u/Grant-Jones95

Chapter 13: A Shot In The Dark

I always liked driving. Something about the road always seemed to help me think clearly. I tried hard to wrap my head around everything that had happened since the funeral. I couldn’t figure out why my dad had never told anyone about what he’d been forced to do. Did he ever try to fight back? Can you fight back against something like that? There were too many questions and I feared the answers were buried just the day before.

My train of thought was interrupted by my ringing phone. I looked at the mounted phone as Eli’s name popped up.

“Hey, what’s up?” I answered after a few rings.

“Hey man, just picked up some stuff from moms. I’m headed back to the house, wanted to know if you might want to come by? I’m sure the kids would love to see you and Barkley.” Eli paused.

“I’m also just worried about you being alone. Marley ordered some pizza for lunch so just swing on by if you’re not busy.”

“Yeah… yeah sure man, I’ll come by. I’m just driving around right now, I’ll go pick up Charles and head that way.” I looked over to hang up the phone. When my attention turned back to the road I saw it. It was standing there just about a hundred yards in front of me. The black suit contrasting against the gold and amber leaves falling gently around it.

I slammed my foot on the gas. I didn’t know what this thing wanted but I knew I didn’t want it anywhere near me. It took a few steps toward the center of the road, the distance was closing fast. My grip tightened around the steering wheel, I gritted my teeth.

“You want to play chicken with me?” I pressed down harder, the pedal connected to the ground with a thud.

I was going eighty miles an hour when I made contact. The man’s upper half splattered against the windshield sending a spider web of cracks across.

“You took everything from me you piece of shit! Fuck you!” I yelled. The fury I felt was quickly replaced with fear.

It looked like I was driving into a pitch black tunnel. If it wasn’t for the windows on either side of me I wouldn’t have known it was daytime. I slammed on the breaks, in my peripheral I could see the world around me slowing down. I wanted to get out, to look at the aftermath of my anger but I was frozen. I watched the darkness begin to filter through the cracks, coalescing, shifting. The thin black strands moved toward the empty passenger seat, what started as a small black line quickly began to take shape as sunlight began to filter through the cracks. My hand was trembling on the handle, I couldn’t find the strength to open the door.

There beside me an empty nothingness sat. There was no depth, just a sharp black mass that surged and shifted.

“This will not do.”

The voice seemed to resonate in my head. I knew it was being spoken aloud but it seemed impossible to come from that thing.

“Disciplinary action will be enforced. This will not happen again. You will find a participant within twelve hours.”

As it spoke, I saw something. Something I wish I could scrub from my mind but I know it will live there til the day I die.

There seemed to be something drifting into my view from somewhere within the blob. It was a man. He wore a pair of cargo shorts, a tank top, and an all too familiar hat. His skin was pale, eyes gaunt and unfocused. He hugged himself tight, shivering uncontrollably.

It was Jessie, the last person my father had written a letter to just two weeks ago.

It was at that moment we made eye contact. He reached his hand out to me, I could see the frantic desperation. I’ll never find out if the last words from his lips were “help me” or “kill me”. I saw his shirt lift up at the hip, two thin lines seemed to be the cause. He tried to grab at them but there was no way to tell if he impeded their violation at all. The two lines made a small cut, bright red blood floating out. Then his eyes went wide, his cold, stiff body moving frantically.

He looked to be reaching down toward his legs, then they seemed to turn thin as paper. He let out a silent howl as he was emptied of everything within his body. He looked like a tube of toothpaste, squeezed of all of its contents. His brown and yellow stained teeth disappeared, both eyes were pulled inward as if someone had put a vacuum in his head.

The now empty flesh sack, that was once Jessie, propelled forward. It hit my dashboard with a wet smack. The blackness then began to enter in through the small opening, the body gaining its form again while the darkness disappeared inside of him.

Then it was next to me. It calmly opened the door, stepped out and leaned down. One long tendril finding my nub, it slithered in. I saw it in my head, where it wanted me to go. Then as quickly as it entered it receded, it entered that small opening at the hip and closed the skin behind it leaving behind a small scar.

I could see a trail of blood and what looked like bones receding into some unknowable distance when I looked into those black pits where Jessie’s eyes used to be.

“Twelve hours Grant.”

Ten minutes had gone by. I didn’t move, I didn’t speak. My phone rang and rang, I just wanted to wake up from whatever nightmare I was in. I was eventually able to open the door, then I stepped out to survey the damage. There was an indention in the bumper, the windshield was splintered, then I looked up.

What had been that thing’s flesh suit was tangled around the antenna, flopping in the wind. Each wet slap against the roof made my stomach twist. I vomited into the street, wiped my mouth, then reached up and peeled it free. The skin was cool to the touch, cold enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. Not knowing what else to do, I bundled the skin and clothes together and threw them into the trunk.

Finally back in the driver's seat, I check my phone. Twelve-thirty. Which meant I had until midnight to find someone.

I dialed in a number into my phone. It seemed to ring for an eternity before I heard the click followed by some fumbling.

“Grant, you alright?”

“Uncle Paul.” I said. “I need your help.”

Chapter 14: Goodbyes

Dusty sat in his rocking chair, the phlegm he’d hacked up landed on his jacket with a wet splat. His languid eyes scanned outside the window, searching for any movement. He took a long draw of his cigarette, the puff of smoke came out with a wheezing cough.

“Are you coming with me Dusty?” Brandy asked as she walked toward the door.

“I’m sure the boys would love to see you. We won’t always get invites to those grand babies' birthdays.”

“No… no I’m going to stay. Someone from work has to come by today.” His eyes never left the window.

“Well we’ll be at Paul’s if you change your mind. I love you.”

Dusty didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how to tell his wife of forty years that this was his last day on earth. He watched her leave, as the car pulled out of his vision he saw it. It approached the door and gave three slow knocks.

Dusty stood up, it was a labored task that came with his declining health. The years of drinking and chain smoking catching up to him. He pulled open the door.

“So this is what it feels like,” Dusty said. “When death comes knockin’.” 

He chuckled to himself and tipped the flask back. Whiskey ran down the corner of his mouth.

