Chapter 1

Folks always said my dad was strange, and they say he got stranger after my mom died. I don’t remember her; I was only four when she passed. But people say my father, who was already quiet and a bit of a loner, became obsessive and odd. It was after my mother's funeral that my dad made his hobby into a business. He loved animals, or at least he loved the bodies of animals. The chirping of birds and the scampering of squirrels never interested him. A deer moving through the woods was nothing special. But a dead deer? That was beautiful.

He loved taxidermy, and he built his business and life off that love. My father was very, very good at making dead things look alive. He built a workshop and showroom attached to the modest house my mother loved, turning it into a factory of the macabre.

We lived in a small isolated town nestled deep in the Rocky Mountains, and in that setting, Dad’s obsession became quite lucrative. He began with preserving local hunters' prize hunts, but soon his attention to detail earned the attention of museums and resorts throughout the state. Eventually, my dad’s work could be found throughout the West, putting his little shop on the map.

I had no choice in the matter; taxidermy was in my blood. Growing up, I was more like my dad’s assistant than his son. I could perfectly preserve an entire elk carcass before I could drive, and my dad was always quick to point out when my work wasn’t up to his standards. It was always just me and Dad; I didn’t know anything else other than the trade. Which is probably why, when Dad died and left me the business, I stayed. What else could I do?

His death was just as strange as his life. Dad was seventy-two when he died. He was in excellent health, never smoked, rarely drank, and could work twelve-hour days without complaining. Then one morning, I found him sitting at his workbench with his hands folded neatly in front of him. A slight smile was frozen in the dead muscles of his face. He was as still as the animals surrounding him. They told me his heart simply stopped. No warning, no illness, nothing anyone could explain. He just froze in the middle of his work, like the battery had suddenly died inside him.

The funeral was small, mostly just longtime customers and relatives I had never met. Instead of flowers, long-dead squirrels, rabbits, and birds surrounded his coffin. They put him in the ground, and I returned home.

The shop was all I had now, all my dad left me. I hadn’t been home since the day I found Dad, and now it felt so empty. I walked through the rooms: the kitchen, his bedroom, the living room. I ended up in the showroom, its walls filled with deer heads, birds, and dozens of other small animals. Full-body displays of mountain lions crouching on rocks and elk peeping through fake trees. I knew every animal in that showroom. I'd helped Dad mount most of them. But now that it was just me, I felt watched by countless fake beady eyes. I felt like a curator of a museum of stolen goods, judged by every dead eye in the room. I hadn’t killed any of these animals, but I preserved their death, and that made me complicit in the crime.

I left the showroom and moved into the workshop, the room where my Dad had died. It was uncomfortable to be back there; I realized then that I missed him. He had never been a great dad, or even a good one, but he was still my dad; he raised me, and I loved him. Hot tears began to roll down my face as reality without my dad began to set in. Good memories and moments from my childhood began to flood into my mind. Most of them revolved around this shop and the work, little inside jokes or important conversations; it all happened while we were removing fur, preparing formaldehyde, and positioning displays.

Perhaps the shop wasn’t a trap after all; maybe it was a way to honor the man who raised me, and who taught me everything I knew. As I wiped tears from my eyes, I noticed a folded piece of paper beneath the workbench; it was unusual because Dad always insisted on keeping the workshop as clean as possible. I picked it up and unfolded it; it was a note. It read:

“Son, no matter what, the lights of the showroom must stay on at night. The faces know your face.”

I didn’t think too much about the note as I shoved it into my pocket. Dad had always told me the light needed to stay on; he said it helped keep the displays looking their best. I didn’t question it; the last phrase of the note was strange, but my dad said strange things from time to time, so I wasn’t bothered by it.

In the weeks that followed, life started to get back into rhythm; there was still work to be done. Specifically, an order of three whitetail deer and a family of raccoons for a museum in Wyoming was due in two weeks. Without the added help of my dad, I found myself overwhelmed by the work. It was a big order for one person to finish in two weeks, so I worked late into the night. After several nights of long days and barely any sleep, I was exhausted. It was a little after 11 pm when I finished the last raccoon. Tired and running on autopilot, I instinctively flipped the switches, turning off the lights for the workshop and showroom, and headed up to my room.

