Jeremy was changing.
The lights of a behemoth barrelling down the nearby highway flashed, startling him into movement. He blinked, hunkered down in the backseat. As his lids lifted, illumination slithered across the ruts and rivulets of the back of his hand.
He frowned. These were not his hands.
The meat truck disappeared, a horn blasting in the distance. As the silence poured in, up rose the whispering of the waving weeds. That susserrance blotted at the trip-trip-tripping of his conscious thought.
Every night, for weeks, he’d woke to find himself lying in the backseat of the old wreck. The main house was three miles from the fence line, far from the old Chevy’s musty interior. It was rough country, and the first few times he’d risen bloody.
Jeremy had learnt; he now slept in his dad’s old boots. Large, but they’d still had to be cut.
His parents would have killed him if they’d known. He’d been left to tend the farm, feed the livestock, pull weeds. Not long now, and they’d be back. Would he be safe? Would they?
The words formed slowly in his mind. They came from somewhere else.
– Tonight – It – Ends –
Jeremy shook his head. ‘No. I won’t. You can’t.’ He clawed at the door handle, leaving deep gashes in the metal. Beneath him, the rotted leather shifted slightly.
– Come –
He whimpered. A soft humming rose up and the metal closed in, surrounding him, thrumming and shifting with dire purpose.
It was too late. The change was now complete.
Jeremy lifted his head and howled.
