The night sky is one of the prettiest things a human can see in a lifetime. Its beauty was intensified by the presence of dark clouds drifting across the stars. Jesse could feel the crisp, cold wind on his skin as he stood on the front porch.
He shared the view with his father, who sat in a chair swinging back and forth, eyes closed. He seemed to be dozing, but the steady rhythm of the chair suggested otherwise.
"Boo!" A sudden sound whispered beside Jesse's ear. Startled, he jerked forward, then looked back to see Austin mouthing, "Scaredy cat," without making a sound. He didn't want to wake the old man, who rarely slept, and Austin didn't want to disturb his father's beauty sleep.
Instead, Austin extended a beer bottle to Jesse. Jesse didn't say anything, just took it.
The cool sensation of the bottle filled Jesse's hand, and he heard a soft fizz as he popped it open.
Both brothers stood near the doorway, lost in their own thoughts as they took occasional sips. Jesse had been avoiding the memories of his strange dream and the role his father seemed to play in it, but now, in the dead quiet of the night, it resurfaced. The dream had been too vivid to ignore. He remembered having similar dreams when he first had to euthanize animals for his father. Thinking about it reminded him of how much he had changed. He used to be confident and assertive, but after their mother's passing, it was as if their father had crumbled, his confidence slowly eroding.
Still, Jesse didn't dislike this softer, more vulnerable side of him.
'Rustle… rustle.' The corn stalks rustled in the wind.
But there was another sound mixed in, something tense and deliberate. Austin's ears perked up. Usually, it was just a wild animal—maybe a rat or a coyote. But Jesse had an uneasy feeling this time. His heartbeat quickened.
Then, from the tall corn, a figure emerged. It wasn't uncommon for them to encounter a homeless person stumbling onto the property, drunk or high. In such cases, a call to the police usually resolved things. But this man seemed different, even for a homeless drifter. He was completely naked, ribs protruding through his skin; his stomach was sunken, his arms thin and muscleless, hanging limply at his sides. His face was hidden, head bowed low.
He moved toward the house, his feet bruised and bleeding.
Jesse couldn't explain it, but the man made him feel uneasy, like an itch he couldn't scratch.
"Hey, stop right there!" Austin shouted, but the man either didn't hear or simply didn't care. Austin raised his voice again. "Don't come any closer!" Still, the man kept moving.
"Motherfucker," Austin muttered. He turned back, grabbed the rifle from the shoestack, and started toward the stranger.
Jesse wanted to stop him, but Austin turned to him and said firmly, "You stay here." Jesse stayed, watching as his older brother went face-to-face with the man, now only a meter away, the rifle's muzzle aimed straight at him.
"If you take one more step, I'll blow your head off."
The man halted. For a moment, there was absolute stillness. Nothing moved. Then, slowly, the man raised his head. Hollow cheeks, eyes sunken deep into their sockets. Most disturbing of all was his nose, crushed and twisted as if something had smashed it flat. It looked as though a bear had clawed it, leaving the inside exposed, slimy mucus dripping. Yet, the man was unbothered, a faint smile on his face.
"What in the…" Austin stammered, shocked by the uncanny sight. He glanced back at Jesse. "Call 911," he ordered, but Jesse was petrified, his eyes locked on the man's face, the smile, and those hollow eyes. The man's gaze shifted, meeting Jesse's directly, as if the smile was meant for him.
"Finally, it's here," a raspy voice rang out. Jesse turned and saw his father, still seated, no longer rocking, just staring intently at the pig-like figure before them.
Jesse followed his father's gaze, and the eerie sounds—the rustling and murmuring from before—seemed to multiply, spreading from every direction.
Men and women began to emerge from the tall grass, all of them naked, each bearing a large mark on their faces. Each face was masked with the same distorted pig-like features from his nightmare, Jesse thought. "It was no nightmare," he realized.
Now surrounded, Austin directed his threat at the figure. "One more step closer, and I'll blow this asswipe's head off!" He hoped that by threatening one of them, the rest might hesitate. But Jesse sensed it was a futile move.
One of the pig-faced figures took a step forward.
"Boom!" Austin fired point-blank at the man. The figure's head jerked back, and he collapsed onto the ground.
Jesse's heart pounded faster, his clammy hand tightening around his beer bottle. Silence hung in the air; no one moved.
Austin began to back away slowly, the rifle still trained on the strange figures, now numbering around ten. But just as he took another step, something grabbed his ankle.
He looked down to see a scrawny hand—belonging to the man he had just shot—clamped around his leg with such force that it felt as though his bones might snap at any moment.