In the early days, a small hillside village by the name of Sunny Slope experienced a horrible trauma. It was a terrible plague that ripped through the village, causing still births overnight and terminating future chances of child bearing for all women. And if that wasn’t devastating enough, the plague sealed the deal by claiming the lives of the village’s young, beautiful and beloved children—all but ve.

Now, for those who don’t recall, or have conveniently put it out of mind, Sunny Slope was quite isolated and surrounded by thick woods, as most villages were back then. At the edge of the woods was a dark, overgrown entrance with a dirt path that twisted and turned its way into two distinct destiny’s.

One of them being a large, old boxy structure made of bricks with thin windowpanes. This structure was an old warehouse, intended to be used as a sawmill, and it would’ve been a ne one if it weren’t mistakenly built upon swampland so many years ago. Therefore, the well intended windows that once served plenty of light had sunk into the ground, along with the rest of the structure, at least halfway and counting.

That other path I spoke of stretched a bit farther past the sunken sawmill. Supposedly there were just a few meandering turns, and one short trek up and down a small mound before coming to an abrupt stop. This is as far as anyone traveled without either turning back or, if you didn’t have your head about you, continuing on foot without returning. What existed beyond the path was, what some stories have relayed, a nest of sorts. Many have described it as an unbelievably large tree that domineeringly grew all around a cave so as to shroud the entrance with long branches, as if they were standing guard. What was inside the nest, aside from its inhabitant, we may never know.

But what was known was that the inhabitant was a very large and terrifying beast. It was the kind of thing that lived in murky caves at the end of a dark, twisted trail. And it was rare— quite possibly the rst, last and only of its kind. The beast had been sketched many di erent ways, each iteration suggesting a character much more evil than the sketch before. And the stories that were told about the beast were fraught with inconsistencies. From the brave uncle who chased it out of the village in the middle of the night, to the hunter who missed; and who could forget the little girl who had her mirrored combs ripped from her hair at the village fair in broad daylight. By each account, the monstrous thing had glowing eyes, sunken eyes and no eyes at all. But these stories were as old as time itself. Everyone was fearful of the beast, except for Dr. Edmund Stuminum.

Dr. Stuminum was the kind of scientist who was too smart for his own good. Most would agree that scienti c research should not cost anyone their license. But if you are someone who believes in pushing the boundaries of the hard and fast rules at the Derringer Anatomical Research Institute, then all attempts at reanimating dead children will pack your o ce into a box and send you on your way, deep into the woods of where you’ll be accepted most: By the failed, abandoned, and forever sinking sawmill.

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In the middle of nowhere, on the furthest edge from the village he were cast from, time passed with a painful slowness. And Stuminum, who was still convinced he’d done nothing wrong, clung to his grudges while spending his days trapping forrest animals to experiment with. He was well aware of his beastly neighbor and always felt its eyes upon him, everywhere he went. Which was why, whenever he was out catching chipmunks and toads, he spent time setting plenty of extra traps to catch something much much bigger.

The best tool for trapping was always the same red string that was left in the mill after its abandonment. There was plenty of it on large wooden spools and after some time, Stuminum grew smart enough to rig up a system that led inside so he would be noti ed by a small bell if something was caught. And so that is how he spent most of his time, setting red-threaded traps designed to capture small things that didn’t matter, for him to keep him busy with his days

At this point, it is important to note that you’d be greatly mistaken if you thought an old strange man like Stuminum would ever be left alone long enough to tinker himself peacefully into his grave. Besides being endlessly tracked by the wild woodland beast, the remaining children of Sunny Slope, who always felt invincible and bold enough, also took liberty to stop by and harass him any chance they could get.

One particular day, they ventured into the woods at daybreak to nd and destroy the beast they had heard enough about, once and for all. Lucky for Stuminum he was outside mulling about, otherwise he likely wouldn’t have heard them chasing the beast to the point of exhaustion.

By the time he caught up to those nasty children, so much damage had been done. The beasts hind legs were shredded with sharp wire, that was also tied up with cutlery. And the children who stood over it, beat it with thick sticks and jabbed it with kid-made spears, pausing only to cheer each other on.

The upside is the children feared Stuminum more than the beast. So when scrawny, crippled old man staggered towards them like a blood thirsty zombie, they screamed and cried and ran all the way home without looking over their shoulder. And when they were out of sight, Stuminum ran in the opposite direction, back towards the sawmill to grab a canvas tarp and some heavy duty rope to haul the beast back.

