I My husband Ralph, 73m, and I, 71f, own a relatively small property in the country that we use to raise sheep. It’s not much, but we bought it together around 50 years ago and have worked it ever since. Even in our relatively old age we still keep up the work, though with an admittedly smaller flock. All our children have left since none of them were particularly keen on taking over the business, but that suits Ralph and I just fine since we were prefer a quieter life with our 3 sheepdogs. However, things started going wrong a few months ago.

It started with a rat. We’ve always dealt with the stupid things running around the farm. They come from the woods for the feed, you see. But this winter it was especially bad. Our traps would be full daily, and we were getting sick of replacing them. It was a full infestation, that worst I’d ever seen. One night, Ralph and I lay in bed, tired after a long day of work when I looked up to see a rat on the mantle. Nothing unusual of course, but still not something you’d like in your bedroom. But this thing was… different. It wasn’t right. Seeing the look on Ralphs face I knew he was thinking the same thing. It was hard to describe what was wrong with it. I guess the closest word would be… mishapen. It was wrong, with lumps in places that shouldn’t have lumps and bulbous eyes that glowed with malcontent. It was bent and broken as if it’s bones had been twisted and mangled, but there was no sign of injury.

Ralph got out of bed fast, grabbing the gun he kept under his pillow. He aimed at the creature and it scurried away as he fired. I would have usually scolded him for using the gun, as I’ve never been a fan of firearms, but in this case I was too shocked to speak. I wasn’t sure what I had just seen, but the image of it’s broken and bent body stuck in my brain and stopped me from sleeping the rest of the night.

The next two nights passed without incident, but in the early hours of the third day Ralph came into my room carrying a large box. In it was the remains of one of the rats. It was another broken one, like we saw the previous night. This time, however, it was different. The eye sockets still bulged with eyes too big for it’s body, but the skull looked more or less normal, except for a single bone sticking up out of the back of the head. When I asked Ralph about it, he said he hadn't noticed until now, but these were human eyes. At this I gagged, and told him he was being ridiculous, and it must have just been a few weirdly shaped rats. He left the room without a word. I knew better than to ask what he'd do with the body. Days passed and more and more of the rats appeared broken until the number of normal rats dwindled in comparison. Our dogs were no help, as they refused to even go near the things. By this point we became used to seeing them, but it those eyes still creeped me out. Ralph was right, they were so human-like that I wondered how it was even possible for a rat to look like that. Unfortunately, this was only the start.

The next day I was working in the fields rounding the sheep into a new paddock. Ralph fell ill and was unable to join me for today, but we’d been arguing about the rats again and I needed a break from him anyway. Everything went smoothly until my dogs came running back to me whining. I looked up at what they were running from. It was a sheep, standing still ahead of us. But it wasn’t a sheep. It was… wrong. Like the rats it had eyes that looked human. It was again bent and broken, like a distorted image. Its fur was patchy, with bald patches all over its body. And instead of legs, it stood on bent stumps. There was a smell about the thing that made me gag. I called my dogs back and ran, but it followed me. It latched onto my leg with jagged rocky teeth and wouldn't let go. I pulled my pistol and shot it, but the bullet seemed to bounce off it's thick hide and it didn't even notice. I restored to desperately clawing at the things face. I stuck my nail into it’s eyes, and it leaked a sticky black goo. It made an ungodly sound and pulled off my mangled leg. I called Ralph and he came to pick me up. Nothing worked to kill the sheep, so we locked it in a pen down by the shearing sheds.

The next morning I woke up with a terrible headache. Ralph came in to check on me and I told him that it had to be some kind of monster replacing the animals. He told me I was being foolish and that it was probably just some kind of disease. I insisted it was something beyond our understanding, but he didn't believe me. He wanted to take me to the hospital to see about treating my leg, but it was a pretty bad injury and the medical bills would surely put us in the red. My mother had been a nurse, so I had some kind of experience in patching wounds. Still, it left me bed ridden for a few months. Ralph wouldn’t let me work with or see the sheep during my rest, and to be honest that was just fine with me after my experience. But whenever I asked about them he’d go quiet, and mumble some sort of platitude. It didn’t sit right with me, so when I felt able enough, I went out to check on them as Ralph slept.

What greeted me at the paddock were not sheep anymore. All of them were broken. Their eyes glowed and their twisted and mangled shapes oozed black liquid from their various gashes. I screamed and as I did my dogs ran towards me. I felt a surge of relief until I saw what they had become. Tears leaked from my eyes as I saw their twisted shapes and bulbous, glowing pupils. How could this have happened. I raced back to the house in tears, ignoring the pain of wounds reopening on my legs. I took the gun from under the pillow and rushed to the paddock after waking Ralph. As I left the house, my dogs came up to me. They whimpered and barked as they approached. I raised the gun to shoot them, but I couldn't bring myself to. Just looking at them was too painful. I backed away and slammed the door shut behind me, locking myself inside. The gun was heavy in my hand. I had to do it. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t of hidden this from me none of this would have happened. I turned and walked towards the bedroom.