The storm had been raging for hours, sheets of rain hammering against the roof of your farmhouse.

You’d been trying to convince yourself to stay inside. The noises you’d heard—low growls, the rustle of hay—had to be your imagination. But as another clap of thunder shook the house, the strange sounds echoed through the storm louder than ever. Something was in the barn, and it wasn’t small.

Grabbing a lantern, you ventured out into the tempest. The rain drenched you immediately, and as you pushed the barn door open, the dim light of your lantern revealed a horrific sight.

There, in the middle of the barn, crouched a hulking figure. Its grotesque form was partially obscured by shadow, but the light caught enough details to make your stomach churn. Four massive arms—two furred, one scaled, one pale and hairless—jerked and fidgeted as they clutched at a rat. The creature’s teeth tore into the animal, crunching bones with a desperate ferocity. It didn’t seem to notice you at first, too consumed by its hunger.

Then, you shifted your weight, and the wooden floor creaked.

The creature froze. Slowly, its head turned toward you, and the lantern’s light revealed its face—a horrifying patchwork of features that didn’t belong together. One eye was human, wide and bloodshot, while the other was reptilian, its slit pupil narrowing in the light. A jagged scar ran down the center of its green face, and its jaws trembled as it locked eyes with you.

The creature flinched, dropping the half-eaten rat to the ground. It made a low, guttural noise, part growl, part whimper, as its massive body trembled. Then, as if on cue, a bolt of lightning split the sky, flooding the barn with blinding light.

The creature howled—a sound so full of terror and pain. It scrambled backward, its mismatched limbs clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to retreat. The creature pressed itself against the far wall, its hulking form shaking violently.

“We… Meat,” it rasped, its voice fractured and broken. “Don’t… hurt… Meat!”