She recoiled, held up the shield. It retreated into the darkness. Moxie looked back to her brother in the living room, but his eyes were closed. Gage said not to touch strange animals, she recalled, especially if they're sick. She slid the wooden sword back into her belt.

Gage jerked; a gentle finger had gently prodded his leg. "Yes, Moe," he rubbed his temple, "is everything okay?"

"I think there is a tusk-hog in the house," she pointed over to the kitchen. "You told me not to play with anymore wild animals…after the pole-cat," Moxie's face fell with the memory of Stink Kitty.

"You can't have a skunk as a pet," Gage rubbed his eyes. The country colloquialism bounced in his mind. He frowned, "Did you mean a boar?"

"Yeah," she placed fingers at both ends of her lips and stuck out her lower teeth.

"Where is it?" he stood up, listened, but the master bedroom was silent.

Moxie led the way, sword and shield at the ready. Big boots clomped with each step. Gage followed. She pointed at the dark corner. He looked, but saw nothing. The trash can was moved.

"See Moe," he took a flash light from a drawer, and shined at the spot.

Moxie peered down with a scowl, "It must have crawled down into the vent.

"Well," he switched off the light, "It is gone, now." When his sister's imagination was active, she could come up with some wild tales.

Gage put the flashlight back in the drawer. Memories of his mother, ones bright and happy, played in his mind. Every smile came with a slash of pain. The days ahead would be filled with misery, but most people brought some light into others' lives. Maybe, she finally escaped what hurt her, he hoped. I wished I could've loved her enough, so she'd wanted to stay. The thought came with more tears.

Moxie looked about the kitchen, brow drew down. The clang of metal and the clack of dished as sharp. She glanced back, at her brother, who sat on the couch. Again, the stench clawed at the air. Little claws clicked on the floor. She listened, and crept closer to it. Dishes, kept under the sink, clattered, and some broke. Gage sat up, frowned.

Beneath the sink, one of the cabinet door popped open an inch. Moxie jerked, "I'm not scared," she swore, brow down with a pout.

The sink cabinet door jittered, and she used the tip of the wooden sword to pry it open. Out the creature burst, hairless except for little tufts of hair. Molten skin was pinkish, scarred, and shifted under the surface. Moxie's eyes devoured it, recoiled, but its form defied coherence. Too human eyes rolled independent of the other. Just like a tusk-hog, she thought though her mind reeled, and recalled Brian's eyes. It squealed, which held a tinny whistle and insect clicks. Gage shot up, eyes wide, and she pointed at the foul little creature.

He leaped up from the couch, scowl deep. Moxie stepped back as it scrabbled away. Gage rushed into the kitchen.

"What is that?" he moved through the living room.

"This is a different one," she held up the wooden sword.

Gage thought of Brian and shook his head. He listened, but crept closer to the clicking of nails on the floor. The molten skin was pinkish like a pig, which had been badly burned. A raccoon, he mused though frowned, a mangy one that has been severely scarred. Closer he drew to the creature, but it slunk away.

"Is it a Hunky Punk?" Moxie shifted eyes widened. Her brother said monsters were always figments or misunderstandings. "Monsters are afraid of fire," she added, and hoped it helped.

"Don't be scared," he said.

"I'm not scared," she countered.

They followed the sound of its claws, labored breath. It muttered in idiot tones. I have to get it out of the house, Gage thought. He took the wooden sword from his sister, who curtseyed; he smiled but felt his stomach ache. Moxie moved over at his request, and she held up the shield.

Gage leaped out with the stick. He flinched at the creature before him. "MY GOD," he recoiled.

The canine-like creature screamed, voice high as a woman being impaled. Beside the four legs like a dog, another two sprouted from its ribs. Too human eyes rolled to him, and he thought of Brian. A bruised purple flame glimmered deep in its eyes. He opened his mouth, but only a squeak escaped.

"I killed and I killed," it swore in the rasp of his father.

"Gage," Moxie pleaded.

He held up the sword, though it shook in his hands. It rushed through the kitchen. Gage blinked, looked at his sister, and then forced his feet to move. The creature's hateful screech peeled out of its rubbery lips. He followed with Moxie behind him. Down into the vent it squeezed, where she had seen the other.

"I better tell Dad," he sighed, and swallowed down the bile that boiled up.

"Why was it talking?" she asked. "What is wrong with it?"!

He shook his head, and walked through the house to the master bedroom. Better to just act, he thought. Gage knocked, but it was silent. He tried again, but only quiet greeted them. Moxie bopped about behind him. Before he could try again, she pounded on the wood. Both stared at the door.

"I'm going to wake Mom up," she stomped down the hall, as the house popped and groaned.

"Wait," he dashed after her, and touched her shoulder.

Moxie turned back, "What is it, Sir Gage?"

His head fell, face pale except color high on his cheek. "You can't wake her," Gage wiped away a tear.

"What do you," she looked at him. He looks like the time Tipsy, my kitty, passed away. He said she went to live on another farm, but bubby is a terrible liar. Moxie's eyes widened, "Is Mom like Tipsy?"! The word came out in rushed blubber.

"I," he looked at the question in her eyes, but failed to say a comforting lie. "She is gone," Gage breathed low.