down at it’s helpless form as it writhed. He wanted to sit down with God and ask why he would create such an abomination.

Charles took a deep breath, reaching for the door, and sliding the chain from it’s latch. 

He turned for a flashlight quickly before returning to his spot. His mission was to find any trails of the creature's blood, and get his way towards the main house. If he could get inside and tell Hank or Shaw what he saw or did, they’d be safer in numbers if the thing was wounded. Charles balanced the rifle under his arm as he leaned forward, turning the deadbolt latch, and stood back a moment. 

He turned the knob slowly, letting the door blow open gently. 

He stared into the dark, and clicked his flashlight on. 

Charles expected something to leap out at him, snatch him by the collar, and rip his head off. But none came. His eyes were drawn down to the foliage at his doorstep, and he could see drops of a dark substance. 

He did injure the monster. So it would make things easier to track. 

Charles leaned around the doorway carefully, shining his flashlight into the dark, and stepping out incrementally. 

From up above the doorway, the creature leapt onto Charles and he fell forward. He fired an accidental shot. His flashlight landed facing himself.

Blinded, Charles rolled onto his back to catch a glimpse of the creature - it’s flesh was translucent in light. Charles could see it’s veins, running like snakes down it’s body. It hunched forward with long, pointed fingers that could gouge out eyes. It gave a horrible grimace with jagged teeth like needles, flinched from the loud sound of the gunshot. 

On it’s shoulder, a bullet wound oozing with vivid blood. 

Paralyzed for only a second, Charles watched the creature turn it’s attention back on him and charge.

Charles raised his shotgun, firing at the creature once more. 

It screamed, hurdling back. 

Charles scrambled to his feet in a moment’s notice, snatching his flashlight up from the ground, running down the dirt path back towards the main house. He needed to find Hank, needed to get to Shaw. Surely they’d heard his shots, but would they help him? Or would they keep their doors locked tightly, and allow this monster to rip Charles apart?

Would they watch in horror as a bystander and allow another victim to go unnoticed?

Lost in his racing thoughts, Charles was tackled from the road. A heavy weight rolled them over, and he could feel his skin splitting as he rolled over fallen logs and stones. His flashlight lit the direction of the creature coming at him, and he fired. 

The creature wasn’t hit but with all it’s might, it tossed Charles back.

The gun flung from his hands, submerging him into darkness. 

The remnant smell of the mini horses lingered, he was near the stream. Charles got to his feet with a limp, feeling for the fence of the mini horses. He crashed into it breathlessly, hauling himself over, and trudging through the squelching ground. 

He could hide in the shed, it had a sliding door that locked. Charles slid the door open, and gazed out into the dark before shutting it after him. He backed up until he’d knocked into the tools with gasping breaths. His skin burned, no doubt bleeding from his fall, his leg ached, most likely sprained. 

He heard nothing but his own heartbeat and breathing. 

Charles remained pressed against the wood of the shed, his palms pressing into the splintered wood. 

The door swung open with urgency, and a deep, gutteral growl sounded as Charles was snatched by the ankles and dragged across the threshold of the shed. He could feel the muddy grounds against his legs as he kicked and screamed against the beast. With a powerful kick, he was jostled free from the clutches of the monster and rolled onto his stomach to pull himself away. 

He screamed as it’s needle-like claws snatched him back to itself and suddenly - it’s jaw clamped tightly around Charles’ hip, sinking it’s barbed teeth into his flesh. 

Charles let out a blood-curdling scream until his throat went dry, his body falling limp as the venom of the creature poured throughout his system. Charles grew conscious of his numb state, like a bug caught in a spider’s web, poisoned and paralyzed. He became subdued, his eyes glazed over with a cold haze. 

He wanted to scream, to kick, to cry - but he felt like this was death. 

Was this death?

Charles was rolled onto his back, his head lolling aside, eyes still open in their slacked position. Instead of a clawed hand, humanoid digits clasped his chin to bring his head aside. Charles stared from behind the foggy collection of contrast, but couldn’t make out a single feature of the creature before him. 

Was Charles dead yet? 

Was this Purgatory?

Was he stuck in a constant state of numbness now until he was delivered to his final stage of death? 

Would he be food for a colony of monsters like this one? Food for a winter? For two? 

The creature with sprouted soft and cold, humanoid hands hovered over Charles’ frame. Charles could feel the additional pressure of it’s body, blanketing him completely. Over Charles’ rested hands, he could still only feel cold skin. He felt it’s breath against his neck, taking deep whiffs of his collar and temple, scenting like a dog would to other dogs. He could feel the press of a cheek against his forehead, the brush of a shoulder against his face, and those hands that never released his face. 

And suddenly - it was all gone. 

The pressure of another body slipped from Charles’ frame, the grasp of a hand, the ghostly whispers of a breath against his skin.

Charles found his body so slack, he shut his eyes, submerged in darkness. 

The chatter of birds brought Charles to life.

That, and the numbing of his arms limp above his head. 

His back ached from lying on solid ground, his clothes soaked through with mud. 

He opened one eye, taking in his surroundings, and lied in confusion. Why was he in the mini horse’s shed? He slowly sat up, recollecting the previous night’s happenings. 

He heard shuffling, growling, hungry noises. He had his shotgun, standing in the dark. He fired four shots. At what?

Charles stood up slowly, leaning against the battered door, and pulled it aside with an unbearable weakness. Standing in the light of day, he looked like he’d just rolled out of a tomb. 

His skin burned on his back, and he hissed as he lifted his matted shirt. On the back of his hip sat two jagged lines of dried blood, his shirt ripped in several spots, his skin split in other areas. 

He remembers being dragged by his ankles, the merciless beating of rocks and sticks. 

Charles lowered his shirt.

He’d managed to escape the coyotes that attacked him last night. 

It was a battle he wouldn’t dare try winning again.