Bill Tuesday was riding in the passenger seat of Agent King’s car, giving directions to the location he wanted to bring them to. Every bit of King’s common sense was nagging at him that this was all a waste of time, but something made him want to see it through.

            “So why did you decide I was the only person you could trust with all this?” he eventually asked. “Why not go to the police. Afraid they wouldn’t believe you, either?”

            “That’s not the issue. In fact, I was more afraid that they would. The chief of police, Jackson, is a dangerous man. If he knew I was on to something, he might arrange for me to be the next victim.”

            “Are you saying the police are in on this, too?” That wouldn’t be good. King generally tended to avoid police in his investigations. Most of them were detrimentally lazy or just plain morons, and often hindered the case more than anything else. He had been giving them occasional updates on his progress, though. If there turned out to be some sort of conspiracy and he really was on to something, that would certainly be bad news for both him and the old man.

            “It’ll make more sense once I show you. Anyway, we’re almost there,” Tuesday said, pointing to a dirt road leading into the woods. They were in a spot not too far removed from where the search for Mike DeHaan had taken place a few nights ago.

            King followed the road until the trees grew too thick and would have made it impossible to turn around had he decided to go any further. “This should be fine,” Tuesday said. “It’s only about a quarter mile away. See?” he pointed to a small shack through the trees.

            King got out and followed behind Tuesday, reminding himself of the hopefully large paycheck that would be awaiting him once he returned to Washington. They approached the shack, which was surprisingly well-constructed. It was mostly made of solid iron with large bolts holding it together at the corners. The door, also made of heavy iron, had a complicated looking combination lock on it. “What the hell are you keeping in here, Tuesday?” he asked.

            “You’ll see,” he replied.

            After fiddling with the lock for almost a full minute, Tuesday slid open the heavy iron door. Inside, the shack looked cold, dark, and uninviting, more like a prison cell than anything else. Tuesday flipped a switch by the entrance and a string of cheap light bulbs on the ceiling flicked on one by one, illuminating a cage at the end of the room made of similar iron as the rest of the shack. On the other side was… nothing. The bottom of the cage was littered with clumps of dirt that looked like they had been kicked or thrown around by the way they were strewn on the ground and walls. Other than that, though, the cage was empty.

            “Oh no,” said Tuesday, his voice catching in his throat. “Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have left it alone for so long. It must have dug its way out. Damn!”

            “You are really testing my patience here, Tuesday. You’ve strung me along this far and now it seems you have nothing to show me. What exactly was the plan here, huh?” demanded King. He knew he shouldn’t have wasted his time. This had gone absolutely nowhere.

            “Wait!” said Tuesday. “I have no intention of duping you. I knew you wouldn’t believe me unless I showed you proof, so I took photos. Not as good as the real thing, but it seems the real thing has slipped through our fingers.”

            He ruffled through a stack of papers on a desk by the entrance and pulled out a small stack of pictures that looked like they had taken using a handheld camera. A pretty cheap one, too, judging by the low resolution. The subject of the photographs was clear, however.

            What the hell is this? thought King.

            King had to blink several times to try to make sense of what exactly he was seeing. The pictures Tuesday had given him were of the exact same iron cage, but this time there was something inside of it. And that something was certainly not human.

            At first glance, it looked like a baby, a newborn even. It was about the right size, and its features were definitely humanlike. It was covered in dirt and King may have almost mistaken it for a human child but for two unsettling differences. The first were its eyes. They were wild and rabid, as though the mind behind them was crazed beyond reason. In the various photos, it could be seen grasping and gnawing at the bars with razor sharp teeth. As he looked closer at the real cage, he saw that it had those same gouges on it, making it very unlikely that these photos had somehow been faked. The second thing was its skin. It looked fuzzy and out of focus, almost as though King could have seen right through it if he hadn’t been paying attention. It wasn’t translucent exactly, but there was something ethereal about it, as though it only was half-real. One thing King was certain of, however. This thing may have looked vaguely human, but it was something else.

            “Where did you find this thing?” King asked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

            “It was running around in these woods,” Tuesday said. “If I hadn’t picked it up and stuffed it in here, we might have had more deaths when the whole town was out in these woods.”

            “Hang on, look at its mouth. It’s chewing on something,” King said as he looked at another picture. Its teeth were dripping with something dark. King realized there was blood coming out of its mouth. “Hang on,” he said, trying to piece the story together. “DeHaan was digging a hole underground when he went missing. If he happened upon this thing while he was digging, then…”

            “Exactly the conclusion that I came to, Agent. This is the creature that killed Mike DeHaan. Do you believe me now, Agent? Because I’m going to need your help.”

            “Before I answer that question,” King said. “You should know that I have officially hit my limit of strangeness. We’re not going any further until you explain to me just what is going on here. Is this the creature that’s been killing people? The other victims, too?”

            “Very well. I suppose I do owe you an explanation after all this. To answer your question, yes, this is almost certainly the creature that killed Mike DeHaan, but as for the other two victims, I can’t be sure. There’s so much that I still don’t understand.”

            “But there are things that you do understand, which is more than I have right now. So catch me up. What exactly is going on in this town?”

            Tuesday began pacing nervously. “This has happened before, when I was a young man. Although the situation now is much different. I’ll tell you everything I know, which admittedly isn’t a whole lot, but — damn it, why now? Agent, I have a great-niece here visiting. Please, leave town and take her with you. The two of you aren’t attached to this town like the rest of us. There’s a chance you might be able to escape with her.”

            King almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Fifteen years as an FBI agent and he had never seen anything to suggest the existence of the supernatural. If the evidence in front of his eyes hadn’t been enough, the desperation in Tuesday’s voice was enough to spur him into action. It was his responsibility to save the residents of this town, as many as he could. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get your niece to safety, but I’m not going to abandon this town, either. You can count on me.”