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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Weird-Suggestion-152 on 2024-09-26 13:22:07+00:00.

When I got the call about my father’s death, I decided to drive straight across the country to the funeral. I wasn’t particularly close with my father, and it wasn’t out of the need of closure; no, it was for the inheritance my mother told me I couldn’t have unless I came. While I wasn’t keen on the idea of seeing my family, I could definitely use the money. No need to overcomplicate things, drive there, get in, get out. That was the plan.

I was traveling through bumfuck nowhere Iowa when it happened. My Chevy began to sputter, and my engine light began to blink. I cursed, flicked on the emergency lights, and coasted onto the shoulder, my car coming to rest with a final pathetic cough.

Grabbing my phone, I checked for service. Of course, there was none. I hadn’t seen another car or sign of life for miles. I recalled seeing a rundown gas station a couple miles back, and decided making the walk was my only option.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself, stepping out of the car. The road was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The wind rustled the corn, an occasional gust carrying with it a thick, earthy scent. I locked my car and started walking.

I arrived just as the sun began to set, sweaty, exhausted, and thirsty. The gas station, like most things around here, seemed stuck in time. A rusty sign that read “Harper’s Fuel & Goods” hung above the single weathered fuel pump out front. A faint buzzing noise came from the flickering “Open” neon light in the window.

I pushed the door open. The bell above jingled weakly, barely audible. The inside was dimly lit, shelves lined with old cans of beans, dusty bottles of water, and a few bags of chips. Behind the counter sat an old man, thin as a scarecrow, his skin weathered. He had a calm, distant look in his eyes, as though he’d been waiting for someone for a long time.

“Car trouble I take it?” he asked, his voice a gravelly rasp.

“Yeah, broke down couples miles up the road. No service either.” I tried to sound casual, but something about the place made me uneasy. In my mind, I was thinking this place looked just like the kind of gas station in horror movies, just before the main character is being chased by a group of inbred killers.

He nodded slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “Ain’t much for signal out here. Nearest town’s quite a ways off.”

“Yeah, I figured,” I said, glancing around the store. “Any chance you know of any motels, or someone who could tow me?”

His lips pulled into a slow, thin smile. “Well, I ain’t no tow man, but I reckon I can help. I live just up the road. Got some tools back at the farm. You can stay the night, we’ll see about fixin’ your car in the mornin’.”

I hesitated. The offer set off alarms in my head. But what choice did I have? My legs already ached, and my stomach was empty. Making the walk back to my car didn’t seem like an option. “Alright,” I said finally. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Frank’s truck was old and rusted, the engine loud as we rattled down a dirt road. The fields stretched out on either side, the setting sun casting long shadows over the corn stalks. The farm came into view, a white, weathered house surrounded by a couple of barns and a silo. It looked like the kind of place time had forgotten, untouched by anything modern. The paint was peeling, and the porch sagged, but hey, it was a home. Far better than the empty road behind me.

As we pulled up, the porch light flickered on, and I saw them. An older woman, two young adults, and two younger children standing on the steps. They stood perfectly still, watching the truck approach.

We stepped out of the truck. “That there’s my wife, Sue,” Frank said, “and our kids—John and Mary, and their little ones, Billy and Ruth.” I was confused for a moment at the way he introduced them. John and Mary’s… little ones? Do you mean…. No, I must’ve been mistaken. An awkward moment of silence passed as I was stuck in my thoughts. “Nice to meet you all, thanks for having me,” I forced out.

“Kid here has some car troubles, told him he could stay the night was us”, Frank told Sue. There was something strange about their faces, a certain dullness to their expressions. Still, I forced a polite smile. Sue smiled warmly as I approached, wiping her hands on a faded apron. “You must be hungry. Supper’s almost ready. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Thank you,” I said, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm, and her skin felt rough, calloused in a way that spoke of years of hard labor.