“You have missed your deadline. The previous participants were also unsatisfactory.”

It stepped inside. Condensation bloomed across the door window as the temperature dropped. Dusty staggered back into his chair.

“Go on, take a seat, Jeremy.” He squinted. “Well. Guess that ain’t you anymore.”

A laugh broke out of him, turning into a wet cough. His face flushed beet red.

“You like the suit?” He gestured weakly. “Dressed ’em up all nice and pretty for you.”

It stopped in front of him. Dusty could feel those fathomless pits boring into his skull.

“This is a disappointing turn of events.”

“Yeah? Well, let me guess. Disciplinary action.” Dusty struck a match, lit his cigarette, and blew smoke into its face. “Don’t much care anymore.”

“You know… I thought you killing my son was the lowest point of my life.” He swallowed. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s still up there. But what I hate most? The ones that did get to live hate me. You took that from me, and for what? A fucking wardrobe change?” Dusty took his cigarette from his lips and twisted the cherry red ember into his forearm. He grit his teeth and cursed under his breath.

“I know this is one jacket you don’t want to put on. Spent my whole life making sure you wouldn’t get to use me. Not like you did my old man.” 

Dusty saw the black tendril escape from underneath its fingernail. He’d seen it so many times before, but this time he knew there would be no vision. No telling Brandy he’d be home late tomorrow, no dealing with Daniel, no more deliveries. This time it was the end.

Dusty felt that cold invasion, it cooled the burn he had just given himself, it crept up.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” Dusty said as tears began to fall.

It cocked its head to the side and said nothing but he felt the tendrils slow their advance.

“Why are you doing this?”

It looked up toward the ceiling as the question hung in the air, almost as if it were considering the question.

The tendril continued its advance, he felt an ice cold grip around his heart. Dusty fell back, he grabbed his chest and clawed at his shirt.

“You were an optimal selector Dustin. Your child will provide similar results.”

Dusty felt it, the coil tightening like a constrictor squeezing the life from its prey. Each beat gradually became weaker. His life flashed before his eyes: meeting Brandy at a high school dance, teaching Patrick how to walk, watching Grant's football games from his truck, watching Eli become a father, and Paul. He wished he’d told his brother how much he loved him, how much he wished he could’ve let him in. The last hagrid breath into his lungs felt frozen, not from the ice cold invasion but because he knew the next exhale would be his last.

“Now blow out the candles!” Sam, Eli’s youngest, blew out his four shaped candle while everyone clapped and cheered. Marley began cutting the cake, divvying out the pieces to the few in attendance.

“Thanks for letting us have it out here Paul.” Eli said as he clapped a hand over Paul’s shoulder. 

“Don’t mention it, might as well put this land I got to use for something.” Paul said.

He then dropped his voice to conspiratorial whisper.

“Hey, how’s your brother holding up? Guy looks like someone just kicked his dog or somethin.”

“I think he was just hoping dad would show up. I don’t know, maybe things are just different for me since he’s been a bit of an ass my whole life but.” Eli paused.

“How much did my dad change after Patrick?”

Paul took a swig of his beer, let out a burp, then motioned for Eli to follow.

He led Eli back into his trailer, he was immediately greeted by the head of a buck mounted on the wall. Paul turned and went to his room, he pulled out a small box from underneath his bed and opened it to find a binder.

“This is how I like to remember your old man. Better times for sure.” Paul said as he plopped down on his worn mattress.

It was a photo album. Eli sat down next to Paul, the springs creaked under their combined weight as he thumbed through the photos.

Paul gave a little blurb for every few photos: “This is when we went to the beach for the first time, this was our first Halloween, birthday party at the church.” He closed the binder, a worn picture of a cross sat crooked behind the plastic cover. He ran his fingers down it before handing the binder to Eli.

“You go ahead and take it, I’m sure you and the little ones will get more out of it than me.” Paul said as he stood up. Eli opened it up, he was flipping through the pages seeing his dad in a new light with each one. He cocked his head on a particular page, Dusty had his hand wrapped tight in a bandage.

“Hey Uncle Paul. Is this when dad lost his finger?” Eli asked.

Paul stooped over and looked down.

“Hmm yeah I think so, don’t know much about it though. Think it was a hunting accident or something? I was four at the time so who knows.”

“What the hell is up with our family losing fingers? Jesus Christ, glad to know Inigo Montoya will never come looking for us, huh?”

Eli chuckled at his joke before the room filled with silence once again.

“You think he’ll show up today?” Eli asked softly. “I know I probably shouldn’t expect him to but… I don’t know, I think I just expected him to be excited to be a grandpa. You know?”

Paul put his hand on his shoulder and took another swig of his beer.

“I don’t think so boy. Why don’t we get back out there, sure your mom will tell him all about it.”

“Yeah… yeah you’re right.” Eli said as he stood up. Paul gripped his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze before heading back outside.

The next hour went by uneventfully. Kids ran and jumped through sprinklers set up in the yard, Eli took a shot at the water slide, Grant was bombarded with water balloons by Paul and little Sam.

Brandy gave her two sons hugs and little Sam a pinch on the cheek before she loaded up and headed back home. Before long most of the people had shuffled out. Grant, Eli, and Paul all stood side by side watching the last few kids play in the water. Grant excused himself as his phone began to ring.

“Mom, mom calm down what’s wrong? I can’t understand you, can you take a breath?” Grant said as he walked back to the group.

“It’s mom, I can’t understand what she’s saying.” Grant took a few steps away, he plugged his other ear with his finger trying to focus on her words.

Grant's phone slipped from his hand and fell to the ground as he stood frozen in place. His knees collided against the wet ground with a squelch.

“No, this can’t be happening.” Grant's hands covered his face as he began to sob. Eli rushed over and grabbed the phone as Marley began to usher the kids away.

LOCAL MAN FOUND DECEASED AT HOME

By Staff Report

DUSTIN DANIELS JONES, 62, was found deceased in his home Saturday evening, July 26th, 2025. Authorities report Mr. Jones was discovered unresponsive in his armchair at approximately 6:17 p.m. by his wife, Brandy Jones, who immediately contacted emergency services.

