Why don’t I just take one of those kitchen knives to my wrists right now? He pictured himself panicking in the shack like a chicken on LSD, blood spurting from his wrists. He saw himself twitching on the floor like a mouse at the bottom of the antifreeze bucket. This seemed far less ideal than the painless, watery death in the bog. Besides, if he did cut his wrists and die, his mother and Andrea would think he killed himself, that he was mentally unstable, that his trip up here was a suicide trip. The Being could have left and they’d never know why he did it. If he left a note describing the torment, that would only offer proof that he was truly insane. He never, ever wanted them to think anything along those lines. He loved them so much. If only he could see them again.

He bit into another tart monster, face puckering. The unpleasantness in his mouth pushed aside thoughts of suicide.

Rest and wait, Matthew, the little voice said. The nighttime is the right time.

Matt fetched wood from the side of the shack and split it near the door. Bright, raw shards laced the front walkway like shredded cheese.

He warmed his hands near the fireplace as the sun dipped towards the horizon. When it darkened he stretched his headlamp over his head, flicked the switch, and turned to the dead oak through the doorway. When at last the landscape settled into stillness he quietly approached the truck. Clumsily, he shined the beam across the orchard and up into the forest canopy.

Don’t do that, the little voice said. The last thing you want to do is shine the light around like a panicked hiker. You might have put that right into the Puller’s eyes.

“If it even has eyes,” he said.

Matt climbed atop his truck and pried open the door. Then he held it open with one hand and used his other to find the seat lever. His fingers found the smooth metal grip and pulled. The seat loosened and he used his left hand to push the seat forward, keeping it in position with his elbow. He reached for a plastic bundle wrapped tight with a nylon strap and metal fastener. Once the object was secure in his grip, he drew his hand free as the seat slid back. Then he put an end of the bundle in his teeth, using his free hand to push back up onto the side of the truck. He left his fingers in place so the door would close without noise. The door pinched his fingers, but anything was better than the alternative.