The air was abuzz with the high-pitched drips of rain upon the surface, be it the grass freshly freed from the frost, the mud, or the two-story brown house with black shingles. The air smelt clean, refreshed, and purified by the downpour. In a few hours, as the rain let up and a breeze rolled through pollen would sing softly and sweetly through the air. The sky was a dark grey, as the sun had already begun to set, and soon the night would claim the sleepy town of Hazelwood.

Philip stepped off the porch and petted his shaggy black dog, Chester, who whined as he started to walk by. “What’s wrong boy, you hurt?” He stopped and scratched the dog’s ears, just a little bit ago the dog had been happy and barking, and yet now its tail was tucked and seemed deeply upset. Chester looked at his paws and saw nothing. “You look fine boy. Come on, let’s get you on the front porch.” He picked the dog up, which wagged its tail despite its concern and brought it to an old mat that served as its bed on the porch. He set Chester down, who immediately sat up and stared at him pleadingly. “I got to feed the pigs, Chester, its fine.”

The dog whined again as he walked away, and Philip didn’t turn back to notice its eyes begin to glow intensely, like the lightning that occasionally crackled in the evening sky. He walked through the yard, not seeing the dog become calm and still, its face relaxing as it came under the influence of the great masked beast that walked calmly behind Philip as soon as he had left the house.

The beast’s paws and claws left nary a print or trace on the mud as Philip marched to the pigsty, ready to feed them. He didn’t notice its snow-white fur turning darker and darker, as he marched closer to his death, and the eye sockets on the mask opened on the beast, revealing two glowing orbs, afire and electric, starkly azure, and the creature finally stared at Philip Conway proper as it finally affixed its gaze upon him.

Philip Conway went to the silver cans that contained the feed for the animals, grains bought at a local farming supply store, and put them into a pair of buckets. The cans were on the back of the shelter for the pigs, outside the enclosure of the hog pen itself, with the roofing extended to keep the rain off the cans so that the food could stay dry.

He picked the buckets up and walked around the pen to the gate so that he could enter and drop it off in the trough, and the pigs recognizing what was happening gathered excitedly at the gate in preparation to try and get the first few bites of dinner out of the buckets directly. They snorted and oinked, their little black eyes beady yet ecstatic.

As Philip approached, he slipped on the mud and dropped one of the buckets, spilling it through the grates on the gate. “Shoot!” He set the other on the flat surface, while the pigs desperately tried to eat the grain off the mud. “Shoo, shoo!” He said as he stepped forward to try and salvage the spilled feed, not realizing that his boot had caught in the mud, suction holding it in place, and he tripped.

Philip’s head fell perfectly through the grate, and his neck slammed against the bottom rung of wood of the grate with a wet and disgusting crunch. His body became numb, and he landed face first into the mud, resulting in his head being through the grate on the pigs’ side, and his body on the other.

Philip didn’t immediately process what was happening as his vision became dark in the mud and he tried to pick himself up. His arms didn’t respond. Neither did his legs. He tried again, choking on the water and mud that was filling his nostrils and throat. Nothing. Philip Conway was paralyzed from the neck down.

The hogs had scattered when his head jammed through the grate, eyeing the feed on the ground carefully, while simultaneously keeping a safe distance from the man who had just abused them earlier that evening. Their stomachs growled. Did they dare risk it?

The first did and began chewing carefully at the feed that surrounded Philip’s head, careful not to touch him. He did not respond, and soon the others joined in the feast. Philip gagged, and one of the younger, braver pigs looked at the feed that was touching his ear. It looked tasty. It took a bite, accidentally catching his ear and pulling his head clear of the mud for a second.”

“Augh!” Philip cried out in both pain and gasped at once for air, and the pig dropped his ear. He fell back into the mud and began choking again, and the pig nudged him. One of the others watching the feed his head rested in saw this, and decided it was safe, and pulled at his other ear.

Philip had a second spit out mud from his mouth and began to shout, “Hel-!” Too late, his face dropped into the mud again and he began drowning once again. Another pig bit him, another time he was lifted enough to try and scream through gasps, another failed attempt.

His cries for help turned into sobs as he pleaded for anyone to hear him. But the only thing that bore witness to what occurred came from the billowing fur of the masked beast looking down at him, its fur as dark as the night now.