According to officials, first responders pronounced Mr. Jones dead at the scene. The apparent cause of death has been ruled a heart attack. No foul play is suspected.

Mr. Jones was a longtime employee of the Division of Protective Services, where he worked for nearly three decades. He is remembered by colleagues as a dedicated public servant who “always showed up when needed.”

He is survived by his wife of forty years, Brandy Jones; his sons, Grant Jones and Eli Jones; and his brother, Paul Jones. He was preceded in death by his son, Patrick Jones.

Funeral arrangements are pending and will be announced at a later date.

Chapter 13: A Shot In The Dark

I always liked driving. Something about the road always seemed to help me think clearly. I tried hard to wrap my head around everything that had happened since the funeral. I couldn’t figure out why my dad had never told anyone about what he’d been forced to do. Did he ever try to fight back? Can you fight back against something like that? There were too many questions and I feared the answers were buried just the day before.

My train of thought was interrupted by my ringing phone. I looked at the mounted phone as Eli’s name popped up.

“Hey, what’s up?” I answered after a few rings.

“Hey man, just picked up some stuff from moms. I’m headed back to the house, wanted to know if you might want to come by? I’m sure the kids would love to see you and Barkley.” Eli paused.

“I’m also just worried about you being alone. Marley ordered some pizza for lunch so just swing on by if you’re not busy.”

“Yeah… yeah sure man, I’ll come by. I’m just driving around right now, I’ll go pick up Charles and head that way.” I looked over to hang up the phone. When my attention turned back to the road I saw it. It was standing there just about a hundred feet in front of me. The black suit contrasting against the gold and amber leaves falling gently around it.

I slammed my foot on the gas. I didn’t know what this thing wanted but I knew I didn’t want it anywhere near me. It took a few steps toward the center of the road, the distance was closing fast. My grip tightened around the steering wheel, I gritted my teeth.

“You want to play chicken with me?” I pressed down harder, the pedal connected to the ground with a thud.

I was going eighty miles an hour when I made contact. The man’s upper half splattered against the windshield sending a spider web of cracks across.

“You took everything from me you piece of shit! Fuck you!” I yelled. The fury I felt was quickly replaced with fear.

It looked like I was driving into a pitch black tunnel. If it wasn’t for the windows on either side of me I wouldn’t have known it was daytime. I slammed on the breaks, in my peripheral I could see the world around me slowing down. I wanted to get out, to look at the aftermath of my anger but I was frozen. I watched the darkness begin to filter through the cracks, coalescing, shifting. The thin black strands moved toward the empty passenger seat, what started as a small black line quickly began to take shape as sunlight began to filter through the cracks. My hand was trembling on the handle, I couldn’t find the strength to open the door.

There beside me an empty nothingness sat. There was no depth, just a sharp black mass that surged and shifted.

“This will not do.”

The voice seemed to resonate in my head. I knew it was being spoken aloud but it seemed impossible to come from that thing.

“Disciplinary action will be enforced. This will not happen again. You will find a participant within twelve hours.”

As it spoke, I saw something. Something I wish I could scrub from my mind but I know it will live there til the day I die.

There seemed to be something drifting into my view from somewhere within the blob. It was a man. He wore a pair of cargo shorts, a tank top, and an all too familiar hat. His skin was pale, eyes gaunt and unfocused. He hugged himself tight, shivering uncontrollably.

It was Jessie, the last person my father had written a letter to just two weeks ago.

It was at that moment we made eye contact. He reached his hand out to me, I could see the frantic desperation. I’ll never find out if the last words from his lips were “help me” or “kill me”. I saw his shirt lift up at the hip, two thin lines seemed to be the cause. He tried to grab at them but there was no way to tell if he impeded their violation at all. The two lines made a small cut, bright red blood floating out. Then his eyes went wide, his cold, stiff body moving frantically.

He looked to be reaching down toward his legs, then they seemed to turn thin as paper. He let out a silent howl as he was emptied of everything within his body. He looked like a tube of toothpaste, squeezed of all of its contents. His brown and yellow stained teeth disappeared, both eyes were pulled inward as if someone had put a vacuum in his head.

The now empty flesh sack, that was once Jessie, propelled forward. It hit my dashboard with a wet smack. The blackness then began to enter in through the small opening, the body gaining its form again while the darkness disappeared inside of him.

Then it was next to me. It calmly opened the door, stepped out and leaned down. One long tendril finding my nub, it slithered in. I saw it in my head, where it wanted me to go. Then as quickly as it entered it receded, it entered that small opening at the hip and closed the skin behind it leaving behind a small scar.

I could see a trail of blood and what looked like bones receding into some unknowable distance when I looked into those black pits where Jessie’s eyes used to be.

“Twelve hours Grant.”

Ten minutes had gone by. I didn’t move, I didn’t speak. My phone rang and rang, I just wanted to wake up from whatever nightmare I was in. I was eventually able to open the door, then I stepped out to survey the damage. There was an indention in the bumper, the windshield was splintered, then I looked up.

What had been that thing’s flesh suit was tangled around the antenna, flopping in the wind. Each wet slap against the roof made my stomach twist. I vomited into the street, wiped my mouth, then reached up and peeled it free. The skin was cool to the touch, cold enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. Not knowing what else to do, I bundled the skin and clothes together and threw them into the trunk.

Finally back in the driver's seat, I check my phone. Twelve-thirty. Which meant I had until midnight to find someone.

I dialed in a number into my phone. It seemed to ring for an eternity before I heard the click followed by some fumbling.

“Grant, you alright?”

“Uncle Paul.” I said. “I need your help.”

Chapter 14: Goodbyes

Dusty sat in his rocking chair, the phlegm he’d hacked up landed on his jacket with a wet splat. His languid eyes scanned outside the window, searching for any movement. He took a long draw of his cigarette, the puff of smoke came out with a wheezing cough.

“Are you coming with me Dusty?” Brandy asked as she walked toward the door.

“I’m sure the boys would love to see you. We won’t always get invites to those grand babies' birthdays.”

