On the Edge of Cross, 1867

“Come away from the window, Thomas,” Gwenyth said.

Thomas nodded, let the draperies fall back into place, and returned to his chair. Gwenyth smiled as he sat down, and as always, he was reminded of his love for her.

“Was there anything to see?” she asked, setting down her book and brushing a stray lock of her dusty-blonde hair behind her ear.

“No,” Thomas said with a sigh. “There’s something in the dark. I thought I caught a glimpse of it, but without the moon, well, the starlight is too weak.”

Her sweet, cherubic features became pinched with concern. “Do you think it’s that animal?”

“I hope not,” Thomas replied. His eyes flickered over to where his Spencer rifle hung above the mantle. He noticed that the fire was low and pushed himself up and out of the chair. Thomas went to the fireplace, spread the glowing embers out with the poker to form a solid bed, and added several pieces of wood to rest upon them. “I spoke with Duncan Blood this morning.”

“What news did he have?” Gwenyth’s voice held a slight tremble, and Thomas knew she was afraid.

She should be, Thomas thought sadly. He stood up and went to his chair once more. When he was seated, Thomas said, “The Clarks were attacked last night.”

Gwenyth’s face paled, and she swallowed several times before she managed to ask, “The creature?”

Thomas nodded.

“All of them?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Thomas replied softly.

“Even the babes?” Her voice was barely audible.

“Yes,” Thomas answered. “There is more to fear.”

Gwenyth clasped her hands together on her lap, her full lips pressed so tightly that they appeared to have vanished from her face.

“Whatever it is,” Thomas continued, “it ate both children and Louisa.”

Gwenyth’s mouth worked, but no sound escaped from her lips.

Thomas knew the question. “Merrill was torn apart. Limb from limb and his innards scattered about. Whatever this creature is, it’s getting worse. We must be vigilant.”

Gwenyth found her voice. “How many has it killed now?”

“Ten,” Thomas answered. “They’re still counting the head of sheep and cattle slain. The Clarks’ horses were killed, too. The throats had been torn out as if the creature was concerned, the animals might give away its presence. None of the meat was touched.”

“What of ours, Thomas?” Gwenyth asked, glancing at the window. “Will they be safe?”

“I have double-barred the door,” he said. “I purchased more cartridges for the Spencer, and Duncan lent me a revolver.”

“Alright,” she said, then she let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know that I will be able to sleep tonight, my love.”

“I feel the same,” Thomas admitted, “but you must try. We will need to sleep in shifts. I will take the first watch, until midnight, if you like.”

“Then I wake you at dawn?” Gwenyth asked.

He nodded, and then a scream destroyed the tense stillness of the house.

Thomas sprang from his seat, reached the mantle with two long strides, and pulled the rifle down. He had loaded the weapon earlier, and he made certain a round was chambered.

The scream ceased, and in the brutal silence that followed, Thomas said, “In the kitchen.”

Gwenyth nodded and followed him out of the room.

Once in the kitchen, Thomas picked up Duncan’s Colt revolver from the table and handed it to Gwenyth. She took it and asked, “How do I use it?”

“Point and pull the trigger,” Thomas said. He tore open a box of cartridges on the table and stuffed a handful of them in each pocket.

“Are we going out there?” Gwenyth asked, his eyes fixed on the door.

Thomas shook his head. “We’re going upstairs to the bedroom. It will be easier to defend should the creature get in.”

A great weight slammed into the house, and the entire structure shivered. The glass in the window beside the back door shattered inward, spraying them both with shards of glass.

“Run!” Thomas yelled, bringing the butt of the rifle up to his shoulder and firing two quick shots into the darkness through the shattered window frame.

A foul, mind-numbing shriek of mingled pain and rage followed quickly on the heels of the shots, and Thomas fled the kitchen. The edges of his vision blackened, forming a narrow tunnel from which he viewed his new world of fear. His hearing heightened, and Gwenyth’s footsteps had all the grace of hammer blows upon the stairs. Terror built within him, leaving his mouth dry and with a metallic taste on his tongue. Memories of Gettysburg surged up within him, but some small part of him knew that the new fear he felt far outstripped the old panic that had threatened to overwhelm him in combat.

Thomas reached the second-floor hallway and saw Gwenyth in the bedroom doorway.

“Is it inside?” she asked.

And then, as if she were on the end of an unseen tether, Gwenyth was yanked out of sight.

Thomas sprinted forward, the world silent. Two flashes of light flared from the bedroom before he reached the doorway.

When he did, Thomas screamed.

Gwenyth hung suspended in the air, the toes of her house slippers limp and pointed toward the floor. The pistol lay beneath her and near a pair of monstrous cloven feet. What remained of his beloved wife’s head was in the tusked jaws of a creature whose pale, foul flesh bore semblance to the dead white underbelly of a fish. Thomas could see the creature lacked eyes and ears, but its nostrils were long, thin slits running the length of its wide muzzle. Its hands were broad, the nails on each finger were yellow and cracked, and they dug mercilessly into the body of Thomas’ dead wife.

Thomas closed his mouth and heard the nauseating sound of the beast as it chewed a mouthful of Gwenyth’s skull and brains.

Bringing the rifle to bear, Thomas fired several more times, striking the creature in its exposed shoulders. As he reached into his pocket for more cartridges, Thomas was horrified as Gwenyth’s form came hurtling towards him.

Impulse caused him to drop the rifle and catch his wife, and while he succeeded, the force of her dead weight knocked him back into the hallway. Thomas howled as he landed on the floor and tried to push Gwenyth’s corpse off him.

But then the creature was there, stinking of death and exuding malice. With a large, corrupted hand, it pressed down upon Gwenyth’s limp form, pinning Thomas in place.

When it realized Thomas couldn’t free himself, no matter how hard he struggled, it reached down and tore off Thomas’s left shoe. Then, gripping his ankle with a bitterly cold hand, it twisted Thomas’ leg up, the hip popping out of the socket easily.

The pain threatened to cause Thomas to pass out, but somehow, he remained conscious.

The creature’s gruesome visage spread into a cruel mimic of a smile as it brought Thomas’ flesh closer to its mouth.

A moment later, the beast stuffed Thomas’ foot into its mouth and began to chew