Getting the beast to the mill was one thing, but getting it inside, was another. For Stuminum, and the beast, had the steep metal steps to contend with. Once on the platform, Stuminum did his best to arrange the slippery tarp so the beast would somewhat slide down the bumpy steps, with minor damage, straight onto the landing. What actually happened was the beast slid down two steps, needed another push and then ipped sideways, rolled twice, and then bounced like a pinball from side to side the whole way down, sans tarp.

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Stuminum tromped down the steps, chasing after the beast. He was frustrated but wasted no time. He cleared his work surfaces, quickly whisking tiny corpses of birds, squirrels and snakes onto nearby trays. He rolled the beast onto a lift, pushed two tables together and lowered the strange thing, examining him with great excitement. The good news was the beast was still alive. The bad news was that it was run down, laboring to breathe and its arms and legs were badly mangled.

Thankfully Rosemary, his best friend in life and in profession, was at the ready with spare body parts smuggled (in a shoddy cake box, no less) from Derringer. Side by side and late into the evening they worked on the beast, sewing up any open wounds and replacing damaged limbs. Surprisingly both of its legs were salvageable, but both of its arms had to be replaced with human arms.

Just above them, peering in from the dirty windows, were the children from Sunny Slope, fueling each others minds with enough chatter to fabricate a story worth running back to the village with.

“The bad man at the sinking mill is practicing forbidden medicine again!”

“That terrible old man is torturing animals! I’ve seen it with my own eyes!”

“He captured the beast and squeezed the life from all of natures creatures to bring it back to life!”

And as the children stood in the middle of the roadway shouting their accounts of what they saw over one another, Mayor Greeley watched them from behind a dark window, inside his mansion on the hill. His own child stood in the doorway, speaking to his fathers back.

“Before you get angry with me father, before you get mad about us going into the woods so late at night and so alone, please let me explain that what the others say is true. We went because we knew what the old man was up to. We knew he had been killing things, small animals, and bringing them back from the dead. Or trying to at least. We knew he has been taking human remains and making horrible things come back to life. Or at least we saw him trying to…” His voice trailed o .

Mayor Greeley spoke without facing him, his breath fogging the window inches in front of his face.

“No need to apologize boy. You know how important—how precious you are to me, to this community. And you have shown yourself to be even more valuable. You have done a great deed. And your mother would’ve been proud.”

Bradley jammed his hands into his pockets, recovering with a smile. “Yes, I suppose she would.”

“Tell Bezel to prepare a sturdy carriage. We’re going into the woods.”

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Back at the mill, Stuminum lay face down on a sagging velvet sofa. A small bird landed on his shoulder and began to peck at his ear. Stuminum swiped at the bird, and it hopped onto the arm of the sofa, tweeting and pecking, tweeting and pecking. Stuminum lifted his head and squinted at the bird, staring back at him. He dug into the couch cushions for his bent up glasses and placed them on his face. The bird blinked a few more times, with its one oversized human eye and cocked its head to one side.

Stuminum gasped and scrambled backwards to the other side of the sofa, scaring the bird who ew to the top of the stairs. He collected himself, stood slowly and backed quietly away from the bird. He rounded the corner himself, and to his amazement, discovered the beast sitting as though it were a young child, playing on the oor with all the small woodland creatures Stuminum had brought in dead, now alive. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching the amazing beast until there was a loud knock at the door followed by an unfortunate familiar voice.

“Stuminum! I know you’re in there.”

The woodland creatures scattered away and hid. The beast looked up at Stuminum and then slowly at the door. Another several hard, impatient knocks made Stuminum rush at the beast, pushing it to hide in a corner, imploring it to stay quiet.

The Mayor burst through the door, and stood at the top of the stairway platform, looking down on both of them.

“Before you say anything Mr. Stuminum, this is public property you are occupying— therefore I can and probably should have you removed immediately…”

Stuminum stood there, letting the anger boil up inside him. He wanted Greeley to descend the steps and he wanted the beast to appear out of nowhere, grow ten times the size and devour him, but he didn’t. So instead, Stuminum stuttered at him from below.

“Y-y-you can-can-can’t bully m-me.”

Greeley let out a laugh. “B-b-bully you? I wouldn’t b-b-bother! I’d just have you b-bburied in this lthy place!”

“W-what do you want?” Stuminum cleared his throat.

