“Do we have to listen to that?” Cassie threw her hands over her ears.
“You live in the country, Cassie. You should learn to like country music.” James chortled before singing along. Denise’s voice joined his. How could someone live in Southwest Virginia and not like Hank Williams, Sr.? He turned up the volume to further annoy Cassie, who had pulled up the hood of her coat and smashed her hands against it and her ears to block out his caterwauling.
The headlights flickered.
He paused mid-note. The truck was twenty-five years old and not in the best shape, but he didn’t think much about it until they wavered again.
A monster hunts us. After hibernating for a decade, it’s ravenous. We long to stop this nightmare, but the end of the road is far. There is no waking up once a legend sets its sights on you.
Disappearances every ten or so years make little impact on the small town of New Haven, Virginia. Hikers get lost. Hunters lose the trail. Even when a body is discovered, the inhabitants’ memories last about as long as the newspaper articles.
No one connects the cases. No one notices the disappearances go back beyond Civil War times. No one believes a legendary monster roams the forests in Southwestern Virginia.
I don’t either until the truck breaks down on an old mountain trail. Cell phones won’t work in this neck of the woods. It’s amazing how much a person can see by starlight alone. So what if we can’t feel our fingers or toes as we hike toward the main road. How many more miles left to go?
Hear that noise?