“No… no I’m going to stay. Someone from work has to come by today.” His eyes never left the window.

“Well we’ll be at Paul’s if you change your mind. I love you.”

Dusty didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how to tell his wife of forty years that this was his last day on earth. He watched her leave, as the car pulled out of his vision he saw it. It approached the door and gave three slow knocks.

Dusty stood up, it was a labored task that came with his declining health. The years of drinking and chain smoking catching up to him. He pulled open the door.

“So this is what it feels like,” Dusty said. “When death comes knockin’.” 

He chuckled to himself and tipped the flask back. Whiskey ran down the corner of his mouth.

“You have missed your deadline. The previous participants were also unsatisfactory.”

It stepped inside. Condensation bloomed across the door window as the temperature dropped. Dusty staggered back into his chair.

“Go on, take a seat, Jeremy.” He squinted. “Well. Guess that ain’t you anymore.”

A laugh broke out of him, turning into a wet cough. His face flushed beet red.

“You like the suit?” He gestured weakly. “Dressed ’em up all nice and pretty for you.”

It stopped in front of him. Dusty could feel those fathomless pits boring into his skull.

“This is a disappointing turn of events.”

“Yeah? Well, let me guess. Disciplinary action.” Dusty struck a match, lit his cigarette, and blew smoke into its face. “Don’t much care anymore.”

“You know… I thought you killing my son was the lowest point of my life.” He swallowed. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s still up there. But what I hate most? The ones that did get to live hate me. You took that from me, and for what? A fucking wardrobe change?” Dusty took his cigarette from his lips and twisted the cherry red ember into his forearm. He grit his teeth and cursed under his breath.

“I know this is one jacket you don’t want to put on. Spent my whole life making sure you wouldn’t get to use me. Not like you did my old man.” 

Dusty saw the black tendril escape from underneath its fingernail. He’d seen it so many times before, but this time he knew there would be no vision. No telling Brandy he’d be home late tomorrow, no dealing with Daniel, no more deliveries. This time it was the end.

Dusty felt that cold invasion, it cooled the burn he had just given himself, it crept up.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” Dusty said as tears began to fall.

It cocked its head to the side and said nothing but he felt the tendrils slow their advance.

“Why are you doing this?”

It looked up toward the ceiling as the question hung in the air, almost as if it were considering the question.

The tendril continued its advance, he felt an ice cold grip around his heart. Dusty fell back, he grabbed his chest and clawed at his shirt.

“You were an optimal selector Dustin. Your child will provide similar results.”

Dusty felt it, the coil tightening like a constrictor squeezing the life from its prey. Each beat gradually became weaker. His life flashed before his eyes: meeting Brandy at a high school dance, teaching Patrick how to walk, watching Grant's football games from his truck, watching Eli become a father, and Paul. He wished he’d told his brother how much he loved him, how much he wished he could’ve let him in. The last hagrid breath into his lungs felt frozen, not from the ice cold invasion but because he knew the next exhale would be his last.

“Now blow out the candles!” Sam, Eli’s youngest, blew out his four shaped candle while everyone clapped and cheered. Marley began cutting the cake, divvying out the pieces to the few in attendance.

“Thanks for letting us have it out here Paul.” Eli said as he clapped a hand over Paul’s shoulder. 

“Don’t mention it, might as well put this land I got to use for something.” Paul said.

He then dropped his voice to conspiratorial whisper.

“Hey, how’s your brother holding up? Guy looks like someone just kicked his dog or somethin.”

“I think he was just hoping dad would show up. I don’t know, maybe things are just different for me since he’s been a bit of an ass my whole life but.” Eli paused.

“How much did my dad change after Patrick?”

Paul took a swig of his beer, let out a burp, then motioned for Eli to follow.

He led Eli back into his trailer, he was immediately greeted by the head of a buck mounted on the wall. Paul turned and went to his room, he pulled out a small box from underneath his bed and opened it to find a binder.

“This is how I like to remember your old man. Better times for sure.” Paul said as he plopped down on his worn mattress.

It was a photo album. Eli sat down next to Paul, the springs creaked under their combined weight as he thumbed through the photos.

Paul gave a little blurb for every few photos: “This is when we went to the beach for the first time, this was our first Halloween, birthday party at the church.” He closed the binder, a worn picture of a cross sat crooked behind the plastic cover. He ran his fingers down it before handing the binder to Eli.

“You go ahead and take it, I’m sure you and the little ones will get more out of it than me.” Paul said as he stood up. Eli opened it up, he was flipping through the pages seeing his dad in a new light with each one. He cocked his head on a particular page, Dusty had his hand wrapped tight in a bandage.

“Hey Uncle Paul. Is this when dad lost his finger?” Eli asked.

Paul stooped over and looked down.

“Hmm yeah I think so, don’t know much about it though. Think it was a hunting accident or something? I was four at the time so who knows.”

“What the hell is up with our family losing fingers? Jesus Christ, glad to know Inigo Montoya will never come looking for us, huh?”

Eli chuckled at his joke before the room filled with silence once again.

“You think he’ll show up today?” Eli asked softly. “I know I probably shouldn’t expect him to but… I don’t know, I think I just expected him to be excited to be a grandpa. You know?”

Paul put his hand on his shoulder and took another swig of his beer.

“I don’t think so boy. Why don’t we get back out there, sure your mom will tell him all about it.”

“Yeah… yeah you’re right.” Eli said as he stood up. Paul gripped his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze before heading back outside.

The next hour went by uneventfully. Kids ran and jumped through sprinklers set up in the yard, Eli took a shot at the water slide, Grant was bombarded with water balloons by Paul and little Sam.

Brandy gave her two sons hugs and little Sam a pinch on the cheek before she loaded up and headed back home. Before long most of the people had shuffled out. Grant, Eli, and Paul all stood side by side watching the last few kids play in the water. Grant excused himself as his phone began to ring.

“Mom, mom calm down what’s wrong? I can’t understand you, can you take a breath?” Grant said as he walked back to the group.

“It’s mom, I can’t understand what she’s saying.” Grant took a few steps away, he plugged his other ear with his finger trying to focus on her words.