“Word on the street is you’re practicing again. With the assistance of Ms. Rosemary I believe?”

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Stuminum took two steps forward and slammed his st on the surgical table, causing the instruments to rattle on their trays. “Leave her out, out of this!”

Mayor Greeley stepped forward as well. “Why? You’re going to need every bit of help from her you can get.”

Stuminum stammered “What in the hell do you want?”

Greeley relaxed and changed his tone.

“You’re going to help us restore Sunny Slope. The people are devastated without their children. The village hurts because of it. And not only are we going to bring them back but it will be a festival. For each and every one!”

Stuminum sco ed. “No thanks. I trust you’ll see your way out.”

“Don’t let this be another notch on your belt of regrets. There’s something in it for you. Whatever you like. Money? The accolades you nally deserve? Perhaps a state of the art facility to work from?”

Stuminum stared at the Mayor, reviewing his o er.

“And if I say no?” Stuminum smiled.

“I’m not aware of the word. But since you are, you’d have 48 hours to vacate the premises, and the same amount of time before the beasts head is mounted on the wall of my study.”

“And if I say yes?”

“The lottery is announced immediately, a name is drawn, we deliver the body and you get to work. We’ll hold the rst event end of next week.”

Stuminum turns to look at the beast.

“And the beast stays a secret.”

Greeley nods, “Perhaps the one thing we agree on. Get started.”

So he did. And even though Stuminum was skeptical of Greeley, he certainly caught himself smiling quite a bit more as he met with Rosemary who took great care in ful lling the orders of bodies of children’s who’s names were drawn from the lottery. She also brought spare arms and legs, and assisted him as she did for so many years.

In the temporary lab set up near the Mill, which was being renovated as a part of the deal, the rst child was produced and reanimated with success. Stuminum felt it was necessary to track the beast’s response in this process. The rst and second children

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were reanimated willingly and without hesitation. The beast seemed to know exactly what to do. And even though the beasts arms had been replaced with human arms, the process of reanimation was seamless, uninterrupted. And Stuminum, Dr. Stuminum that is, was happy at last.

About a month into the project, Stuminum saw some changes in the beast. It had a tiredness about it that the Doctor had forgotten how to relate to. The beast was sluggish and the lively shine had vanished from it’s eyes. The worst part? An infection had started where the human arms met the rest of its body and each reanimation process seemed to increase the pain and tenderness the beast felt.

But Stuminum was too busy to notice. It’s true that even good men lose their way from time to time. And by the time the next child was reanimated, it was too late. The beast performed half the magic before his human modi ed arms gave out, turning black and cooking before Stuminum’s very eyes. The beast let out a howl as Stuminum searched for something to subdue it. But he was unsuccessful. The beast did a number on the lab equipment, ailing its arms about and clearing glass instruments o shelves with a simple swipe. It ripped shelves from the walls and punched holes into the damp concrete, water trickling in from the mossy cracks.

Stuminum rushed to prepare an injection. He danced about, doing his best to stay out of the beasts way. The second he had a chance, he thrust a large syringe into its shoulder, taming the beast into a low growl until it stumbled back and fourth, and ultimately slumping to the oor.

Once the beast was under control again, the doctor worked feverishly; repairing its arms, cleaning up the mess and cursing at the backlog this would cause him.

The demands. The impatience. The absolute urgency. People knocking at his door. People knocking at his mind. Some believed in him. Others paraded their skepticism around. They picked at him and pressed him for answers he simply did not have: “Tell us how you bring these children back to life? We deserve to know.” All eyes shone on him like a lonely spotlight shines on a specimen under a microscope. “Was it witchcraft?” one dared to ask.

“One of these days” Stuminum muttered as he hacked the arms away from the lifeless beast. “One of these days…” But three powerful thumps at his door interrupted him. They were familiar enough to take him down a few pegs so that by the time he ascended the stairs to answer, he was the size of a meek little mouse.

“What seems to be the problem, Doctor?” Greeley invited himself inside, and looked down at the wrecked equipment before looking down on Stuminum, both sides of his frown reaching for the oor.

Stuminum raised and rested his blood spattered goggles up to his forehead and tried to explain but the Mayor cut him o . “You have a workload that is growing by the

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minute and if you can’t hold up your end of the deal, why, I’m afraid you’ll have to answer to some people and it won’t be pretty.”

