I Live In A Small Town In Texas Called Sanderson, And I Can Tell Something Weird Is Going On

“How did you…” I made the connection quick. “Daryl.”

“Have you ever been to Austin, Wade?” Mr. Z took off his glasses and stood up behind his desk. He was a short, but stocky Mexican man in a dull shirt and slacks. “It’s full of scumbags and hippies. Not the place for a good man like you.”

Now I was really getting pissed.

“So I guess that means I can’t have the time off?”

“No. It’s our peak season, Wade. We need you here the next few weeks. You’re a very important part of this family,” Mr. Zarzamora said earnestly. He sat back down and put his glasses back on.

“Thank you, sir,” I said bitterly and left.

I started on my walk home. It was late and colder than a witch’s tit, but I only lived a couple miles down the road from the factory. About 15 minutes into my walk, I heard some movement in the bushes not far from the light of the street lamps. Now, there’s plenty of coyotes out here, but unless there’s a dozen of them surrounding you, it’s not a problem. So I blew it off at first. But the noise didn’t stop — and it started to sound like it was bigger than a coyote…a lot bigger. I started to jog. Fourteen hours of hard labor was seeped into my bones, but damn it all to hell, fear is a powerful motivator. Just as I got into stride, every damn street light busted in order over the course of a second or two. Glass trickled down behind me.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whispered over my heavy breathing as I busted into a full out sprint.

The noise behind me became louder and louder, and I ran faster than I have in my entire life. I felt like my feet were going to tear through my shoes and my heart was going to explode in my chest. I didn’t dare to look back, for fear of what I might see or that I would trip if I didn’t watch where I was going. Then I’d definitely see it, right before it was on me. But I could hear myself starting to gain a little distance. I dashed up the road to my house and right through the front door. God bless the trust of small town Texas folk, as most of us leave our doors unlocked. This time, though, I sure as hell locked it behind me after bursting in. I fell on my sweaty ass and scooted back to the bottom of the stairs in a panting mess. I waited frozen, staring at the door, anxiously anticipating a loud bang or scratch. After a good long moment, I accepted that nothing would. Right then, as I sighed in relief, I heard a voice behind me.

“You okay, bro?” Daryl said from the middle of the stairs, shrouded in darkness.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I spun around.

“Keep it down, Mama’s asleep,” he said in a stern tone.

“Sorry…” I stood up. “Something out there, it…”

Daryl walked down into the light. It was the Daryl I’d seen a thousand times before: same big forehead, same dull brown eyes, but only this time, something wasn’t right. It wasn’t even his quizzical expression. Something wasn’t the same about this man I grew up with.