Chapter 19
TAKE AWAY the pink, worm-like tentacles sprouting from its shoulders, put some muscles on the frighteningly emaciated frame, add flesh to the sharp face, and heal the bloody wounds gouging its flanks, and it might have almost been a dog. Once. Long ago. Short brown fur covered its back and the top of its head, with black at its belly and feet. Tentacles whipping through the air, the creature advanced on the man in the middle of the grassy circle.
The creature’s angry barks carried an unearthly metallic screech.
Half a dozen pink worm-like tentacles had sprouted from its shoulders to lash at its victim.
The man backed against the tree looked like a big, beefy good old boy, the kind you see hanging around the gun and knife shows down in Oscoda, so proud of the weapons he’d bou
