It’s November 15th, school is closed as are all the stores. You are warned to stay inside and keep the doors locked, you’re huddled close with your family far from the windows, the hunting season has begun.
At night you drive down the road and your headlights catch the eyes of something in the woods. ‘a deer, only a deer’ you tell yourself, you ignore the part of your brain that reminds you deer only have two eyes.
It’s getting warmer and fireflies begin to rise from the grass. They bring with them messages from ancient beings long forgotten, the language lost in time. You hope none of these insects are carrying important warnings.
The corn fields go on for miles, you can’t remember when you started driving, you don’t remember where you are going or where you came from. All you remember is corn stalks.
Apples are in season, cherries are in season, they should not be in season at the same time but no one questions it, no one questions why the juices of both are so red and thick, no one questions why the insides of the fruit are raw meat.
It snows for days, so says the news. You know it has been 6 months. It is impossible to open the door and rations are running low. ‘tomorrow expect sun’ the news says. You pray they are right, you’re not sure you can fight off your parents much longer, they are so hungry.
Along the highways the buildings change, the life force of 8 mile has been sucked dry by the things that live under the city, the people on 12 mile pretend they do not notice the dying plants and beginnings of crumbling on their homes.
The potholes appear as they do every year, you try not to think about them. You swerve as you were taught. You try not to think how they move and grow to try and catch you as you pass. You try not to think about what’s inside them.
Summers bring tourists to the lake shore, they enjoy the sun and waves but say nothing of the sand that sings and the voices calling them into the waters of Lake Michigan. Summer brings tourists who are not heard from again.
A man is arrested and put into prison for the murder of several people in the inner city of detroit. He knows he is innocent but does not speak up, every knows he is innocent but does not speak up. If someone were to speak up and acknowledge them, the ancient beasts would become even more powerful.
The people in the U.P. chuckle and tell tourists that trolls is just a nickname for the people who live in the lower peninsula. There is a hesitance, a fear in their eyes though. They cannot tell the truth, the peace treaty would be broken and they know they would not survive another war with the creatures under the bridge