The two other, younger adults, John and Mary, stood by the door, watching me without a word. Their eyes were unblinking, and their lips thin. Something about them gave me the creeps. They were like mirror images of one another, twins maybe? The children, Billy and Ruth, were even more unsettling. Their features were distorted, with wide, gap-toothed smiles, crooked eyes, and heads that seemed too large for their small bodies. They clung to their mother’s dress, their eyes wide and unblinking.

Frank ushered me inside before I had time to dwell on it. The house was dimly lit, the walls lined with faded wallpaper and old wooden furniture. The smell of cooked meat filled the air, mingling with the smell of mold. It was a heavy smell, and it made my stomach churn.

The dining room was small, with a long wooden table in the center. Plates were already set, and Sue wasted no time in serving up slabs of meat and mashed potatoes. The food looked hearty enough, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. The meat was dark and almost black in places, and the potatoes were watery, pooling at the bottom of the plate.

“Eat up,” Sue said, settling down across from me. Frank sat at the head of the table, and the children lined either side. Their eyes never left me, watching with that same blank expression as I picked up my fork.

“So, where ya headed?” Frank asked, breaking the silence.

“Funeral,” I said. “Out in Ohio. Just passing through.”

Sue clucked her tongue sympathetically. “That’s a long way. You’ll need your strength for a trip like that.”

I nodded, taking a tentative bite. The meat was tough, its texture stringy and oily, and the taste was metallic. I forced it down, feeling bile rise in my throat.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?” Frank asked, his grin widening.

“Oh, sorry, just tired,” I muttered, glancing around the table. The kids were still watching me, their eyes unnervingly wide, their heads bobbing slightly with every bite they took.

The longer I sat there, the more I felt the walls closing in around me. The house was stifling, the air thick and oppressive. The food sat like a stone in my stomach.

“Well, you’ll sleep good tonight. Ain’t nothin’ out here but peace and quiet,” Frank said, his smile never fading.

The bedroom they offered me was small, sparse, just a single bed with an old, sagging mattress, a nightstand, and a dresser. The window overlooked the cornfields, stretching out endlessly into the night. The room smelled faintly of mildew, and the wallpaper was peeling in places. As I sat on the bed, it creaked under my weight.

I tried to relax, but something about the house felt wrong. The way the family had stared at me all through dinner, the strange, almost robotic way they moved… it was all too much.

The bed was uncomfortable, but exhaustion started to creep in. I lay back, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the sounds of the house settling in the night. “I’ll be out of here tomorrow”, I reminded myself.

That’s when I heard the door creak open down the hall.

I froze, listening as footsteps, slow and deliberate, moved down the hallway. I got up quietly, listening, when I heard the front door open. I made my way to the window, peering through the thin curtains.

Frank and his family were heading out into the yard, moving in single file toward the barn. The two younger children, Billy and Ruth, followed behind, their misshapen heads bobbing as they walked. There was something disturbingly ritualistic about their movement, a strange, silent procession under the moonlight.

They reached the barn, and one by one, they disappeared inside.

My heart pounded in my chest. Every instinct told me not to follow, but something stronger, some morbid curiosity, pushed me to find out what they were doing in there.

I slipped out of the room, moving quietly down the stairs and out the front door. The night air was cold, biting at my skin as I made my way toward the barn. The wind rustled the cornfields, and the smell of earth grew stronger with every step, and the smell of something else, decay, got stronger with every step closer to the barn.

When I reached the barn, the doors were slightly ajar, just enough for me to peer inside.

What I saw stopped my heart.

The family stood in a circle around a crude wooden altar. Each of them wore the head of a cow. Real cow heads, not masks. The flesh was rotting, and the eyes were hollowed out, leaving only dark, gaping holes for them to peer out of. The heads were stitched to ragged cow hide robes that hung off their bodies. The smell inside the barn was unbearable, the smell of rotting meat and death.

But it wasn’t the family that made my blood run cold. It was what stood in the center of the altar.

The thing was massive, its body a grotesque fusion of man and cow. Its legs were bent and twisted, ending in hooves, but its torso was humanoid, muscular and covered in patches of matted fur. Its arms were …

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