Prologue: The Beast Beneath the Moon

Crickets chirped under the moonlight. Goats slept peacefully inside their pen. Then—rustling. A noise from the bushes. At first, it could’ve been a small rodent... but it crept closer.

Sensing danger, the sleeping goats stirred. Some began to panic—slamming against the fence, trying to leap over, or huddling close in fear, instinctively seeking protection in numbers.

Snap.

A branch broke.

The guard dog barked viciously toward the shadows. At first glance, it looked like a coyote. But the moment the creature raised its head into view, the barking stopped.

The dog whimpered. Then bolted—abandoning its post to save its own life.

The beast sniffed the air. Its prey was near.

With a sudden leap, it jumped clean over the fence and landed silently atop a terrified goat. Its mouth opened unnaturally wide—nearly 90 degrees—revealing rows of jagged, dagger-like teeth. It bit down with a sickening crunch.

The goat barely let out a sound.

The beast drained its blood completely... but it wasn’t enough.

Another lunge. One goat down.

Then two.

Then more—until half the pen was silent and still, soaked in blood and littered with shredded fur and flesh.

Satisfied—for now—the creature leapt out of the pen and vanished into the shadows. But not for long.

Not far off, a bear sensed the beast’s presence. It rose, teeth bared, and charged.

But the beast was faster. It dodged easily, circling the bear with eerie agility. Then, in one clean motion, it snapped its jaws onto the bear’s throat.

The bear struggled. It didn’t matter.

The beast drained it dry.

And then... it disappeared into the night.

Morning

The sun began to rise.

The farmer stretched and yawned, preparing to start the day. As he made his way toward the goat pen, he noticed something strange.

The guard dog was missing.

He paused, frowning—then heard a faint whimper from the shed.

Opening the door, he found the dog curled in a corner, tail tucked between its legs, trembling. Its fur was unscathed, but the dog refused to move.

“Poor boy,” the farmer muttered, relieved it was alive. He gave it some food, patting the floor to coax it closer.

Then a foul stench hit him.

Rotten. Metallic. Familiar.

He knew that smell.

Meat. Blood.

But not the kind he’d expect from the butcher shop.

His stomach dropped.

He rushed to the goat pen—and froze in place.

It was a massacre.

Goat carcasses littered the enclosure. Some had been torn apart, bits of flesh strewn across the ground. Others were cleanly beheaded, as if sliced by some massive, unnatural force.

The farmer turned pale. Panic set in.

He sprinted back to the house, heart pounding, slamming the door behind him.

His wife, halfway through preparing breakfast, jumped. “What’s wrong?”

“The goats...” he gasped. “Something... killed them all.”

She didn’t ask questions. She grabbed the phone and called the local police.

Meanwhile, the farmer sat on the porch, trembling.

Waiting.

And wondering if the creature would return tonight.