A piercing howl rang out through the field, rattling the trees. The blob creature shuddered and a crack opened at its center. Ben’s arm shot out. Sarah holstered her gun, dropped to her knees and grabbed his hand. Toby’s head turned from side to side, searching the air for the origin of the sound.
Two more howls, overlapping the first, vibrating at a dissonant frequency. Sarah felt queasy. Toby yelped and flopped onto his chest. The blob retreated back into the trees as Sarah dragged Ben out of it. He tried to stand and dropped. His left shin was broken, his foot twisted in entirely the wrong direction.
The howling stopped. Ben turned to Toby, who looked as confused as he was.
NOT TOBY, the dog thought.
Out in the field, a tall man stepped up onto a grassy knoll, revealing himself. He wore a black leather duster with flaps over the shoulders, like you might see at a renaissance faire or in a pirate movie, and he had long dreadlocks, down past his shoulders, which waved gently in the wind.
“Your mom was right,” Sarah said. “Here come the pervs.”