Tweet of the Day: Why Opening With a Characteristic Moment Is So Important
McNary Texas, July 17 02:26 a.m.
A mass of mummified bodies shambled toward the dusty ranches that made up the town of McNary.
They carried with it only a cloud dust and the grime of their former resting places. The bodies came in all sizes, from babes to old men. Victims of greed and shattered dreams.
Jacobs J. Barton came out to the barn to check on his dog, Floof, named by one of his grand kids because the mutt was two thirds wooly fur and one third dog. The dog’s loud barking could be heard clear across the plain.
“Would you shut up already, you stupid dog. I don’t wanna have to deal with the neighbors again, yammering and complaining about you. If weren’t for the fact that I ain’t go nothing better to do, I would have put you out years ago.” The dog’s bark turned into a low growl. Barton thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, “Phil, is that you? If you’re trying to poison my dog, I swear I’ll-”
A sharp blow to the back of the head cut him short. He turned around and stared at a pair of hollowed eyes. Hands seized his throat. Barton tried to pry off the thing’s death grip, but he could not match its superhuman strength. His vision narrowed as bony fingers choked him. He passed out long before his soul joined the damned that came to claim it.
By the time the police and the military arrived on the scene the next morning it was all over.
McNary, pop. 7.