Grant's phone slipped from his hand and fell to the ground as he stood frozen in place. His knees collided against the wet ground with a squelch.

“No, this can’t be happening.” Grant's hands covered his face as he began to sob. Eli rushed over and grabbed the phone as Marley began to usher the kids away.

LOCAL MAN FOUND DECEASED AT HOME

By Staff Report

DUSTIN DANIELS JONES, 62, was found deceased in his home Saturday evening, July 26th, 2025. Authorities report Mr. Jones was discovered unresponsive in his armchair at approximately 6:17 p.m. by his wife, Brandy Jones, who immediately contacted emergency services.

According to officials, first responders pronounced Mr. Jones dead at the scene. The apparent cause of death has been ruled a heart attack. No foul play is suspected.

Mr. Jones was a longtime employee of the Division of Protective Services, where he worked for nearly three decades. He is remembered by colleagues as a dedicated public servant who “always showed up when needed.”

He is survived by his wife of forty years, Brandy Jones; his sons, Grant Jones and Eli Jones; and his brother, Paul Jones. He was preceded in death by his son, Patrick Jones.

Funeral arrangements are pending and will be announced at a later date.

Chapter 8: Ride Along

  “Ugh, dad do I have to go to work with you today?” Grant said.

“Well maybe if you wouldn’t have gone and gotten yourself suspended you’d have somewhere to go now wouldn’t you? I don’t want you coming along any more than you do.” Dusty said while slipping on his boots. “But, you reap what you sow bucko. Now hurry up and get ready.”

“Dad, I’m fifteen just let me stay-“ Dusty cut him off.

“So you can sit around and play Nintendo all day? Yeah, I don’t think so.” Dusty opened the door.

“I’m giving you three minutes. Your butt better be in that seat. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.” Grant mumbled out.

Dusty clicked on the radio to buffer the silence that had grown in the car. A news broadcast filling the air.

“In local news, a young man by the name Gunner Fields, has been reported missing, Gunner is five ten, two hundred pounds, with brown shoulder length hair. He has been known to frequent homele—“ Grant turned the radio.

“If you're going to drag me along at least don’t bore me to death.” He said, leaning his forehead on the window as a too cheerful pop song took over.

Dusty’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turned white and the leather crunched under his grip.

“Dusty late? What kind of Twilight Zone episode am I in right now?” Daniel said as the pair walked in.

“I went ahead and woke your guys up and looks like one of your cuckoos flew the coop. What’s little man doing here today?”

“Grant here got suspended so he’s spending the day with me.” Dusty said as he shot Grant a cold look.

“Nice, what’d you do?”

“Got in a fight.” Grant replied.

“That’s enough, don’t you have Rogaine commercial you’re late for?” Dusty said sharply.

“Whatever man, you’re just jealous.” Daniel’s hands shot to his hair as Dusty and Grant made their way down the hall.

“Mr. Jones, you said that we can go to the park today right? If I don’t take Sam out to a park soon he’s going to be mad at me Mr. Jones and nobody wants that!” A thin man called from the end of the hall, he petted the air above his forearm shushing the empty void occasionally. A woman next to him raised her arm bouncing on her toes excitedly.

“Ooo ooo Mr. Jones! Gunner ran away so I get his stuff right? I called dibs so I get it right? Right Mr. Jones?” Dusty rubbed his temples before answering.

“No, you don’t get his stuff. It’ll be put away in storage in case he comes back, if he’s not back in a month it’s donated. Now first things first, this is my son Grant. He’ll be joining us today.” A few people waved, the others just looked on with vacant expressions.

“As far as the park, yes we will be going today. It will be our last stop and you all get one hour.” The thin man jumped excitedly at the news.

“Grant, you’re up front with me. Everyone load up.”

“Do you think we can pull over? Sam really needs to go.” The man said from the back.

“We’ll be at the park soon enough, Sam can hold it.”

A few more minutes had gone by and we had arrived at Lions Park.

“Ok everyone. Remember. We’re meeting back here in one hour. Please stay where I can see you. If you are not back in one hour you will not be sleeping in your bed tonight. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Jones sir!” The bubbly girl said, her eyes scanning Dusty until the pop of her gum broke her attention.

It was a cloudy day, Grant swung on a nearby swingset as Dusty smoked a cigarette on the bench.

“What are you doing Mr. Jones? You don’t want to come play with us?” She came over twirling her hair, the gum in her mouth growing large before popping.

“I think you’re mistaken me for my boy. He could probably use a good push, why don’t you head on over girl.” Dusty took a long drag of his cigarette, looking past her.

“Oh Dusty don’t act like you forgot my name, it’s Diamond!” She said as she placed a hand behind him, her face was inches from his as she blew the bubble again. Dusty popped it with his cigarette.

Grant looked over and noticed the two, it made his stomach turn.

“Is this what he does at work? Fuck you old man, I could be at home playing Halo.” Grant kicked off the swing and stomped into the tree line.

Diamond spit out the gum but her smile didn’t fade.

“Oh Rusty Dusty, you can’t get rid of me that easy. When I see something I want.” She leaned in whispering into his ear.

“I take it.”

As she moved her head Dusty noticed the swing set, the vacant seat still being pushed by the growing wind. Dusty grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the side.

“Grant, Grant where the hell did you go?” He called out firmly. He began searching around the playset. He looked in the slide, the monkey bars, he walked back to the van and checked inside. Each place he looked made the vein on his forehead pulse a little harder. 

“Grant this isn’t funny! Where the hell are you, boy!”

Grant had found himself a little pond, he was skipping rocks. Testing new curse words to call his dad.

“You bitch fuck ass. Missed my football game. Missed my band recital. I hate you.” Tears were welling up in his eyes.

“Sam where are ya boy? Come on Sam.” The sound came from behind Grant. The thin man whistling between each sentence. Grant panicked and hid behind a fallen tree.

The sound of his voice was getting closer, Grant could hear the desperation in it now. The trembling in the mans voice.

“Sam, buddy I got you a treat! Come on Sam!”

