I’d planned to kick the door down, start firing at first sight of daddy, or anything that looked like him—but the house was abandoned, front door swaying in the breeze. Wasn’t easy to leave, hurt like being thrown from the saddle. Annie’d been curled on the floor, trying to be small as possible. I’d promised I’d come back for her. They say daddy’s one of them, the dead come home, or one of those nightmares that fell from the stars, but he ain’t. He’s something worse—and I aim to send him back to whatever hell he came from.
Francesco Levato is a poet, professor, and writer of speculative fiction. Recent books include SCARLET; Arsenal/Sin Documentos; Endless, Beautiful, Exact; and Elegy for Dead Languages. Recent fiction appears in MetaStellar, Flash Fiction Online, and Tales to Terrify, among others. He holds an MFA in Creative Writing and a PhD in English Studies. More at: francescolevato.com.
