The Farmhouse

    It is with a somber and shaken hand that I report my last words from the Curtis residence, uploaded to a cloud of data from this dimly-lit screen in this midnight and moldless confinement. Somehow, I feel it is imperative someone reads this although I am sure my fate will not be altered. The night is silent for now but I can't be certain on how long it will last, any moment now I expect to hear the macabre shrills that echo through my mind and across this land. This shack of a house, my mind - are no match for the unfathomable horrors that occupy the dark waiting. 

     I should start by stating I was summoned to the Curtis residence by the head of the household as a result of my being an expert in predators, rodents, and all manner of threats to farmer's livestock and crops. Three nights ago, Mr. Curtis had enough of the noises he identified as "agitating" and had been sure something rabid was ravaging through his crops- equally responsible for the mutilation of one of his cattle earlier this fall. A proud man, he made sure to explain to me very quickly if this was something he had been familiar with, it would have been handled without my help. However, no matter the effort he displayed to solve this problem, the attacks became closer and closer to his doorstep. Curtis felt as if he as being personally targeted and so - I found myself here that night.

     I recall arriving as the sun began to bid the horizon goodbye and the unwelcomed chills of night crept into the air. After retrieving most of the tools from my truck I began to inspect the land surrounding the house. The initial inspection revealed that it was simply another extermination job. Multiple small burrows decorated the lawn just before the corn crops a few yards away from an intimidating front porch. I made my way around the house itself making sure that nothing had been trying to force itself into the basement or garbage bins, but what I found as I made my rounds instead completely stumped me, and defeated my original theory. Three deep-rooted gashes were on both sides of the Curtis' home. Nothing a groundhog or anything that traveled in burrows that small could do that. Hell, there was no beast within hundreds of miles that would have been able to inflict this type of damage. 

     Oddly enough Mr. Curtis hadn't shown his face once since describing the problem for me..not the biggest deal, but I would have loved to ask him what was going on when those noises echoed from the fields. There were also unprecedented acts of strength and intelligence displayed in the wake of the surrounding destruction -- trees seemed to be simply shoved into a leaning position around the tunnels burrowed in the yard, and they were much, much deeper than I figured them to be. All intertwining and at least six or seven feet deep. I've been at this job for a few years because it pays well, is very simplistic and gives me time to raise my children, not once have I been able to recall such mysterious findings. I started to question the legitimacy of Curtis' claims -- maybe this had been some sick joke and the man had taken me for a fool... but what life-long farmer would sacrifice his land and stock to prove some sick point? I decided to approach the home to question him on the validity of the statements and update him on what I believed may have been going on here. 

     All the lights on were on: - therefore, I could tell the house was still vibrant with life even if it was the time to start settling down for supper. As I extended my arm to knock, that is the moment I heard it first for myself -- a cry from the distance that sounded as if it were an instinctual primal warning to those around it. In all my years of servicing farmers and correlating problems and solutions, I've never heard anything like it. Before I could knock again the leaves in the trees decorating the backdrop started to violently rustle without the presence of a breeze. The cry rang out a second time, now the sun had completely abandoned us on this godforsaken farm around a beast I could not identify. I bombarded the front door with crashing strikes to no avail.. I did not see a single silhouette move inside the house. As courteous and respectful as I'd liked to be, I felt something was just gazing upon my back -- that thing was right behind me. I could feel its lust for blood and there had been no time to waste on manners. I forced my way through the cracked wooden door into the Curtis residence. 

     What I found next is still haunting me, it is how I know that thing beyond this room will come for me once again. Completely void of any movement or life this house sat still, unnaturally still. I called for Mr. Curtis but there was no response -- I am not an intrusive person and when I am found... if I am found, I'm sure that law enforcement will need an alibi for the gruesome scene found here. I turned the corner to distance myself from the door and subsequently the beast, I ventured into what had been the dining room. As presumed the table was set for dinner: plates neatly placed in front of empty chairs, unused napkins, even rolls of bread in the middle of a mahogany table that began to harden from negligence. I yelled out for Curtis again but my mouth formed itself to close, ending a demand that he show himself -- my eyes caught a glimpse of a substance I had become all too familiar with. A crimson-colored puddle stretched itself from inside the kitchen directly to the toes of my boots. I could still hear the droplets imitating a leaky faucet, joining the rest of the warm blood that was now a pool in front of me. 

    There they were, the Curtis family desecrated and dismembered in the kitchen. All three members were spread out mere feet from each other with these haunting expressions stamped on their pale faces, the blood furnished an already tight space. Mr. Curtis' body was half thrown on top of a granite countertop, his face pressed against the surface while one of his arms dangled, the momentum from the attack still resonated. His back was gutted open, the spine stretched out parallel to his arm, not completely snatched from his body, and his ribs had been crushed by what I assume was a brute force. Before long his internal organs would join his protruding spine. 

    I had never been exposed to such a level of grotesque reality and quickly began to back-pedal my way out of the room when I slipped and crashed face-first onto the floor. raising my head, I was greeted by the bodies of the wife and child of the Curtis family. Less mutilated - the bodies were still surrounded by their own pools of blood, responsible for my fractured nose and dizzy state of mind. Making my way back to my feet, ears ringing and my face feeling as if it had been lit on fire, I shuffled out of the kitchen now soaked in blood that was not my own. I crossed the mahogany table again when I could hear a slight clicking sound followed by an aged creaking -- the front porch. Unable to avoid it any longer, I peered into the crevasse that presented itself through the partially open door I forgot to shut in my panicked state.  Indescribable, what had been staring back at me simply could not have been there. Eyes illuminated by the yellowish tint of the smudged porch bulb, eyes that were separated vertically instead of being side by side. The porch murmured creaks as the door joined in its unwelcomed harmony, bony protruding claw-like fingers slid their way inside the foundation of the door and gripped on so tightly the wood splintered under its pressure. 

    The eyes never lost focus of my own and before long -- all six of its pupils were locked onto me while the door just continued to open itself, making its devoid matte black eyes from my gore-soaked boots back up to my eyes..no a little higher - my temple. As conscious as it may seem I believe the beast was simply scouting its prey out, admiring the work it had recently applied in the kitchen. I couldn't tell you how I ended up here, in the attic of the Curtis residence, but I will inform you that everything after that moment has gone blank. I fear I will never see Amelia and Oliver again, and if someone ever finds this document I desperately wish you tell my children how hard daddy tried to make it home to them. I am now faced with the inevitable monstrosity once again, separated by a wooden door frame and a shell I have enclosed my hopes inside. I can only hope..pray.. that this THING doesn't wander away from this farm, its home.