Stuminum looked back at the mess down the stairs and mumbled, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“No you’re not. In fact, you’re not doing anything at all. It’s this monster of an abomination, this, this conglomeration—this remnant of a thing that is doing all the dirty work. If I could cut you loose I would!”

Greeley lunged at Stuminum, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and brought him in close. “Work. Faster.” He spat in Stuminum’s face as he hissed his words. “Voting day is closing in upon us and I don’t expect to lose. Do we understand each other?” Stuminum gulped and exhaled a sad whimper and the Mayor laughed, releasing him.

Greeley took one last look around, wiped his hands on Stuminum’s shirt and left. The moment the door closed, Stuminum grew taller. And angrier.

He stormed back to the lab equipment, nished a xing the beast with two fresh arms and used the factory lift to drag it under the steps. Stuminum tore apart sca olding from one end of the mill and barred the beast in, layering and welding so many steel bars together, it resembled a wall, more than a jail. Two small holes remained for the beast, one for each arm and to prevent the beast from restricting Stuminum’s access, he welded razor sharp spikes to keep the beast from pulling back its arms in refusal.

Because the Mayor was right. The work was piling up. Not only were there new lottery kids to reanimate, but there were ones that had deteriorated, naturally, and now they needed to be xed. Lottery after lottery, x after x, what was once a joyous occasion and the opportunity of a lifetime, was rapidly decomposing before Stuminum’s eyes. And there seemed to be no xing that.

The village was unhappy. The Mayor was unhappy. Stuminum was unhappy. The beast had no say in the matter and Rosemary stopped coming around, even if it was just to say hello. Stuminum felt he had reached a new low.

Until this one very important day. The day that mattered most: Election Day.

And everything would’ve gone ne. The village would’ve seen exactly what they came for: a celebration worth its weight in pale pink cotton candy and apples drizzled with the softest caramel. The dust on the streets wouldn’t have risen to eye level and the parade would’ve been beautiful with carefully placed owers on horse drawn oats landing at their destination in one piece. The entire day, in which the perfect weather seemed paid for, would’ve been slightly less memorable, if it weren’t for the beast making a surprise and very unwelcome appearance.

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Just as a the lovely chairwoman of the unveiling committee attempted to spear a ower on Greeley’s lapel, the beast climbed up onto stage and smashed the podium into the crowd. The Mayor and chairwoman ran for cover as the beast took center stage and let out a bloodcurdling snarl. The festival attendees ran this way and that, into each other and knocking each other down, trampling on one another, just to get out of its way. The beast leapt down onto the ground and snarled again, snapping at innocent people running by, and slamming its bloody stumps against the ground.

All Stuminum could do was watch. And hide. It was as though his soul had just up and left his body. Both cowering behind the brush at the edge of the woods.

How did the beast get out, you ask? Well, what kind of creature becomes so completely mad, that they manage to free their own arms from the very contraption that held them in place, simply by ripping them from its own body? As of now, we know of only one. And after freeing itself, it raged all the way to the parade, was slamming its bloody stumps for arms down on everyone and everything. It did extensive damage to the brand new bronze statue of the Mayor that had yet to be revealed as a gift from the village.

As the beast chased innocent people all over the bandstand, it bellowed and snarled, heaving its chest, searching and choosing with unpredictability, its darting eyes seeking its next thing to attack.

But Stuminum stood there, frozen. And through the kicked up dust, the Remnant made one last swipe at a frightened woman running by and then it stopped, and fell with a great slump, face rst on the ground. Behind him stood Mayor Greeley, tranquilizer gun in arm, making direct eye contact with Stuminum, who could do nothing but shrink further back into the bushes.

Back at the Mill, Greeley loomed over Stuminum who worked diligently to repair the Remnant. At the same time, dark clouds unfolded overhead.

“You know, Doctor, I can’t decide which is more dangerous: This thing or you?” Greeley chuckled and slapped Stuminum on the shoulder. “Finish everything up and we’ll get back on track by the time this storm passes. After that, I’ll reveal winners of the new lottery and Rosemary can help with your backlog of repairs to get us on schedule.”

Stuminum ignored him. He threaded his needle with red thread to re-attach fresh arms onto the Remnant. A low rumble overhead reminded Stuminum of his deadline. Though, he had something else in mind. And when he turned around to reply to the Mayors demands, no one was there. Who knows how long he had been standing there alone, thread in hand, staring at the helpless creature on his table.