I slept soundly until around 3 am when a loud crash downstairs woke me up. I lay there wide awake, holding my breath to see if more sound would follow. Before long, I heard a faint scratching sound coming from downstairs. I could feel my heart beating faster as panic set in. Someone was in my house. It sounded like the constant scratching noise was coming from the showroom. Grabbing an old pocket knife kept in the nightstand, I crept my way to the stairway. The noise grew louder as I worked my way down the stairs; at the bottom, the sound of shuffling was unmistakable.

I swallowed hard before shouting into the dark hallway

“Who’s there?”

The noise stopped

“Get the hell out of my house!” I screamed as I flipped on the light in the hall and followed it to the wide entry of the showroom.

I was met with nothing but silence

As I stood in the light of the hall, I stared into the dark showroom, and something stared back at me. In the blackness, two small spheres of reflective pale grey light looked back at me. My heart skipped a beat. I kept my eyes locked on them as I fumbled around the corner for the light switch. The warm yellowish lights filled the showroom, and the grey eyes vanished. I looked where they were and found nothing; only the large head of a buck mounted to the opposite wall was in line with where they were.

Staring at the mount, I flipped off the light; the reflective eyes returned. I turned the light back on and saw the deer.

I breathed a sigh of relief and muttered to myself

“Just the damn deer”

Feeling a little more confident, I walked into the showroom and looked around. The space was large, three times larger than the original house. I slowly walked through, weaving my way between exhibits. On the far side of the space, I found that a red fox display had fallen over. It was a newer display, a handsome fox standing proudly among a well-decorated platform of tall grass and small trees. The whole thing was toppled on its side, knocking the fox from its position; the poor thing lay off to the side.

“Crap,”

I mumbled as I lifted the scene to its proper position and gently laid the fox against it, making a mental note to repair it in the morning. Looking at the wall behind the display, I noticed a bunch of scratch marks on the wall surrounding the fox’s scene. Frowning, I convinced myself some squirrel or maybe a raccoon had gotten in here and caused a racket. I checked the doors and windows to ensure they were all locked, and they were. Satisfied, I returned to the hallway, and leaving the showroom light on, I returned to bed.

As sleep began to reclaim me, a final thought ran through my mind, one I wish I had acted on:

“A real deer’s eyes reflect light, but the mount's eyes are just beads.”

The next morning came sooner than I wanted. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I walked down the stairs. The strange events of the night before felt like an odd dream that was fading with every step I took. As I entered the showroom, I looked at the buck on the wall; it was still there, staring at the black bear on its left as it had always been. I yawned and walked over to the fox exhibit, and after examining it, I decided super glue was all that was necessary to reattach it.

I walked towards the workshop, but before reaching it, I froze. To my left was an incredible display of a mature mountain lion posed on a rock, ready to pounce. It was one of Dad’s favorites, a staple piece in the shop. But something was wrong; this display was supposed to have the cat with its mouth wide open in a vicious snarl. But the cat I saw had its mouth closed. I stared at it for a good while. Then I rubbed my eyes hard to be sure I was seeing right. The mouth was closed. I had seen poses fail before; it happens from time to time when brackets aren’t tight enough, or glue weakens. I had seen a closed jaw fall open before, but an open jaw close? Not possible. Slowly I reached my hand out and touched the jaw; it was firm, as if it had always been that way. Confusion filled my mind, and I ran a hand through my hair. It was then that I felt it. Hate. Anger. I looked around at the room full of dead animals; none of them had moved, but it felt like every eye in the place stared at me with a malicious rage.

The room felt hot, and I backed myself into the workshop; I needed to get out. I had been cooped up in the store for weeks; maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Thankfully, I had the perfect excuse to leave; the newly finished order needed to be shipped, and the 45-minute drive to the nearest UPS drop-off was just the breath of fresh air I needed. So, I boxed up the order, hung the ‘closed’ sign in the window, and hopped into my pickup and headed out.

The hours away were good; in fact, they are among some of the last pleasant hours I remember. Driving back, I could feel dread growing in my gut; the change in the lion was something I couldn’t explain. As my house came into view, I thought about leaving and never coming back. I wish now I had, but something stopped me. This was the only thing left of my Dad, and in a way it was part of who I was.