Then there was a snap that came from behind the man and a deafening silence followed. He couldn’t hear the wind, the birds that were singing a song fell deathly quiet, and the pond. There was no sound of water on the shore, but worst of all. His heartbeat that he had used to ground himself in the moment stopped, he could feel it thudding in his chest but there was no sound. Almost as if someone had hit mute on the world.

The silence was finally broken by slow footsteps on dead leaves. The crunch felt so loud in the moment, Grant shut his eyes hoping beyond hope that the footsteps wouldn’t come his way. Instead, they walked toward the pond. He heard the transition from crunching leaves to the squelch of mud.

“Oh. There you are Sam.”

The voice, far too calm for someone as frantic as he was, seemed to come from somewhere it would’ve been impossible to be. Directly over the pond. His fingers clamped so hard over his mouth his nails dug into his cheeks, the warm blood trickling down into the corner of his mouth. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the sound returned. There was no man though, only Dusty who had come running minutes later.

Grant could never explain what happened that day. Dusty told him the man simply walked into the water and drowned, but that didn’t explain the way the water rippled from the center and sent the small wave to every corner of the small pond.

Chapter 9: Dusk

**   **The boxes bumped and slid in the trunk as I drove away from the office. The cemetery felt so far away as the last remnants of sunlight began to fade. The car came to a screeching halt as I stopped just before the gate. My hands were still wrapped around the steering wheel, I couldn’t seem to pry them loose. The memory of the fingers wrapped around my shoulders, the lips, the way Charles cowered in fear.

I took some deep breaths and put the car in park. Soon after I walked past the tall black gates, I saw him. The same black suit, but he was doing something odd. He was bent at the waist at a ninety degree angle, his hand arm was outstretched toward the ground. He picked up a handful of the loose soil and let it slowly run through his fingers.

“H-hello?” I stammered.

His neck twisted unnaturally, as he turned toward me. He rose up slowly, dirt still falling through his fingers. His eyes were covered by the sunglasses but I knew. I knew they were focused and unblinking.

“You’re not as punctual as your father was. You will correct this behavior.” He said plainly.

“What is this about, who are you?” I came to a stop about ten feet away. The distance felt far too close.

“I am the handler for this lineage. Your father was exemplary in his duty. I’ll be expecting the same from you.” He took a step closer. I mirrored and took a step back.

“A handler? What the fuck are you talking about? What do you want from me?”

“As your father is deceased, I cannot enforce disciplinary action for not briefing you. I will now inform you of your duties.” He took a long step, one too long to mirror.

“Your lineage was chosen to act as a selector.” Another step. The gap between us quickly felt far too intimate.

“I will contact you, within twenty four hours of contact you will select a healthy participant. You will leave said participant at one of several locations that have been marked for collection.” He stepped forward again. The air around him felt cold, I fell to the ground as my legs went weak beneath me.

“Help, somebody he-“ I screamed, I tried to push and claw myself away. I watched as he leaned down, his mouth unhinged at the jaw, inside there were no teeth, there was no tongue, only an utterly black void. As if he’d swallowed the night sky and extinguished the stars. Then came a “snap” and everything fell still. No crickets chirping, no sound of my feet scraping against the dirt path, and though I could feel air leaving my lungs, I could feel my vocal chords straining but no sound followed. He was bent over at the waist, his upper body loomed over me me as he spoke.

“Further interruptions will be met with disciplinary action. Failure to provide a participant will result in disciplinary action. You will bear a child for the continuation of the lineage.” He reached down with those long alabaster fingers and plucked my finger off the stub before rising again. He seemed to be scanning the horizon behind me.

“Do not disappoint us. We will be in touch.” He turned on his heel and walked into the darkness. With his departure the sound suddenly came back and I found myself weakly screaming, my voice raw and scratched from how hard I was trying.

Bright lights and heavy footsteps closing in behind me followed minutes later.

“Grant? Grant is that you?” Paul bellowed. He jogged up and took a knee next to me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the darkness in front of me, as if taking my eyes off of it would make him reappear.

Paul leaned and hugged me. His barrel chest pressed firmly against my head.

“I miss him too boy, I miss him too.”

Chapter 10: Faith

   “Come on boys, it’s time for Church!” Brandy called from the open front door. Dusty grabbed his flask and put it in his interior jacket pocket as he made his way to the door. Eli came down the stairs in his Sunday best.

“Grant is going to meet us there. I even think your Uncle Paul is going to be there today! Now hurry up, we don’t want to be late for your baptism Eli!”

Brandy walked to the car, Eli, and Dusty followed not far behind.

It was a mundane service, Father Anthony preached the good word. Brandy flipped through her dog eared Bible as she followed along with the scripture. Grant sang along with the hymns and silently mouthed his prayers. Eli was too distracted by the preacher's daughter, Marley. Dusty stared blankly at the pew in front of him, his other fingers ran tentatively across the nub. Before long, Eli, Marley, and a few other kids had gone to the back. They donned the transitional white garbs, ready to be ‘reborn’ in the eyes of God. Father Anthony took them all one by one, dunked them under and once they came up they smiled and laughed before toweling off. Brandy cried as she watched Eli, trying to work her new smartphone but only capturing images of herself. Grant and Paul hooped and hollered, Paul letting out a wolf whistle. Dustin however, had excused himself to the bathroom. It brought back too many painful memories. Memories he’d tried to suppress, memories that made the flask in his pocket a heavy weight.

“Did you know your daddy works with Angels?” Dustin thought back to the words his father had told him when he was just a boy as he took a long swig.

“There I was, doing a private baptism for one of those heathens and it came to me.” He said, his arms shooting up.

“It appeared on the water, and do you know what he did next, boy? He took that sinner to Heaven, he took him to be with God! It was magnificent, all I had to do was give him my finger and he said I’d get to choose sinners for salvation!” He reached for his carving knife on the table.

“And once I’m gone, once I’m with our Lord! The Angel will need someone else to deliver sinners.” He reached out, his iron-like grip closed around Dustin's arm. 

“Dad stop, what are you doing? You’re scaring me!” The boy screamed and pulled, trying to free his arm from the bear trap.

