He was — shall we call him George? — casually walking toward his house late one evening as the moon smiled down on him. Such an innocent night, wouldn’t you think? Humming a childhood melody, he glanced at the stars while playfully replaying the day’s events.

Unbeknownst to our friend, out from the forest at his backside, a silent, stalking beast — I know not what else to call it — closed in and attacked our friend George.

They say the human mind has a way of protecting its owner by erasing the memory of horrifying, revolting, life altering events. Perhaps, such was the case with George.

Later that night found him lying prostrate on his property. Bewildered and confused, he staggered into his abode. Stumbling into the bathroom, he glanced into the mirror. For some strange reason, his countenance was somewhat altered. What was different? He pushed the hair up on his forehead and noticed the hairline had crept down. How odd!

He grinned and the corners of his mouth rolled back far more than usual, making him notice the flattening of his ears and the sharpness of his teeth. Suddenly, he sensed aromas in the house he had never before detected. The mildew in the corner, the smell of cotton in the closet, the meat in the fridge…especially the meat in the fridge.

Now, the reader might at this point expect our friend to be terrified. Nothing could be further from the truth. For George felt more alive than ever. His senses became enthralled with their surroundings as newly acquired muscles tensed with anticipation. Running his now elongated fingers over the course of his body, the only noticeable defect was a fresh mark found behind his left shoulder.

Then, like a wave, a new desire rolled through his body and dominated all else. Flesh. He must, at all cost, have flesh.

He glanced out his front window. The sun was rising, exposing humans starting their day. He drooled. With one grand instinctive leap, he crashed through the plate glass window and ran — no galloped — into the forest. To await his time.

I do not share this with you to make you afraid, my friend. It is the last thing I would want to do. I only share this to make you careful. To make you evaluate your activities in the night. To make you keep your children close.

And oh yes. One more thing. Why do you think I am so acquainted with the story?

REX ALPHIN of Walters is a farmer, businessman, author, county supervisor and contributing columnist for The Tidewater News. His email address is rexalphin@aol.com.