“I always knew that was how it would start. I only hoped we would have more time.
The first murder—we got lucky. Single male, no family, driving a pickup truck that police later found in a ditch at the side of the road. The demons were so hungry for human flesh they didn’t leave a speck of blood. The man might as well have walked away from his life. Which is what the authorities finally concluded.
The second time made us sweat. A grandfather, fishing along a secluded riverbed. Four days after he was supposed to come home, a park ranger found a fishing rod—and four wrinkled fingers.
That caused a stir. But the investigation didn’t go anywhere. Bodies couldn’t be found, and no one was arrested.
The third time, though . . . that’s where it blew the fuck up.
Frat boys and their girlfriends out for a weekend of crazy partying. A cabin in the woods. No one around for miles.
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