“Poor child.” Blood poured profusely from his head as the pigs poked and prodded for more food. “Such potential, such waste. I see your fortune, and you have much to do.” Philip finally grew silent and still, and the pigs with avaricious vigor chowed into their meal. The beast turned away, and right outside the fence sat Chester, stoic and still.

“I grant upon you a blessing. Take this second chance, my avatar, and restore life to your beloved master.” The beast walked away calmly while the dog became free of its influence and began howling and barking, earning the attention of Jessica and Joseph Conway. The beast’s eyes became dull, and then shut as it failed to see Mr. Conway come outside cursing, wondering what was taking his son so long to complete such a simple task. In a few more moments he would be howling and crying himself as he realized his last words to his son had been of anger, and not of love.

Ally checked the address on her phone as she pulled up at the Conway house, which had a single light on through the porch window. She glanced at the deserted pig pen, now empty and devoid of life, its yard filled with leaves from autumn. She walked up the steps, opened the screen door, and knocked. A minute later answered and older gentleman who had a severe widow’s peak, “How may I help you?”

“Joseph Conway?”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about Philip Conway.”

The man’s expression soured, “Great, someone else curious about my boy! Can’t you people just leave us alone!” He slammed the door in her face, which while it stunned her, did not particularly surprise her.

Ally knocked again and was met by silence. Once more, she pounded on the door and called out, “Please! My father was killed by the hog farmer! I’m just looking for answers!”

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“Go away!” Came Mr. Conway’s voice.

“Come on dear, she’s not with the media.”

“Don’t care.”

The shouting between the couple continued for a little bit, then the door opened, and Mrs. Conway answered the door with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry dear, the media has bothered us after every murder, and it’s been very distressing. Come on in.”

Ally followed the woman into the dining room, where she offered something to drink from a variety, and she settled on a soda. She sipped from the can politely, and Mrs. Conway explained, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we will be much help. The police believe there may, and I cannot emphasize the word may, be a link to the Headless Hog Farmer murders. Personally, me and my husband believe our boy’s death was an unfortunate tragedy, but unrelated to those poor people.”

Ally looked at the bubbling brown liquid in the can, “I understand, Mrs. Conway.” She thought about her next words carefully, there was no point in discussing that perhaps something more supernatural was at hand, though besides the old woman and the killer’s sudden appearance, she had nothing to really go on. “I just thought maybe the killer was inspired by… the tragedy of what happened to your son.”

“You think the killer bases his actions on my son?”

“It’s a possibility, I just wanted to learn as much as I could, so I could maybe understand what the killer was trying to get from this.”

“You know how he died, then,” came a gruff voice behind Ally, causing her to turn and see Joseph at the doorway.

“Joseph…” Jessica warned her husband nervously as she recognized the dark look on his face.

Ally shook her head, and he relayed the tale of how he found his son’s body against the grate head missing. How he held him while he cried and pleaded, praying it was just a prank or something else. How the same day the family dog ran away from home, how one of the doctors slipped up and told them about the mud and water in his lungs. It was a slow death, a horrible painful death, and the police had lied it had been ‘quick.’

Joseph sighed as he finished his story, “… Tell me, hold on, what was your name again?”

“Ally.”

“Tell me, was I a bad father?”

“Joseph!” cried out Mrs. Conway.

“Was I a bad father!? The last things I said to my son weren’t even I love you! I just yelled at him! I insulted him! What sort of father insults his own son!?” The man started sobbing and sat at the table while holding his head in his hands.

Mrs. Conway ushered for Ally to leave while she soothed her distraught husband, and Ally left through the front door. As she walked by the pigsty, she looked over to where the gate would’ve been, now removed, and wondered what it was exactly she was supposed to gleam from all of this. Rebecca had said she needed to learn more about him if she wanted to help, but he was dead, wasn’t he?

The blessing of the second chance. What did it mean? Was it a second chance at life? And if it was, why had Philip become a serial killer, while Rebecca was a Nobel Prize winning doctor? Why had Rebecca even moved here in the first place? The masked beast, it didn’t seem evil, but at the same time what motivated it? Who was the trespasser? Why did the beast seek the boar?

He always kills three and leaves a survivor. His method of killing was the same as how he had died. What made him pick his targets, and if he was staying in Hazelwood how had no one found him in the numerous manhunts? Facts and questions only lead to more questions, with little in the way of proper answers.

Yet Ally failed to ask the most important question of them all. Why could she see the masked beast?

