Chapter 2

Corrie Holt's POV:

"We drew lots," Grandpa continued, his voice barely a whisper. "My father carved some small wooden tokens. One of them had a crudely drawn X on it. The rest were blank. We sat in a circle around the dying campfire, and everyone reached into a leather pouch."

"It was my turn," Hoover said, his voice choking up. "I was just a kid back then, maybe ten years old. I reached into the bag, my hand shaking uncontrollably. My fingers pinched a token. I pulled it out, and it was blank."

Next was his younger sister Clara; her token was also blank.

Every blank token drawn meant a temporary reprieve, but it also meant the noose tightening around someone else's neck.

"Then it was my mother's turn," he recalled, his voice breaking. "She closed her eyes, her face deathly pale, and pulled out her token. She slowly opened her eyes. There was an X on it."

My great-grandfather, her husband, stood entirely motionless, his face etched with pure agony.

"No!" Hoover cried out, letting out a desperate, childish wail. He pushed past the adults and grabbed his mother's hand. "No, Dad! Please! Don't!"

Tears welled up in my great-grandfather's eyes, but his resolve was forged in iron. He grabbed Hoover's arm, driven mad by starvation. "We have no choice, son. Everyone has to eat."

Hoover fought back wildly, like a feral animal fighting for its life. He kicked and screamed. His mother looked at him, her eyes a heartbreaking mix of love and helpless resignation. "It's going to be okay, my boy. Be strong."

My great-grandfather dragged Hoover's mother toward the chopping block.

He raised the axe. The blade hung suspended in the air. Hoover let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Just then, a loud, urgent knocking rattled the cabin door. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Everyone froze. The axe remained suspended mid-air. All eyes turned toward the door.

Who could it be? No one had visited for weeks. The snow had sealed the roads; it was impossible to get through.

"Who's there?" my great-grandfather shouted, his voice hoarse.

A familiar voice carried through the wooden door: "It's me! Your cousin Elias! I brought supplies!"

A collective gasp sucked the air from the room.

Elias! My great-grandfather's cousin.

A fierce, desperate surge of hope flooded the starving villagers. Shocked, my great-grandfather slowly lowered the axe.

The door swung violently open. Elias stood there, his thick fur coat dusted with snow, carrying a massive burlap sack over his shoulder. "Look what I found! A deer! Freshly caught!"

He tossed the sack onto the floor. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, revealing the carcass of a young deer inside. The room instantly erupted in cheers. They threw themselves at the deer, tearing into it with their bare hands, ripping and biting like a pack of ravenous wolves.

Hoover, still clinging tightly to his mother, watched it all unfold. He was alive. He was safe.

But his relief was painfully fleeting.

He caught a glimpse of Elias. Elias's face was flushed from the cold, his eyes sparkling brightly.

But something felt incredibly wrong.

A subtle, creeping unease.

His smile was too bright, too flawless. His movements were too smooth, too precise. It was too perfect to be a living, breathing human being. Let alone someone living through a famine.

Hoover felt his skin crawl.

He watched Elias join the others, tearing off a chunk of raw venison and swallowing it whole. Hoover felt a wave of nausea. Not just from the memory of the axe, but from Elias himself.

...

"Grandpa," I interrupted, my voice trembling, "what happened to Elias?"

Hoover gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white. He closed his eyes, a violent tremor shaking his entire body. "He was a Reptilian, Corrie. That wrong feeling. I sensed it. Even as a kid."

He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on a framed photograph sitting on the mantle.

The photo showed my great-aunt Clara-a sweet, round-faced girl with bright, curious eyes-standing next to a stern-looking man. That was my great-grandfather, Robert. The picture was old and faded, but Elias's face was in it too. He stood right behind Robert, smiling.

With a trembling finger, Hoover pointed at the photograph. "Look closely, Corrie. Look at Elias's face."

I picked up the picture, my hands shaking. I stared at Elias in the photo.

He looked... normal. Handsome, even. A strong jawline, clear eyes.

But as I really focused, as a primal dread began to bubble up from my stomach, I saw it. The unsettling deadness in his eyes. It was a face that was altogether too perfect. An idealized sculpture rather than the imperfect reality of a human being.

My mind screamed. An icy terror washed over me, making my limbs feel heavy as lead. It was a profound, visceral dread.

My body physically rejected the photograph. I wanted to hurl it across the room.

"What is that?" I whispered. "Why... why does it feel like this?"

"Your gut," Hoover said, his voice heavy. "Your instinct knows. It sees right through the disguise. It feels the fundamental difference."

My throat tightened, the image burning itself into my brain. That flawless, smiling face had somehow filled me with overwhelming terror.

"Did they... did they eat Elias?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

I remembered Hoover repeatedly telling me that Reptilian meat was exceptionally delicious.

Was Elias the one he ate?

Hoover sighed, not answering directly. He stared at the faded photo, his eyes completely hollow.

"We were saved that night. But only temporarily. One small deer wasn't nearly enough to get us through the winter."

"The night after Elias arrived, my brother-your great-uncle-came to me. He was just a little boy back then, maybe five. He was shaking all over. He had seen something terrible. He saw Elias... the other Elias."

He closed his eyes again, his face carved with unspeakable agony.

"He saw Elias split open with his own eyes, like some grotesque flower. He saw Elias devour another villager, a woman who had always been kind to us."

"He witnessed the whole thing. The writhing flesh, the maw of teeth, the way the monster consumed her, leaving nothing but a wet stain on the floor. And then, he saw Elias reform, shifting back into his perfect shape, wearing that same smile, just like before."

My stomach churned violently. The imagery was so vivid, so utterly horrifying.

"My brother was deeply traumatized," Hoover continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He tried to tell the adults, but they brushed it off. They said he was dreaming, that he was having nightmares because of the hunger."

"But we knew. We knew we had to act."

"If we didn't kill Elias, we would all likely die. You know how it is-the elderly, the children, the women, those who can't fight back. Reptilian always start with the easiest prey."