It was just before sunset when I turned off the main road, riding that strange mix of excitement and dread. I’d passed the signs for miles—PETTING ZOO in bold hand-painted letters—and told myself I wouldn’t stop.
But I did. Of course I did.
The hard-packed dirt road wound through the trees for a couple miles before ending at a closed wooden gate. An odd-looking chain linked the fence—no lock, just tight loops carved in weather-worn wood.
A gangly teenager appeared from nowhere. He approached my window, making a cranking motion with his arm. The crank gesture, manual windows. Did kids even know that signal anymore?
“You here for the petting zoo?” he asked. Couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Overalls, dirty white T-shirt, acne blooming from his chin to his neck.
I glanced around. “Is there anything else out here?”
He looked genuinely confused. Like he didn’t know about the signs. Then: “That’ll be five dollars.”
I handed over the cash.
“No feeding the animal. Only pet him if he comes to you.” And just like that, he walked over and un-looped the chain.
Animal, singular?
I drove in past the gate and parked against the far fence of what looked like a massive horse corral. When I stepped out, the kid was gone and the chain was wrapped back around the gate. I walked toward it again, scanning for any sign of the overall-clad weirdo.
Was this part of the attraction? Or the start of a mistake?
The fencing stretched around the entire corral. No exit in sight. I reached the gate again and took a better look at the chain.
It wasn’t metal. Each link had been carved wooden loops, smooth and impossibly tight. Eight distinct symbols repeated along them: an Eye of Horus, a cross, a pentagram, a hand with an eye in the palm… and four others I didn’t recognize.
I called out. No response. Nothing but the wind and the creak of wood.
Fine. I’d leave. I turned toward my car.
There was a new opening in the fence beside it.
That hadn’t been there. Had it?
A sign read: Start Here →
Lights glowed low to the ground, hidden but steady. This was why I’d stopped, right? To see the animals. I stepped through the opening and followed the path.
The dirt path wound deeper into trees. Sparse at first, but growing denser, darker. Oddly, no fence extended past the opening. Just trees and trail. The further I walked, the tighter it felt.
I rounded a corner and heard it—a low bleat. Faint. Familiar. Animal.
Goat. The word came unbidden, like a memory or a warning.
The trail twisted again and opened into a clearing. Grass up to my knees. In the center stood a single goat—massive, like a statue come to life. Nearly three feet tall at the shoulder, built like a plow horse. Its coat was bone-white, but its head and neck were the color of dried blood.
It turned its head slowly. Its rectangular pupils locked on mine.
It didn’t move at first. Just stared. Unblinking. Then it made a sound—some horrible blend of scream and bleat. A war cry.
I took one step back.
The goat charged.
I spun and ran. The trail should’ve been straight, but the curves came fast, too fast. I ran hard—trees blurring, closing in, growing wrong. They were becoming too close, like I was being herded, then—
I crashed into the same clearing.
The monster stood waiting.
Frozen, I watched its mouth open. It screamed again.
This time, I didn’t wait. I ran.
I barely made it ten steps before it caught me, teeth sinking into my thigh. I screamed. Something crunched. I fell. The goat rammed my back, and I heard a rib snap. My lungs gave out.
As I gasped for air, it bit down again and began to drag me, backward.
I kicked, flailed, screamed. But its skull struck mine and the world caved in.