Randolph woke up in his office, clean with little in terms of personal effects besides a couple of desk plants he kept pristine. There were several candles lit, with blue fire dancing on their wick, and he adjusted his thin tie as he prepared for his guest, who momentarily came crashing through the window.

Glass flew everywhere as a storm of billowing hair cascaded into his office and swarmed and swiveled until the mask, eyes wide open, stared at him right in the face. “Not even a flinch, Randy J.”

“Randolph. And there’s no need to be afraid, you can’t hurt me directly, nor do I think you want to. I have no fear of death.”

“Hm, hm, hm. Arrogant child, I see through you. You trespass on my realm because you fear death.” The child-like voice wasn’t angry with him, sounding more bemused by him than anything.

“I trespass because I know it can be surpassed, as you have allowed to happen countless times.”

“You misinterpret my actions, child.”

Randolph shrugged, “Perhaps.”

The creature rolled around on his office floor, way too big to fit properly so that it could stand or sit. Its mask rotated upside down as it did so, and it asked, “So what does the trespasser want today, I wonder?”

“Considering I have tried dozens of times to get back in this realm, I suspect you allowed me in this time.”

“It’s possible.”

“Let me guess, you forgot?”

“When you are as complicated a being as me, it becomes hard to recall everything, though I don’t suspect a child like you to understand, hm, hm, hm.” She chided him good-naturedly.

“I suppose so. I come here today with a question.”

“Don’t bother. We both know my answer.”

“I could help you.”

“Do you remember your answer when I asked you to reveal what you saw when you see me in a single word?”

“I do.”

“I do not recall the word you used, could you remind me?”

“Power.”

“Hm, hm, hm. That, child, is why I will not help you.”

“That’s quite unfortunate. Then why did you let me enter your realm today?”

“I come with a blessing.”

“I thought you said we both knew the answer to my question.”

“It’s not the type of blessing that requires my power, just my wisdom. The answer to that question is still no.”

Randolph nodded. If the great beast was willing to share its knowledge, that was worth as much or more than one of its proper blessings. Still, he needed to be on guard. If she was sharing information, it was likely to further her own alien agenda, even if he understood what it was that she wanted. Best he does not let himself become a pawn in this creature’s machinations. At the very least, he planned on becoming a knight on this chessboard.

“I’m listening.”

“Hm, hm, hm, if you were listening to me, I would not be able to meet your gaze already.”

“Yet I’m still not dead.”

“Yet your death is still set in stone.”

“Enough, what is your blessing?”

Child-like laughter erupted from the beast, not like the normal restrained chuckle it used, but true laughter as it seemed caught off guard by his impatience. “You amuse me child. Heed my words, or don’t, it changes nothing.”

“He who seeks Deus Ex Machina. He who seeks subjects for the coming trial. Offer your contract to the one named Allison. If she refuses, never lay a finger upon her again. If she accepts, prepare to meet the boar with her.”

“Allison who?”

“Hm, hm, hm. You are smart enough for that. Begone, child, next time we meet, one of us will be at the mercy of the other. And neither of us are very merciful, are we?”

Randolph went to answer, when suddenly with a yowl he was pulled out of the realm and landed back in his office in the real world, where there was a cat with its belly slit open and a burning coal placed inside on a surgical tray on his desk. He sighed, “Couldn’t have tried to live through the ritual a little longer?” he asked the cat rhetorically.

He called for his assistant to fetch the cat and dispose of it before turning on his computer and going through the potential candidates for the next trial. Only one had the name Allison. Interestingly enough, her father had already been murdered by the Headless Hog Farmer of Hazelwood. He looked into the eyes of the teenage girl, and mused out loud, “Now why would she want to make sure I offered a contract to you, Allison Thomas?”

Perhaps this girl would be the one who brought about his death, set in stone as it already was, or so the mask claimed. Maybe it was just bored or curious about what would occur. She was ancient, and though she claimed to love humans, he took that with a grain of salt. Maybe this was her way of enlisting help dealing with her rampant second-chancer, or maybe it was something so far outside his peripheral that there was no point in even guessing what she was up to. He could just ignore her, there was likely no harm in doing so. If she wanted to harm him, she likely had ways to do so directly.

No, he would contact this girl if nothing else, but to slake his own curiosity. And if he was lucky, it sounded like he would be meeting the boar.