“If you don’t get Mabel to hush it right now, so help me. . .” Jessie throws a glance to the back seat. The hen hasn’t stopped squawking since Mary Frances plucked her from the chicken coop behind the cottage.

“She’s scared, Aunt Jessie.”

“Her brain’s the size of a walnut. Only emotions she has are eat, lay eggs, poop, repeat.”

Mabel squawks. The hen’s body twitches like a live wire under Mary Frances’ hands. “Actually, chickens have complex emotions and can predict future events.”

Jessie twists around sharply in the front passenger seat. The twitch in her right eye is so bad, Mary Frances thinks it might pop out of its socket. “Discussing the inner lives of chickens is the last thing I want to do right now.” She turns back around, presses her fingers to her eyes. “If the people in this town only knew what we go through to keep them safe.”

“Maybe not everyone deserves to be safe,” Mary Frances mutters. Jessie is too busy poking around her fanny pack to hear this, but Mary Frances catches Aunt Fab’s glance in the rearview mirror. Mary Frances ducks her head, sings softly to Mabel, as she runs her gloved fingers along one of the bird’s wings. The hen begins to purr and her plump body stills.

“It’s going to be alright, Jessie.” Fab pulls over to let a police car, siren yowling, fly down Main Street. Mary Frances shifts forward on the back seat until her head is next to Aunt Fab’s. Fab gives Mary Frances a sideways smile, runs her fingers down the black and white feathers on Mabel’s chest. The hen trills. “It’s going to be alright,” Fab says. She puts the pick-up into drive and merges back onto the street.

“What happened to the Sayre boy at their place last night. . .God knows he’s no angel, but no one deserves that.” Jessie gnaws on her thumbnail.

“We don’t know for sure it was the creature.” Fab makes a right turn towards the back entrance to the old shopping mall.

“That’s what you said when the Sayre’s dog got shredded to bits. And what you said about the bloodbath at their goat dairy. What else could it be?”

“Well, it’s strange it’s going back to the same place over and over again. The creature feeds more randomly than that.”

“I never should’ve listened to you, Fab. We should’ve cast the darn thing back the day county health said the chicken pox outbreak was over.” Jessie’s gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. “Mary Frances, what on earth are you smiling at?”

“Nothing.”

Jessie’s head whips around. She stares at Mary Frances. “Something’s gotten into you lately and I don’t like it. I thought your personality would improve once we started teaching you, but you’re weirder than ever. No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

“Jessie,” Aunt Fab says. The word is short and sharp as a rifle shot. “Your Aunt Jessie’s stressed out about the creature, but she shouldn’t take it out on you. We’re glad you’re helping us. Isn’t that right, Jessie?” Fab’s tone brooks no contradiction.

“Yeah,” Jessie mutters. She returns to gnawing on her fingernail. Mary Frances looks out the side window while Mabel clucks and nips at her gloved fingers.

Daisies are as dumb as dirt, according to the aunts. This makes the strip of land behind the abandoned Kmart and between the surrounding woods the perfect place for the ritual.

“Sweet baby Jesus. Could it be any colder out here?” Jessie covers her head with the hood of a navy “Women’s March Charlotte 2017” sweatshirt and tucks errant strands of her rainy-day colored hair behind her ears. She, Fab, and Mary Frances stand on the strip of land, just beyond the last sodium light in the Kmart parking lot. The once well-tended grass is mostly bald and brown now, what green areas remain taken over by tufts of wild daisies.

Fab tugs a green wool hat over her short dark hair and wraps her arms around herself. Mary Frances shifts back and forth on her feet, Mabel tucked into the front of her bomber jacket. The hen’s purring warms Mary Frances’ chest but her body still shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.

Jessie looks up from her fanny pack, gives a defeated sigh. “Fab, do you have the knife? I thought I put it in here before we left the cottage, but now I can’t find the darn thing. . .”

Fab pulls a brown leather scabbard from her coat pocket, along with a scrap of chamois. She murmurs as she removes the knife from the scabbard and wipes the five-inch blade, down one side, then up the other. When Fab stuffs the chamois back in her coat pocket, the blade gleams as if it’s caught the light from a moonbeam, even though the moon is hours away from rising. She beckons to Mary Frances. “It’s time. Hold Mabel to the ground. Let’s do this quick.”

Mary Frances’ stomach tightens when the hen’s distressed squawks cease as Fab slices the knife across Mabel’s neck. Hot blood spurts from the hen’s neck onto Mary Frances’ gloved hands and the dumb daisies, the dead grasses. Jessie dips her fingers in the fresh blood, makes a wide circle on the ground, and draws the creature’s symbol inside.

Fab gently nudges Mary Frances with her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Mabel. I know she was your favorite.” Mary Frances shrugs, lets her gaze drift to the Kmart building. The trees sway and rustle with an odd insistence. A tall shadow emerges from the trees, moves toward Mary Frances and the aunts. As it passes under the closest sodium light’s cool flare, the shadow becomes the creature. The aunts’ inhales are sharp and simultaneous.

“It’s so tall,” Jessie says. Her body is rigid as a telephone pole. “It shouldn’t be this big.” There’s a dark unspoken thought in the glance the aunts exchange and they miss the small smile that flickers across Mary Frances’ face. There’s a heavy grinding sound as the creature makes its way towards the circle. The wet tang of clay, rainwater, and crushed pine needles fills the air. The closest sodium light flickers, then goes out.

The light change breaks Jessie’s stunned daze. She speaks, unleashing a flash flood of words, and the blood circle and symbol she made begin to glow. The creature emits a low, rumbling moan that makes the daisies quiver.

“Now!” Jessie stands, legs spread wide, fists on hips. Blood trickles from one nostril.

“Is it bound?” Fab says.

“Yes.” The creature moans again, louder. “Do it. Do it now! I can’t hold it forever, Fabia!”

“Take my hand, baby girl,” Fab says. “You remember the words?” Mary Frances nods, winces when her aunt clasps her gloved hand. The creature moans and cowers. The aunts link hands and speak in a rush of long, winding words which, at first, rise and fall on independent, discordant strands before cleaving together in one otherworldly voice. When Fab nods at her, Mary Frances joins in, her voice wrapping around her aunts’ words, strengthening the magic. The blood circle and symbol pulse and flare as if they’re made of collapsing stars.

Jessie presses a hand against the creature’s chest. The creature’s groans get louder, as if it’s resisting the weight of her hand. Jessie’s eyes widen and her mouth parts. The creature roars. There’s a sudden wave of uplifting pressure and Mary Frances and the aunts fall to the ground. Then footfalls, loud, inhuman, and moving surprisingly fast back to the woods. The sodium light flickers back on and Aunt Jessie scrambles to her feet.

“It has a different name stone.” Jessie’s voice punches up into the night sky with the urgency of an emergency flare. “Fab, how the fuck does it have a different name stone?”

Mary Frances gazes towards the woods, not bothering to hide the gleeful smile spread across her face.