The storm rumbled again, rattling the single panes in their frames above. The mill swayed just a tiny bit, held up by chains and equipment that promised state of the art.But those promises were at a standstill. Stuminum hoped in his mind the chain

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would snap while he was inside. He wanted the swamp to devour him now, with one gulp and allow him one last breath.

The storm crept closer, between the tall trees and concentrated itself above the old Mill before the sky nally cracked open, raining down the kind of rain that felt like a debt was being paid by someone somewhere. Was it his? Another snap of lightning convinced Stuminum to put his work away and retreat to his worn out sofa, where he sat in the intermittent icker of lighting, staring straight ahead until he drifted o .

This storm spread across the village and forrest with its agenda and turned the dark night darker. It was a beast in and of itself. The kind the older village folk called “the ceremony” and stared out the windows until it passed. Except it wasn’t passing. It was staying. Saturating everything past its point.

Which matched Stuminum’s mood, as he dashed back and fourth through the puddles accumulating on the mill’s oor, weaving around the unsalvageable Remnant, packing only the essentials.

Three small bags would be all he needed and some minor equipment. Anything more would slow him down and where he was going, he’d be able to nd whatever he needed. As it was he was running much to far behind sched—

A loud thump at the door. Stuminum stopped in his tracks and stared at the door. He could hear his name being mumbled on the other side in a voice he knew too well. Stuminum grabbed his bags and ran to the back of the mill, crawling on top of a table and squeezing himself out the back window. By the time he rose to his feet in the mud, he stood face to face with Mayor Greeley. He saw the Mayor in a way he’d never seen him before. Broken and desperate. Greeley stood before Stuminum, rain pouring down his face and onto his lifeless son in his arms.

For the rst time ever, Stuminum appeared taller than the Mayor, who let out a defeated moan, sobbing in the endless rain.

Greeley whimpered. “I know you’re leaving. I don’t blame you.” He looked down at his son and winced. “The river took him. Water too high. Too violent and far too cold. He’s just a boy.”

The Mayor begged, “Please just this last time. Save him. Bring him back to me, even if it’s only for a short time.” Stuminum wanted to turn his back on them, but he couldn’t.

Inside the Mill, Stuminum got to work. The boy was so saturated it was although he’d spent considerable time lodged between something underwater before the rain overtook the river. Stuminum grabbed the boys wrist, grey skin sinking in like a sponge.

Frustrated, he glanced at the door, semi-expecting to see the mayor standing there, monitoring, waiting. He looked back at the boy and shook his head.

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He stood at the head of both tables, looking back and fourth between the two and hesitated for a moment, before cutting into the boy’s think scalp.

He grimaced through the rst part of the soggy suctioning noises as he made his rst deep incisions. You know the sound? That wet noise everyone hears when they’re digging out a pumpkin or unclogging the plumbing. Despite the noise it made, the technique was astoundingly precise and advanced.

At Derringer, he was famous for this procedure. He was celebrated and made partner for it, and also torn down and terminated for it.

“Semantics,” Stuminum muttered, shadows cast long across his wrinkled and worn face. He gripped the circular hand saw, and buzzed it a few times before uncapping the boys fragile skull. Numb from performing procedures like this, he gripped the boys brain and tossed it into the wastebasket.

Turning his attention to the large lifeless beast, he dug into its scalp, with the same intensity and emotion as he always did. Removing the brain carefully from the beast and placing it into the boy, he whistled and worked with precision. He made his nal stitch, poured a whisky, and sat down, losing himself in thoughts of what was and whats left.

The sound of footsteps jolted him back into the room. The boy stood before him, as awake as he could be, wavering on his feet.

Stuminum glanced at the clock, “Get your coat. Let’s go.”

Together they walked up the winding hill, footsteps passing along the manicured bushes resembling animals bucking up, standing on their hind legs and reaching for the sky. When they reached the entryway, Greeley was waiting, pacing between the shadows of the dim overhead lanterns.

Stuminum led the boy up the steps to his father, who knelt and opened his arms to the child. “Bradley, my boy. Come to me.” The boy stood there without reaction.

Greeley look at Stuminum, worried. “What’s going on? Why isn’t he like the rest? Where’s the joy? Where is my child?”

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As he moved about the table, inspecting the boy, he bumped into the lifeless, braindead Remnant. Its hand slipped o the table, knocking a tray of instruments to the oor. Stuminum jumped a little and slowly turned around to face the beast. Ignoring the mess, he gripped the gurney with both hands and pushed it so it was side by side with beast.

