The Husker

         I never had a reason to leave my farm until now. Just for the record, my name is Buck Hanson and my wife is named Beth Hanson. We had recently gotten married… less than a month ago. I am still trying to figure out why a girl like her would want to marry a 5 ft.9, brown eyed and haired farmer. After I encountered the monsters living in the field I had dropped everything and left. Everything except my journal, rifle, and my six-shooter revolver.
         Now the farm I re-purchased the house from an old man who had gone missing… The farm is eight acres, with a cornfield surrounding the house and barn. The only way in and out of the farm is through a dirt road going straight in between the cornfield. There is always a feeling of being watched as you drive through the cornfield.
The white farmhouse has two levels the ground floor and basement. On the ground floor, there is the kitchen, living room, a bathroom, and the laundry room. The basement includes a gun safe, the master bedroom, food storage, my old room, and the dining room.
         The barn holds the vehicles and tools. We own two ATVs, a tractor, and a blue Chevrolet truck. The tools include a lot of what you would expect on a farm a lot of farming equipment. The barn is locked at all times unless a tool is needed for work on the farm.
         Now here is an important thing to know about the farm, we have no neighbors for ten miles in any direction. The police would be too late if someone had broken into our house, on that note we own several guns. We own two HK416 assault rifles each with thirty-round extended magazines, four double barrel shotguns; two which are sawn-off, and a single six-shooter revolver. We own enough ammo to fill a silo to the brim with assault rifle cartridges. Some may say all the arsenal isn’t necessary, but the police won’t arrive any quicker. I also own gas masks with several freshly packaged air filters in the metal box next to it.
         Some say I am prepared for war or that I have too big of an arsenal for hunting. Well if you must know why I am armed to the teeth here you go. I am afraid of what can happen, anything can happen when you least expect it. You are probably thinking that I have no reason to fear what never is going to happen. Well when I reassure myself that it won’t happen, take a guess what happens. That is why I am prepared so when I least expect something, I will be prepared for it.
         I tried to reason with myself what had happened on the farm was not real. I thought it was all a fucked up dream after a night of drinking. I was torn between emotions that ripped me back and forth in despair and hatred for them. When I was a ten-year-old, I had a dog named Sam.
Sam was a German Shepard who had been my dog since I was six years old. He had been my best friend; well, my only friend. I was not a social child but Sam was my best friend. We did everything together run or go to my other family members house. He had gone missing from my front yard in the middle of the night, he never came back. When I woke up in the morning my father was sitting at the table in the dining room rubbing a bottle of scotch. Laid on the middle of the table was my grandpa’s old six-shooter pistol, fully loaded the barrel aimed at the door. It was handed down from father to son when he turns
         I remember breaking down crying as he nodded solemnly, he just stayed there not budging from the table. He didn’t walk over to comfort me all he did watch me with his bloodshot eyes and take another swig of cheap scotch. Something had been bothering him as his hand was shaking when he had brought the bottle up to his lips. When I had asked about what had happened he declined to talk about the event. If he would have told me what had happened I may have left the farm a while ago.
…
         It was a day in the middle of August when the corn was higher than my height… that means it is some good corn. Beth was making some grub as the sun crept down the crest of the darkening horizon, the full moon rising against the sun. The two of us had been sitting down at the dinner table looking at mail which consisted of bills and a single newspaper. Now the night was quiet with the occasional howl from the lone coyote, except this night was deathly quiet. This had concerned me for it was in the middle of the summer and the cicadas song was silent. Not even a single chirp was heard from the open window, that was until I heard a creak from a floorboard on my porch.
         Beth had gone to the gun safe across the room attaching a flashlight mod, that I forgot we had bought from a military surplus store. I was handed one of the rifles with an extra magazine, I slipped the six-shooter revolver into the leather holster on my chest. I know you are thinking that this was not necessary and we did not need the rifles and pistol. Well, the thing about that is when that creak was heard from the porch it was followed by a crick. It was not a sound a cicada made, I am not sure it was even a crick.
         “Wait do you hear that?” I said listening to a faint creak, creak, creak of the floorboards in the upper part of the house. The sound getting faster as it found the door to the basement, slam, slam, slam the door echoed with every punch. I was tossed a gas mask with an air filter attached to the mask. The mask was on in a second the inside echoing with every breath from the air filter.
         I positioned myself behind the overturned fridge aiming the rifle at the stairs, Beth aiming at the stairs kneeling with the gun’s butt against her shoulder. The door shattered splinters raining down the stairs landing on each step. What I saw next was branded into my brain that would haunt me every time I close my eyes.