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the showroom and entered by the main door. Slowly, I walked over to the lion and, to my disbelief, its mouth was open, in the same snarled position I remembered.

I didn’t know what to do. I told myself my mind was just playing tricks on me, but if that were true, why did I feel so uncomfortable in my own home? Why did I feel watched? Why did I get uneasy looking at the animals in the showroom?

It took a while, but I finally convinced myself that I was just tired and overworked; it must have been a trick of the mind. I left the light on in the showroom and went to the kitchen to cook dinner. That night, a bad storm hit the area. I was sitting in the living room watching some tv when the power went out. Swearing under my breath, I stumbled my way to the kitchen to get the flashlight from the drawer. I swallowed hard when I remembered where I had to go. The breaker box was in the showroom.

The thin beam of the flashlight filled the hallway with an eerie glow, and as I turned to enter the showroom, its light was consumed by the vastness of the space. No eyes looked back at me this time; everything looked to be in its place. The breaker box was on the far wall near the workshop. I weaved my way between the displays; the flashlight illuminated each one with vivid detail before it disappeared when the light moved on. In the quiet darkness, the place felt abandoned. No sound could be heard other than my cautious footsteps and fast heartbeat.

I reached the breaker box; its small metal door opened with a low squeak. I fixed the beam of light on the breakers and began to flip each switch. From far off in the house, I could hear each section coming back to life in turn. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard the distinctive sound of feathers flapping. It sounded like a huge bird was stretching its wings. I whipped around, bringing the beam of light with me. The light settled on a large hawk with its wings stretched out wide. The hawk rested on the back of a deer that stood only four feet from me. It wasn’t supposed to be there. My hands shook as I stared into its lifeless eyes. This bird hadn’t been there when I stopped at the breaker. But it was there now. I backed up against the wall, keeping the beam locked on the bird. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the showroom lights flipped on. I breathed a sigh of relief as I slipped into the workshop. I didn’t want to go back through the showroom, so I walked out the back door of the workshop and around the perimeter to my home's kitchen door.

The following weeks dragged by; the showroom lights stayed on 24/7. I found myself avoiding the space as often as I could, opting to walk around the building from the outside to get to the workshop. It occurred to me that Dad never spent much time in the showroom; he only really spent time there when helping a customer or setting up a new display. As long as the lights were on, everything was ok. I found myself settling into a routine, and even started enjoying life outside of work. Some nights I made the 45-minute drive to town to enjoy a few drinks and live music at the local bar. Life was feeling normal again.

Then last weekend I decided to get away for a bit. I had been invited to the wedding of one of my old high school buddies, and I figured I’d make a weekend of it. I hadn’t taken a trip in years, and renting a weekend hotel room 2 hours away sounded like a great chance to recharge. I made sure the showroom lights were on before locking every door and hitting the road.

The wedding was nice, as nice as small-town weddings can be; a gentle snow came down as the happy couple left the chapel. After a few drinks and small talk, I left the venue and walked to my nearby hotel; the snow was beginning to pick up. The next day was Saturday, and I slept in. In reality, I was asleep till 3 pm; having a weekend without responsibilities was very nice, and I’ll admit I slept better away from the showroom. When I woke up, there was a full-on blizzard going on outside; it must have been snowing all night. I made my way to the lobby and settled down with a book in a cozy armchair by the large fireplace. Above the mantle hung the majestic head of an elk; I couldn’t tell if it was my Dad’s work or not. I read well into the evening, but shortly after 8 pm the hotel lost power.

I walked over to the front desk where a young man was frantically trying the phone.

“The lines are dead.” He declared as I walked up; he pulled his iPhone from his pocket, and he examined it for a while before I asked

“How bad is it?”

He looked up at me before replying

“Bad. Officials are saying the entire region is in the dark; I’m seeing lost power as far away as three hours.”

I must have gone pale because he said

“Hey, don’t worry, they’ll fix it, and in the meantime just stay close to the fire.”

I nodded but quickly made my way to the parking lot.