Stuminum’s brow furrowed and he cleared his throat. “This was a di cult procedure. There were complications. You don’t have very long.”

“For what? Doctor, this is not what we agreed to—”

“It’s all I can do. Enjoy what is left. You will know when the time is right for letting go.” Stuminum turned, walked down the steps and disappeared down the hill.

Greeley ushered the boy into the house and sat him down. He spent a moment at his side, trembling next to him, swiping his hair across his forehead. Taking extra care.

“My boy. My one and only. I told your mother I would always keep you safe. And look at this. I will make it right again.”

He reached down and took both of the boys hands into his own. The boy stared ahead, unresponsive.

“You must be starved. Let’s see what the chef has prepared for us.” Greeley disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors and returned with two plates of piled high food.

“Bradley, my boy, you’re in for a treat—” Greeley stopped dead in his tracks, his hands instantly unable to hold both plates. He stuttered, staring ahead, paralyzed at the towering beast that stood before him. All he had was a split second and a partial exhale before a knock of the beasts hand batted him into the next room.

Th beast scooped him up with one swipe, tearing curtains from windows and knocking the front door o its hinges and left with long strides down the driveway. The sky was black, no stars; and only the glow of yellow street posts lit up, ampli ed by light snow passing through town.

Moving quickly and with natural implication, the beast strung up the Mayor, cocooning him tightly with gauze curtains against his own bronzed statue of himself. The beast exhaled a pu of cold air in Greeley’s face before turning around and vanishing into the woods.

Back at the mill, Stuminum packed up what he could quickly, the carriage boy helped him tie down whatever equipment would t and tossed a du el bag of clothes onto the seat next to him. Stuminum nodded, the boy slammed the door, and the horses pulled the carriage out of sight.

In the morning, the beautiful village awoke to a blanket of snow, which muted and mu ed the shrieking cries of those discovering the frozen mayor bound to his newly bronzed self. Some worked to remove the man, others ran up the hill to his home, only to discover the missing boy.

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The only thing these simple villagers could do was assume the boy was in the possession of Dr. Stuminum and that they wanted answers, so they did what villagers do. They grabbed their pitchforks and torches and marched into the woods, shouting and pounding their boots into the cold hardened mud.

But when they arrived at the Mill, swaying suspended above the muck and halfway rebuilt, they rushed across the perilous planks inside only to discover the mill abandoned. Some ri ed through papers and scattered them everywhere. Others ransacked the shelves, knocking over glass vats lled with chemicals, exploding them across the oor. A few people searched for the boy, and only discovered the Remnant. They called for a torch and one appeared, just to set re to the beasts old body, dead on the table.

And as the commotion inside the structure intensi ed, so did the weakness of the chains that held up the mill. When one link snapped, the others followed and just as you’d imagine it, the mill plunged into the swamp, like an ice cube in a milkshake. And when the top of the mill was sunken and fully covered, the woods felt a long awaited silence, and was nally at peace.

Four and a half days later, Stuminum’s carriage arrived. The building was newer, cleaner and fully above ground. Air was crisp and the surrounding forrest was thick and private. The pathway that led to this new place curled around back and split o in two directions. One of them led into a new town, freshly established. The other stretched a bit farther past the new structure.

Supposedly there were just a few meandering turns, and one short trek up and down a small mound before coming to an abrupt stop. This is as far as anyone traveled without either turning back or, if you didn’t have your head about you, continuing on foot without returning. What existed beyond the path was, what some stories have relayed, a nest of sorts. Many have described it as an unbelievably large tree that domineeringly grew all around a cave so as to shroud the entrance with long branches, as if they were standing guard. What was inside the nest, aside from its inhabitant, we may never know.

But what was known was that the inhabitant was a very large and terrifying beast. It was the kind of thing that lived in murky caves at the end of a dark, twisted trail. And it was rare— quite possibly the rst, last and only of its kind. The beast had been sketched many di erent ways, each iteration suggesting a character much more evil than the sketch before. And the stories that were told about the beast were fraught with inconsistencies. From the brave uncle who chased it out of the village in the middle of the night, to the hunter who missed; and who could forget the little girl who had her mirrored combs ripped from her hair at the village fair in broad daylight. By each account, the monstrous thing had glowing eyes, sunken eyes and no eyes at all. But these stories were as old as time itself. Everyone was fearful of the beast, except for Dr. Edmund Stuminum.

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