Isaac and Simon stood frozen on the staircase to the second floor of the farmhouse. Isaac had stopped in place, foot still on the creaky board, hoping it wouldn’t sound again if he moved off it.

The footsteps they had heard elsewhere in the house left the hollowness of the linoleum floor and moved into the living room and became muffled by the carpet. Isaac felt the urge to run, but he kept still and prayed that Simon would do the same.

The footsteps stopped in the living room, and a low thud filled the silence as something heavy was dropped to the floor. Over his shoulder, Isaac could see the back of a large man in jeans, a T-shirt, and muddy work boots. He was kneeling and bending at the waist, almost bowing, and then came the sounds of teeth tearing into flesh and the smell of decay.

Isaac caught Simon’s eyes again, and motioned to the top of the stairs. Simon nodded quickly. Isaac remembered his father teaching him how to control his fear—focus on the next step and take it. So that’s what he did.

He lifted his foot and took the next step, and the one after that. But on the next one, another creak groaned when putting his weight down on a new stair, and the chewing stopped.

“Run!” Isaac shouted.

The boys sprinted up the stairs and down the short hallway to the farthest room. They pushed the door open and ducked inside as heavy footsteps came up the stairs after them. Isaac shut the door.

A small bed with a bare mattress lay in the corner of the room, and parts of broken toys were strewn about. On the walls was faded wallpaper of balloons and merry-go-rounds. And off to the side was a door.

Isaac opened it and rushed inside with Simon. They were in a small closet with a pile of clothes on the floor and empty hangers above. The boys crouched and covered themselves with the clothes just as the bedroom door opened.

In the movies they had seen, the footsteps outside would slow to a methodical cadence, and a shadow would cross the sliver of light underneath the doorway while the protagonists tried to hide quietly, but here in this faraway place so different from anything they had known, the footsteps came to them without hesitation and the door opened.

Through the gauzy material covering his face, Isaac could make out the dark outline of the beast blocking out the light.

Its voice was low and dry like gravel scraping together.

“You boys shouldn’t have come here.” It ran its fingers, spindly like the legs of spiders, through its long, greasy hair. Its ashen face was gaunt, almost skeletal. From behind a milky cloud, its blue eyes appraised the boys steadily.

***

Simon and Isaac huddled together in the basement of the house watching the creature limp to the back of the room and rummage through piles of tools.

The sun was about to set, casting an orange glow into the concrete basement through the single window vent. Carcasses of half-eaten animals littered the floor, and the air felt thick and humid.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anybody around here.” It had its back turned to the boys, intent on finding something.

“Can’t really say how long it’s been. My memory… isn’t what it once was.” The creature said, finding what it had been looking for and returning to the boys. In its hand was a rusted hook knife, the kind normally used to skin animals.

“But I still remember when all of… this started happening. Thought I was going insane.” It laughed, which came out sounding like short dry coughs. “I drove into town that morning but many of the people had already turned by then. People I knew. Friends. Family. It was… madness.

“So, I drove back, wanting to take my family far away, like others were trying to do, but it was too late. At least for me.”

It had been staring at the floor, apparently reliving those moments, but it returned its gaze to the boys. “Where are you boys from? You’re not from around here, are you?”

Isaac gave a quick shake of the head. Sweat glistened on their faces and arms.

The creature seemed to notice the sweat and looked at its own hands with gnarled, crooked fingers, which resembled claws.

“I don’t feel much of anything anymore. No heat. No cold.” It took the hook knife and cut into its forearm, drawing black blood. “Nothing.”

With a grunt, it sat down cross-legged, placed the hook knife on the concrete before him, and appraised the boys with a slight tilt of the head. “But why haven’t you turned?”

It stared at them unblinkingly for a long while. “It starts with a thirst, you know. So much thirst that no matter how much you drink, the burn doesn’t go away. And then your skin lights up like hot oil is being poured all over you. And then everything goes away… except the hunger.

“I started eating everything in the house. When that was gone, I started eating everything I could get my hands on. I’ve seen others like me out there who seem to like the taste of dead flesh. I tried it once. Now, this is going to sound funny to you boys, coming from me, looking the way I do, but… I didn’t like it. Funny, right? Like I’m some goddamned restaurant critic or something.”

It gave those short coughing laughs again. “No, I need living flesh. Animals are good, but human flesh… living human flesh... makes you feel alive.”

It picked up the knife from the floor and tested its sharpness by sliding a thumb across its edge.

“I want you boys to know that I’m not a bad person. I tried to fight the urges for a very long time, but whatever it is that’s been happening to me has gone here, too.” It tapped its head with the point of the hook knife. “I feel parts of me, of who I was, slip away every single moment, more rapidly than the day before, replaced by this… this rage, this never-ending rage!”

It gripped the hook knife tighter as it glared fiercely at the boys.

“This won’t take long. I promise,” it said.