         Thump… Thump… Thump creaked the stairs as every foot was set on each step, the foot that appeared was a vile leg. The leg of what I now call a husker was rotted to the bone with flesh hanging from the rotted appendage. As his body emerged traversing from the stairs his stomach continued with the theme of the rot. Where his heart should be there is a whole curled up inside is the stalk and leaves from a corn plant. The leaves were glistening as it wrapped around of the heart which was torn and bloody.
         The arm was long and gray with the husk of corn wrapped around the shoulders. It dragged its arms across the stairs dropping onto each step. The hand… paw… talon, serrated with bloodied to the knuckle as the gray flesh pulsated as it dropped on each step.
         I heard the telltale sign that this thing was alive as the heart busted up and down. The face looked as if Satan had created a hodgepodge of a human and an animal that looked as if it was from the ninth ring of hell. When I saw the face of the creature I felt burning bile rise in my throat choking my every breath into a labored stance. I recoiled at what the face had resembled, the creature cocked its head to face me.
         The reason after all of these years the creature haunted me… The reason why I have nightmares. The reason why I fucking vomit at the thought of the creature is that the face was of Sam. The German Shepard that had gone missing off of the front porch all those years ago was staring back at me. I looked at Beth who had hefted the rifle up aiming down the sight of the gun, I did the same as it stepped it’s rotting right foot off of the stairs. Beth had kneeled next to me while I was entranced by the grotesque face of the creature.
         The bullet tore through the creature's snout as it took it’s left foot off the stair. The face was blown off, but it wasn’t dead it charged full force into Beth. The arm slammed into her in full force, I fired shot after shot into the bleeding creature’s face. I was slammed into the wall dropping my gun on the floor, from behind the creature I heard a bang. The creature looked at Beth with a hunters attitude, she fired shot after shot into the creature. It grabbed Beth by the neck raising it up above itself, I slowly got up from the floor with a gash in my arm.
         “Put her fucking down!” I screamed at the creature who turned to face me. “Put her fucking down, drop her!”
         I heard the guttural growl from the inside of the creature. It did not comply Beth screamed hoarsely echoing from the mask. The creature threw Beth over her shoulder blood splurting all over her, I cried in the mask.
“Let her fucking go! What the hell are you!?” I screamed in pain as my eyes turning blood red ignoring all reality. As soon as I unholstered the pistol the rotting arm slammed into my gut, I flew back into the wall. I was knocked out for what seemed like hours, I woke up in a pool of blood. I ripped off my mask gasping for air as I clutched my stomach in pain. I squinted trying to survey the scene around me. I saw the shards of the door on the floor around the stairs, the face of my dog in pieces with bone fragments. I vomited on the floor as I croaked for Beth looking around the room. I saw the other gun on the floor of the room with blood splattered on it.
         I found her cell on the floor that had dropped onto the floor during the struggle that had occurred less than an hour ago. I picked it up dialing the number I was drilled to use as a child if anything had happened. The police arrived in twenty minutes as I sat on the porch clutching my stomach, they ran over to see the carnage as they called for a ambulance. The last words I heard from one of the officers before I had passed out was, “Oh my god.”
         When I woke up my Dad came to visit he had sat next to me when I got up, I looked at him with anger, sadness and confusion. He stared at me with bloodshot eyes and complete desolation in the glint of his eyes.
         “Why didn’t you tell me?” I screamed through painful breaths, “What the hell are those things and why the fuck didn’t you goddamn tell me!?”
         “If I told you, you wouldn’t have believe me. The creature is called a Husker, they had been living in the field for generations, it was there before the farm. I was told never… ever to buy that piece of land. After we had moved in, the Huskers began to come during the night. They took the pigs squealing, when they came back the next night the pigs were the face of the creature. When Sam barked at the door they ripped the dog from our home. I had a suppressor on the six-shooter that is why you didn’t hear the shots.” His face pale as he continued to explain, “Buck I had shot them repeatedly they did not die, we left that house as soon as the dog had gone. They can appear anywhere where a cornfield is they are not biased on who they take, even animals. I fear that there is something about the land that draws them from in the fields.”
         “They took Beth.” I solemnly said, “Beth had blown off its face but it was still alive.”
         He looked at me with a glint of hope in his eyes as I explained what had happened during the struggle. When I had finished speaking he said if the headshot had killed it, I had said no it was not a fatal shot. I decided to move across the country after my discharge a year earlier. A few minutes ago my father had shown up in front of my door… As one of them. I am currently hiding in my room with the six-shooter aimed at the door typing this with my free hand, everyone who knows of them is dead. The door is beginning to snap at the frame it is almost shattered.

The upload is almost done, the Husker is taking it’s time towards me;
Don’t be a hero, don’t fight. My arsenal hadn’t even dented the creature.
Just run... run for your -


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