Jonas awakens with a groan of pain. Shivering slightly, he pulls his woolen blanket up and massages his leg. He carefully pulls back his pant leg, wincing with every touch. The skin is swollen and in several spots has taken on an unhealthy, bluish hue. Every second, he feels ripples of pain lancing from the tip of his sole to the top of his brow.

Clenching his teeth, Jonas wishes he’d brought the ether, or maybe some whiskey to dull the pain. Speaking of ether, while the painkiller’s worn off, the headache left in its wake seems like it’s just getting started.

One hand on the leg, the other on his forehead, Jonas nearly jumps out of his seat as the unattended Krag slides down his side and with a ‘Clack,’ bumps against the wooden beam of the booth he’s resting against. He scrambles to grab his rifle before it can slide further away from him and get damaged from hitting the stone floor. His arms outstretched, he barely manages to snatch the rifle before it can bump into something else.

Frowning to himself, Jonas holds the rifle close to his chest, trying to ignore the protests of his body. The mad scramble having brought back hazy memories of that evening, his frown deepens as he breathes out slowly. “When’s that kid gonna learn?” he mumbles, thinking of their first hunts, all those years ago. He remembers the elation he’d felt when Garm came of age, old enough to learn his trade. Then, of course, the crushing defeat when he had to admit to himself that his only son would never use a rifle with any proficiency. A hunter with the hands of an aging widow? Jonas grunts to himself in mock amusement.

Leaning back, Jonas sighs while bearing the pain. The fury he felt against his son having dulled as he rested, it’s been replaced with an anger much older. As he sits there, alone in the barn, stewing in his own misery, the feeling that slowly creeps up on him is a deep frustration and disappointment in himself. His mind lingers on the gravestone that rests in the garden and how directionless he’s felt after the burial.

“I just… never could crack it with them,” Jonas mutters into the darkness, “not the way you could.”

His failing to be a father to his children was a topic that often lingered in the back of Jonas’s mind. In the past, he could lean on his wife to tell him the way of things, but the creeping sense that he’d learned nothing over all those years had long since turned into a dull self-loathing.

With a half-smile, Jonas thinks back to the evening after his last attempt to take Garm hunting with him. He’d always thought of his Sarah as soft-spoken and conflict-shy, but the words she’d thrown at him that night. He will never forget her face when she walked in on him hitting Garm. It hadn’t gotten any better when she’d learned this wasn’t the first time. In his mind’s eye, Jonas can still see her spitting fire and brimstone as she cursed him out for what he’d done.

Jonas had never hit his son after that, but it was too late by then. The damage had been done and since then, every time he looked into his son's eyes he saw the same hurt. He’d caused that, he thought to himself every time he saw it. He was no closer now, to figuring out how exactly he should deal with that look and all the feelings that bubbled up whenever he saw it.

Leaning on the Krag for support, Jonas hoists himself up from his chair. The pain’s gotten to be too much and just sitting here stewing on his failings has done nothing to help his situation in the slightest.

“When are you gonna learn, old man?” he mumbles before a sharp intake of breath from bending his bad leg too fast.

Leaning heavily on the side of the booth as blood rushes back into the leg, Jonas scans the room. It’s been oddly quiet since he started rummaging around after waking. Sure, it’s well after midnight, but usually he’d at least get a sleepy “baa,” and some of the younger ones looking around to see what the fuzz is about. Still, he’d heard not a peep from the flock, and that’s a curiosity that’ll let him distract himself for a minute.

Looking into the booth, Jonas can’t see much in the dark. Surely they’re just sleeping, he muses to himself, but the next moment he’s reaching for his lantern. Thanking Mrs. Madsen for restocking them earlier that week, and sending the woman a silent prayer for what she’s going through right now, he lights it with a match.

