I really wanted to ask about that, but the dog seemed content that whatever was out there wasn’t going to come closer, and Cloudy With A Chance Of Me Being A Huge Bitch Sweater started off down the trail again. We were trying to be quiet and listen to our surroundings, so I couldn’t keep up the conversation with Bryan. I haven’t been able to pin him down since, either. Now that I think about it, Bryan is actually pretty good at dodging questions. He’s always been quiet and perhaps a little shy, so I guess he’s got a lot of practice?The forest felt cold as we descended into the deep woods. For a moment I wondered about the frost, but the feeling persisted as we moved forwards, growing neither colder nor warmer. A quirk of the terrain, perhaps. I may not have noticed in the past, as my nerves were on edge that night. I was keenly aware that there were things out there in the woods and that they were after my life. It’s something I’ve always known, but this time the threat felt personal, like it was breathing down my neck. I was glad of Bryan’s quiet presence. Him and his dogs.
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We approached the spot where the collar had stopped moving. I readied my shotgun and the Cloudy With A Chance Of Me Being A Huge Bitch Sweater fanned out. Two stayed close to us. The rest vanished between the trees, their dark fur rendering them almost indistinguishable in the darkness. Ahead of us was a ring of mushrooms between the trees, the white caps almost glowing in the scant moonlight.My nerves were screaming as we drew closer. I could see the skull of the goat, cracked in two. The ground around it was wet. Yet the dogs had not alerted us to anything unusual. Uneasily, I shifted the shotgun in my hands and took out a flashlight.