The Night

 

Then, it was gone.  It simply reversed its course and vanished.  There was not a whisper of its passage.

 

It was harder than ever to turn the lights off that night, and I was unusually sensitive to the calls in the dark. 

 

Later...

 

We spoke of it often in days to come, but the significance of the event was not immediately apparent.

 

Not until strange things began to happen. 

 

The image of the fawn we found curled up under the roots of an ancient deadfall is still with me.  Distorted limbs.  Unnatural appendages.  A face that just didn’t fit:  featureless, as if a toy-maker had left his stuffed toy unfinished—no eyes, no muzzle, no mouth.  I was compelled to reach out and stroke its velvety flanks to verify its authenticity.  It was real.  It had started out to be a fawn.

 

Dead things began to appear by the roadsides:  bears, squirrels, raccoons, porcupines, foxes—all mutated like the fawn,  all in their infancy.  All grotesque.