The loggers reached the dilapidated farmhouse amid stumps and foggy morning light.
“How?” one asked. “This wasn’t here when we clear-cut last week!”
He opened its door, then screamed facing a huge double pupil.
The house groaned, rising on arthropodic legs that emerged with the car-sized pincer that seized him.
Text is Copyright © 2018 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.