“This is how they’ll know, son, this is how we earn our place in His Kingdom.”

Dustin wanted to believe that he was better than his father. That he’d done a better job at raising his kids, but he knew it wasn’t true. He knew he would never have the strength to tell them what they would have to do, his father at least gave him that luxury. He knew now that it wasn’t Angels that had come to visit his father. He knew ever since he met that man at his own fathers funeral that there was no Heaven. That there were no Angels, only predators and prey. He only wished his father had done him the courtesy of dying before Patrick was born. 

Dusty made his way back to the pew, Brandy shot him a glare that could melt steel. As service ended, Eli returned toweling himself off. Father Anthony followed close behind.

“Oh Dustin, I was wanting to talk to you about someone under your care. A young woman, I believe her name was Rebecca? She had come by and inquired about being baptized. The poor thing hasn’t run away has she?”

Dusty looked at him, there was no panic. There was no nervousness, that all went down with the whiskey and the many years of telling the same lies.

“Afraid I’m not sure, the weekend crew is there now so I won’t know until tomorrow.” Dusty walked out, lighting his cigarette as soon as he cleared the doorway.

Chapter 11: Dearly Departed

**     **Paul had made his way to the tombstone after consoling me, he removed his hat and was speaking softly to himself. I wanted to tell him what had just happened but I couldn’t find the words through the tears and shuddering breaths that were wracking my body.

I scurried to my feet and ran to the car, I slammed the door behind me, my hands still trembling. As soon as I started the car the cool air from the A/C made me jump, as if that thing was in the car with me, emitting that cold aura. The drive home felt like a nightmare, each time I looked to the side of the road I could’ve sworn I saw it in the darkness, standing, watching. When I finally arrived, I quickly grabbed the boxes from the trunk, side stepping Charles as I opened the door. I threw them onto my kitchen table letting the contents spill out. I frantically spread the folders out: Ran Away, Run Away, the handwritten letters. That’s when I stopped in my tracks, I noticed something that made my hair stand on end.

The last person in the ‘Run Away’ folder, their name was on the last handwritten letter.

“Dear Jessie, I’m sorry it had to be you. I’m sorry I’m so weak. I hope there is a Heaven and if there is I hope you’re there, if Heaven is a place I know last night was the last time I’ll see you. I don’t know if you’ll suffer, and I don’t know if it will be quick. I’m just sorry you had the misfortune of meeting me.

Goodbye Jessie.”

I leaned back in my seat, my head was pounding. I kept flipping through both stacks, each name from the stack having a corresponding letter. Five years, ten years, fifteen years, they just kept going on and on. I got to September of two-thousand ten, the man who disappeared in the park all those years ago. He was here, the corresponding note read.

“Dear Connor,

it wasn’t supposed to be you today. If that boy didn’t run away yesterday, if he would’ve just come with me last night you would still be here. You of course don’t know it but you saved my son. There’s something magnetic about that pond when the time arrives. It drew in Grant and it looks like it drew you in too. I’m sorry to say but I’m glad they got you before they got my boy. God bless your soul, for mine has been damned.”

I opened the ‘Ran Away’ folder. I went back years and years until I found a man, the date marked just a day earlier. Gunner Fields, the man who got away. The man who escaped certain death at the hands of my father. I couldn’t believe it, there were well over a hundred files, sometimes one a month, other times four or even five. For almost thirty years he handed these people over to that thing.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw up. Instead I sat there, frozen. Because I knew. I knew somewhere in that stack of files was a man or a woman that ran away in October of nineteen-ninety nine. The person who got to live instead of my brother, because someone else ran away.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, even the presence of Charles didn’t seem to help. Each time I closed my eyes the only thing I could see was that thing's mouth. In the morning, I was awoken by a knock at the door. Charles barked at the door, I couldn’t tell if it was his regular bark or not in my sleepy haze. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept near the front door and approached.

“W-who’s there?” I said.

“It’s Paul, I just thought I’d come check on ya. You just left so fast last night, you hanging in there?”

I looked at Charles.

“Is it him, boy?” I looked at Charles, I didn’t know why I asked. He just kept barking.

“Listen, you don’t have to open up. I just wanted you to know, if you need anything just come by. Love you b—“ He cleared his throat before correcting himself.

“Grant.”

I heard the footsteps descending down the porch steps.

“Hey, just give me a second to get dressed and you can come in.” I called out through the closed door.

I quickly put all the folders and papers back into the boxes, throwing a blanket over them before opening the door. Paul was sitting on the steps, his back turned to me.

“Alright you can come in.” I said.

“Jesus Christ Grant, it’s hotter in here than it is outside! Is your A/C broke?” He pulled on the collar of his shirt, fanning himself.

“Yeah something like that.” I trailed off as I sat down on the sofa.

“Hey Paul, how much did you know about my dads work?”

“I knew he took care of those fuckin rejects, give those people an inch and they take a mile.” He said as he took a seat opposite of me.

“I think they finally started to rub off on him. You can’t tell me dealing with shit like that doesn’t wear on you eventually.” He got a puzzled look on his face.

“Why do you ask?”

I settled uncomfortably in my chair trying to find the right words.

“I just had to clean out his office and I was just curious. How many of those people that ran away from my dads work were ever found?” I leaned forward letting my elbows rest on my knees.

“You’ve already thought about that more than I ever have. Some nutcase runs away from free food? Free shelter? I say fuck em’.” He let out a low laugh as the sentence died off.

“But they have to have someone who cares right? Family? Friends?” I asked, unsure of what I was searching for.

“They decided to throw family and friends away when they chose to fuck up their lives. Your dad was probably the closest thing to family they had.” He sat back in the chair, a scowl falling over his face.

“Hell, even after Patrick died he was back to work within a week. He just turned into a machine after that. Never came and watched football with us anymore, didn’t go to y’alls games. I think we both lost your dad the day Patrick died.” He wiped his forearm over his eyes, I couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears.

“Look, I just wanted to come check on you. Just take care of yourself alright.” He stood up and walked to the door. Looking over his shoulder for his final reply.

