Chapter 3

Corrie Holt's POV

Hoover leaned back, his eyes still vacant, lost in the memories of the past.

"That night," he began again, his voice barely audible over the silence, "we huddled in the dark. The kids. My brother, Clara, me, and a few others. We were all just children, but we knew what Elias was. The adults... they were too blind. Too hungry. Too desperate to see the truth."

He described the suffocating silence in the cabin where the Reptilian Elias slept. The only sounds were the rhythmic creaking of the old wooden walls and the Reptilian's faint snoring.

Hoover and his siblings, clutching rusty knives and makeshift clubs, crept soundlessly into the room.

"We were starving too," Hoover admitted, his voice raspy. "But we knew. We knew this was different. This wasn't human flesh. This was... Reptilian meat. We needed it to survive. Not just to fill our bellies, but to fight back."

"My brother was the smallest," Hoover recalled, his eyes locked onto some unseen horror in the corner of the room. "He tried to slip a rope around Elias's ankle. But Elias... he twitched. Just slightly. He made a tiny noise. It was almost a whisper, but it shattered the silence. We all froze. Our hearts stopped beating."

Suddenly, the bedroom door was shoved open. My great-grandfather Robert stood there. "Kids, what are you doing?"

He saw the makeshift weapons. He saw the mimic of Elias, still lying on the cot.

Robert's face instantly went pale.

"No!" Robert shouted, his voice thick with anguish and fear. "Elias! No!"

He rushed forward-not to help the children, but to protect Elias.

Hunger had blinded him; all he saw was his cousin, the man who had brought them food.

"Dad, don't!" Hoover screamed, but it was too late.

The Reptilian moved with a terrifying, unearthly speed.

Its body contorted, its chest ripping open to reveal a gory, gaping maw lined with razor-sharp teeth and writhing flesh.

It lunged at Robert.

A sickening crunch echoed through the room. Robert's screams were abruptly cut short.

The Reptilian began to devour him. Its fleshy, interwoven tentacles wrapped around his body, dragging him into its yawning mouth.

Hoover watched it all, paralyzed by terror.

His father was being eaten. Right in front of his eyes.

His younger brother let out a piercing, desperate shriek.

Clara passed out cold.

The other kids stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide, witnessing the absolute horror.

Hoover described the smell. A stench of copper and blood, mixed with a nauseating, alien musk that hung heavy in the air. The sounds were even worse. Wet tearing noises. Gurgling. The sickening slurp of flesh being sucked away.

The children finally snapped out of their shock, driven by the sheer instinct to survive.

They scrambled out of the cabin, fleeing blindly through the snow-covered forest, their bare feet freezing, their lungs burning.

...

Halfway through the story, Hoover paused, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Suddenly, he clutched his chest, his face contorting in pain. He gasped for air, his breathing rapid and shallow, his eyes rolling back into his head. He was having a heart attack.

I screamed and dialed 911. The paramedics arrived quickly.

Hoover's body was rapidly weakening. His breathing grew shallower by the second. He slowly opened his eyes, meeting my gaze. He reached out a trembling hand and grabbed my arm with unexpected strength.

"Corrie, don't ever get curious about the taste of Reptilian meat. It's dangerous," he rasped, his voice fading to a whisper. "Trust your gut. Your instinct will know before your brain does..."

He squeezed my arm one last time, his eyes empty, delivering his final warning.

Then, his hand went slack and dropped, his eyes glossing over.

He was gone.

The paramedics pronounced him dead. My grandfather, the man who had told these horrifying stories, had passed away.

I stood there frozen, his dying words echoing in my ears: "Your instinct will know before your brain does..."

"Because those who couldn't react in time... are all dead."