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At first glance nothing seems out of place, all the sheep are sleeping soundly next to one another in the corner. Jonas is about to leave when he spots an odd reflection of the lantern light. Leaning closer and moving his lantern slightly to get a better look, he sees the dim flicker from the lantern flame reflect from the opened eyes of several sheep. Looking around in confusion he sees the sheep are all awake and every last one of them is staring at him with large dilated pupils. Despite their wakeful state, none of them are moving or making a sound. The flock is simply huddled in their corner, leaning on one another or lying against the floor, trying to look as small and insignificant as possible while taking shallow breaths.

Feeling a sense of unease come over him, Jonas checks the next booth, and the next, finding the same scene every time. Something’s wrong, but what? He remembers hushed conversations with Widow Maria after the incident some nights before. He remembers the panic in her voice as she told them every detail from the morning she discovered what became of her cow.

As he moves, he bumps his swollen leg into the wooden edge of a booth, sending a spasm of pain shooting throughout his body. Clenching his teeth while the agony shoots through him, all he can do for the moment is hold himself upright.

Feeling the original reason for his discomfort return with a vengeance, Jonas leans down to grab after his cane before he remembers he left it in the house. Muttering curses at his short-sightedness, he leaves the lantern in favor of the Krag. Holding onto the wooden beam running atop the boots with his free hand, he hobbles carefully towards the door, streaks of pain running up his bad leg every time he puts weight on it.

When he finally makes it to the large barn door he carefully unlatches the lock and gives it a little push. The door opens effortlessly and the cold night breeze sends a shiver down Jonas’s spine as he stands there, leaning in the doorway. For a brief moment, he debates whether or not he should lean on the rifle for support to get back to the house. Shaking his head at the idea of sullying the Krag with such misuse, he starts hobbling along the cobblestones. The first few steps are absolute misery, and all he can do to not scream in pain is focus on the rhythm of his steps and keep the house in his sights.

The house isn’t far away, yet something urges Jonas to stop. Wiping tears from his eyes he glances up at the house, barely twenty meters before him. Although his vision is swimming with moisture, he can see through the blur that there’s something very wrong with the image before him. There is… a large glob of darkness that looks very much out of place, seemingly stuck to the upper right corner of his house. As his eyes clear, the shape gains more detail, and the sense of dread that started in the barn slowly becomes like an all-consuming flame. As all other concerns are pushed to the back, Jonas no longer notices the pain in his leg, and he can do nothing but stare at the creature before him.

The black mass is suspended by a series of jagged limbs, none of which are uniform in shape, that streak off in multiple directions. They hold on to the roof, and the drainage pipe, and some even reach down to the ground. The display oozes a wrongness that burns itself into his memory, imprinting him with its festering mark.

Much like the sheep in his barn, all Jonas can do is stand there and take shallow breaths, hoping against hope that the creature simply won’t see him. After several moments in his unmoving state, he hears a sound ring out in the silent night. It’s the creak of a window slowly opening.

A terrible realization hits Jonas at that moment. That’s Garm’s window. Whatever this monstrosity is, it’s after his son. The creature begins to move into the house and panic stronger than anything he’s previously felt fills every corner of his mind.

In a motion as instinctual as his frozen immobility the Krag is at Jonas’s cheek.

BANG!

The shot thunders through the night and leaves only silence in its wake.

For a moment Jonas fears he missed the fateful shot, but then he sees one of the creature's limbs come loose. The very next second another limb lets go, then another. With a shriek that makes Jonas’s bones vibrate, the creature comes slamming down into the dirt below.

Standing in stunned silence Jonas watches as the horrid tangle of bleached bone and tangled, jet-black limbs writhe on the ground. As he lifts the rifle to put another bullet in it, the limbs quickly right the creature. With surprising speed, it begins rushing away from the farm.

As another shot rings out, followed by loud cursing, Jonas begins running after the fleeing mass of darkness. He’s overcome with anger at all the things this creature has done, and all the hurt it’s caused. His friend and neighbor is dead, the whole valley’s in panic, and now it’s come for his family. In his heart, Jonas is consumed by only one thought.

By the end of this night, that monster will be dead.