“I’m going to go shoot some shit in my backyard. Come on over if you want to blow off some steam.”

With that he left.

Chapter 12: Changes

   “I’ve been sick for a fucking week Dusty, I can’t taste a god damned thing. I’m getting the test then we are quarantining. God forbid you have to stay at home with your fucking wife!” Brandy broke into a coughing fit, keys and mask in hand as she made her way to the door. Dusty stood up, racing toward the door to block her exit.

“You’re not leaving this god damn house, it’s just the damn flu! You just need to go lay down, just call Grant if you need anything.” His hand was trembling on the door as he spoke.

Brandy threw up her hands in exasperation.

“Fine. You win. Just go to fucking work, I’ll just be here DYING! Now get the fuck out!” She turned and walked back to their room. Tears spilling freely.

Dusty got in his truck, he let out a yell as the door slammed shut.

“Fuck! God damnit fuck!” He punched his steering wheel until his knuckles bled, tears welling up in his own eyes.

“I never wanted this. Why God? Why are you doing this to me? Has my family not been through enough?” He shifted the old truck into gear and peeled out of the driveway. He was almost to blacktop when he saw a woman on the side of the road. Standing just outside the tree line. He knew who it was because that body was in his care just a month before. She was wearing the same red jacket, blue jeans, and black converse the day he took her into the woods and left her with that thing. He pulled the truck to a screeching halt and swung open the door. He stepped out and spoke to her, making sure to keep his distance.

“Another one already? Can you just give me one more day, please. I’m begging you.”

“Twenty four hours Dustin. This was not a suitable host. You will select a more suited participant or disciplinary action will be enforced.” She said as she lifted her hand. The skin was splitting at the fingertips, that same impossible darkness showing through the tears.

“There’s just not a lot of good options right now. That damn virus is—“ Dusty was cut off by the woman, he could hear the skin tearing beneath her jeans as she grew another foot in height.

“Twenty. Four. Hours. Dustin.” She was moving closer, each step longer than the last. He hated getting too close, the black pits that replaced their eyes never got easier to look at.

“If you do not choose. I will.”

He watched as a long black tendril escaped from her fingertip. It writhed, searching. With how close she was now, he could smell the rot of decaying flesh. That thin line of perpetual darkness found its mark, slithering into his finger nub like a tether. He felt it surge through his veins, as if ice water had been injected directly into his blood. It climbed his shoulder, slid through his neck, and reached his brain and inside his mind he saw the place he would take his sacrificial lamb. It withdrew with a wet schllk, leaving behind the same scar he’d seen his whole life. The tendril was gone, but the cold remained. It always did. Even beneath a sweltering sun he would shiver for days. She slinked back as Dusty let out a shuddering breath.

“Twenty-four hours, Dustin.”

She turned on her heel and proceeded into the tree line.

Dusty reached into his pocket, hands trembling as he fumbled for a cigarette.

“God damnit!” He hurled the lighter into the dirt. 

Grant arrived at his mother’s place with Tylenol and ibuprofen in hand. Eli was away at college, so calls like these weren’t uncommon. He pushed the door open slowly.

“Mom, it’s me,” Grant called out.

“I’m up here. Thank you for coming,” she replied weakly.

Grant slipped on his mask and headed upstairs. Brandy lay in bed, pale as the sheets pulled up to her chin. That familiar irritation tightened in his chest—the one that always came with his father.

“He’s going to kill someone,” Grant muttered as he opened the Tylenol. “I don’t know why he acts like this shit isn’t a big deal. Have you even gotten the test?”

“Oh honey, I’ll be just fine. It’s probably just the flu.” She took the pills and washed them down with water.

“Your father wouldn’t know what to do if he was stuck at home. He’s just a busy man.”

“Busy my ass,” Grant mumbled.

Silence stretched between them until Brandy spoke again.

“So… how are things going with that new girl? What was her name?”

“Don’t worry about it. We broke things off.” Grant stepped toward the door. “She wasn’t too enthusiastic about dating a full-time Uber driver.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mom?”

“No, honey. I’ll be alright. And Grant… don’t be mad at your father. He has a lot of responsibilities besides me.”

Grant hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Call me if you need me. Love you.”

He closed the door behind him, went downstairs, and sat on the sofa—waiting for his father to return.

Hours had gone by. He’d occasionally hear a cough from upstairs before it settled down.

Daylight soon vanished and was replaced by the shimmer of a full moon. By then, Grant had gone back upstairs to make sure Brandy had taken some more medicine along with some soup he had poured out of a can. Each hour that ticked by made Grant's stomach turn. What started with anger turned into unease.

“Maybe he got into an accident? Was he always this late?” He thought to himself.

Grant had fallen asleep on the sofa. It was nearly two a.m. when he heard keys fumbling at the door. Dusty stumbled in, he reeked of whiskey and cigarettes.

“What the hell are you doing here boy?” Dusty managed to get out.

Grant stood up, the grogginess of sleep quickly being replaced by a building anger.

“Doing what you should’ve been doing. Taking care of my mom.” He poked a finger into his fathers burly chest.

“Your. Wife.”

“If you got something to say to me boy then say it.” Dusty shoved Grant, sending him stumbling back against the couch.

“So this is what you do? Go out and get drunk in your truck when mom is in here sick as a fucking dog!” He stepped up and pushed Dusty, sending him stumbling into the door.

“So… you finally want to take a swing at your old man huh?” He slurred, his voice getting much louder.

“Then why don’t you do it? Hit me Grant! You going to be a pussy your whole life or are you going to fucking hit me!” Dusty stepped up grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

Grant could see the tears welling in his fathers eyes.

He broke free from his fathers grip, he pulled him forward sending his tumbling form toward the couch.

He looked at his father. Crying on the couch. It put a pit the size of a watermelon in his stomach.

“I’ll be back in the morning to check on mom.” He opened the door and looked over his shoulder.

“You’re pathetic.” Grant stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“Just fucking hit me! Do it, just hit me.” Dusty broke down, his tears soaking into the couch. He only wished it were the tears that were making him shake.