The little monsters stared at Irving. As he looked around the darkened room, the shiny red eyes caught the beam of his flashlight. The narrow light circled, illuminating the claws, whiskers, tails. And teeth. Irving couldn"t believe how many there were. He forced himself to look at them all, one by one. They"re so big, he thought. A cold shiver zig-zagged through his body as he flashed back to when it all started.
Irving"s father was dead, and he was relieved. Henry Jacobsen, his father, had been a hateful man. As Irving walked up to the mobile home, no grief haunted him, just anger. Now I get to clean up your mess, he thought. He surveyed the exterior, knowing he"d have to face the inside soon. First, he had to see where the old man died. He thought darkly to the last time they"d spoken.