The drive home was terrible; the roads were empty, which was good, but no plows had cleared the steep mountain passes I had to cross, turning a 2-hour drive into a 4-hour drive. Fear filled me as I entered the nearest town to home and found it completely dark. I still had 45 minutes to go, but it was already after midnight. When I pulled up to my home, it was dark and lifeless. Steadying my breath, I walked briskly to the front door of the showroom. Dad had always kept an emergency generator in the back corner; I would just have to get it running. When I reached the door, my stomach dropped as I saw that it stood slightly open. I vividly remember locking the door. I tried my best to calm down as I turned on my phone flashlight and slowly pushed open the door.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” I said in a low voice

I scanned the room with the tiny light; to my shock, the animals were gone. The mounts were still on the wall, but the heads were gone. The displays stood on the floor, but every animal was missing. Everything was still there except the animals. Near panic, I explored the space; not a single animal could be found. Making my way to the generator, I froze when I saw that it had been torn to shreds.

As I stared at the mangled machine, a loud metallic crash came from the workshop. It sounded like a pile of tools had fallen on the hardwood floor. I turned to the open doorway; my light didn’t reach into that darkness. I lowered my light and inched my way closer, making it to the doorframe. In the darkness, I could make out a monstrous shape. Its uneven, lopsided back was towards me, though it was hunched over; the hump of its back grazed the ceiling. It was eating a half-finished mount on the workbench. Its body was a patchwork of lion fur, bird feathers, deer hide, and alligator scales. It was roughly man-shaped, but no part of it belonged together. It looked like dozens of dead animals had been stitched into a single body and forced back to life. It was rotting and stiff. Dead, taxidermized forms welded together into a mockery of life.

I raised the flashlight, hardly believing what I was seeing. The beam settled across its back. It froze. I held my breath. Then it turned to face me. Its head was the largest elk found in the showroom, though on one side a bear's head was meshed into the neck and on the other the smaller face of a fox. Three pairs of reflective eyes stared down at me. A low gurgle emerged from the elk head; it morphed into a coyote scream before shifting into an elk call and releasing a single word.

“youuuu.” It was monotone and sounded unnatural, like something without vocal cords speaking.

I was frozen; fear kept me in place, and by the time I came to my senses, the thing had already grabbed my right wrist.

“youuuu.” It said again, with anger

Its other hand grasped two of my fingers on my right hand.

“youuuu.” It screamed

In one fluid motion, it ripped the two fingers from my hand. It released my wrist, and I screamed as blood gushed out. I watched in horror as it took my lifeless fingers and stuck them to its hand; my fingers twitched and wiggled as they joined its mangled form. Its faces stared at me as I wailed, then the thing screamed in anger and batted my body across the workshop. I collided with the wall and fell to the floor. Dazed, I watched the thing turn and move my way. Bruised and in pain, I crawled to the back door, and pulled myself through, and fell into a snowdrift outside. Stumbling to my feet, the pain in my side told me I had broken a rib. I hobbled my way into the woods in the direction of town; the snow was up to my knees.

The roar of a bear that then morphed into the piercing call of an elk told me my attacker was following. I pulled myself through the snow; its cold surface stung my body. Glancing back now and then, I saw that the thing was following; it was never too far. Its stitched-together body twitched and lurched through the snow. My hands and feet grew numb, and my pace slowed. A few hours before sunrise, all feeling in my limbs was gone, my nose was cold, and I stopped shivering a long time ago. At 7:30, the sun peeked over the mountains, and I collapsed on the side of the road into town.

I’ve been in the hospital for days; some trucker stopping in town saw my body and rushed me to the county hospital. The three remaining fingers on my right hand are severely frostbitten; I may lose them. They’ve already removed dead tissue from my ears and nose. They’ve treated my broken ribs and say I’m lucky to be alive; I guess I am. It’s dark now. As I write this, I occasionally look out the window; there in the distance at the edge of the woods stands my monster. It's watching me. The night air is filled with coyote howls, mountain lion screams, and elk bugles.

I think I finally understand what Dad meant when he wrote that the faces knew my face. I don't know what that thing is, or why it wants me. I only know that it followed me here. It found me in the woods, and now it's waiting outside my window.

It knows my face.