The north wind was blowing hard and cold. Icy rain pelted Jacob’s face like needles. Squinting against the gale he moved forward. Looking up he noticed the full moon’s glow through a shallow curtain of clouds.
“I’m late,” he whispered to himself.
Jacob ducked his head and started to run into the rain. Through the woods he glimpsed firelight in the window of his cabin, dancing against the ebony air outside. Carefully, he crept to the window to see his brother Zachary crouched in a corner clutching a shotgun to his chest.
“Zach,” Jacob shouted, “it’s me, unbolt the door!”
Zachary lurched and swung the gun to the sound of his brother’s voice. Jacob flattened against the ground and shouted again.
“Zach! It’s Jacob, let me in now!”
Zachary ran, crouching under the windows, and slid the bolt back. Jacob crawled in, not even taking the time to stand, and his brother bolted the door behind him.
“Jacob, what took you so long? I’ve been here alone,” Zachary pleaded, his lip quivering, one long tear flowing from his eye.
“It’s all right. The clouds came in fast, I lost track of the sun. I’m here now, calm down,” he reassured him, pulling the gun from his shaking hands.
Zachary shuffled back to his corner and slumped to the floor, head in his hands, weeping. Jacob wondered how he would survive if anything were to happen again. He pried off his wet shirt and glimpsed the long scars trailing across his chest in the dusty mirror on the mantle. He could see Zachary in the reflection as well, heaving in his torment. Zachary’s scars weren’t as easy to see, and it seemed they would never heal.
“Zachary,” he said softly, Zachary lifted his eyes to his brother, “stand up. We have to get downstairs.”
Without warning, the wall behind Zachary heaved inward with incredible force. Zachary threw himself forward, screaming hysterically. Again the wall heaved, wood splintering to contain the colossal force. Jacob cocked the shotgun and glared at the wall.
“Zach, what is this gun loaded with?”
“Don’t shoot Jake! Please don’t,” Zachary pleaded.
“What is this gun loaded with Zach?” Jacob asked again softly, “Tell me now and get downstairs.”
“Pop’s old dimes,” Zachary wept as he crawled down the steep stairs into the root cellar, “Please don’t do it, don’t do it Jake.”
Jacob closed the cellar hatch over his brother while searching the windows for movement. Time seemed to stand still. The silence only disturbed by the relentless sobbing drifting through the floorboards. Suddenly a shadow broke the dim moonlight, moving quickly in the darkness.
“I won’t play your games, Old Man,” Jacob shouted. “Come and get me!”
From every direction, as if from within his mind itself, an inhuman voice growled, “It’s not you I want Jacob. Send your brother to me. I can ease his pain.”
Zachary was losing his mind. Beating on the cellar hatch he begged, “Don’t do it Jake, please don’t, please Jacob.”
“Murderer,” Jacob screamed, ignoring his brother’s pleas, “come and get me!”
“Now Jacob, is that what you really want?” queried the voice. “Do you really want me to get you? Who would protect your weakling brother then Jacob? Who would wipe his pitiful tears?”
Jacob moved to the door and pulled the bolt back.
“The door is open Old Man, or are you afraid to face me?”
“Oh Jacob,” replied the voice, “as if I’d use the door.”
With that, the cabin was rocked by an inhuman blow, followed by another, and another. Glass exploded from the windows. Jacob crouched against the mantle, waiting for the walls to come down. He could barely hear Zachary’s fits over the din. Suddenly the door swung open. Jacob raised his gun. Zachary fell silent. In the door stood the beast, glaring across the room at Jacob, fire sparkling in his black eyes. The monster seemed to grin as he nodded his horrible head at Jacob.
“Is that my gun, Son?” he asked. “What’s it loaded with?”
“Old dimes Pop,” Jacob replied, and squeezed the trigger.