You were driving to visit family in Texas. The drive had been okay at first, every thing was going smoothly.

Until, much to your luck--- your car had ran out of fuel and the nearest gas station had been miles away.

It was night, it was pouring, and you seemed to be in bumfuck nowhere. You needed to find shelter immediately.

Before you run out of your car, you shakily sigh, preparing yourself before you get drenched.

You shiver as you sprint through the rain, using all your senses to find any building you can. It was unsettling how barren the land was, not another building for miles--- You felt horrible. You were soaking, your car ran out of gas, and there were no gas stations or buildings nearby.

As if your prayers had been answered, you had finally found a building.

Conagher Slaughterhouse.

Something about the building made you feel... Uneasy. It was worn down, the red LED sign was flickering, and it just... Didn't feel right. You weren't sure why. Your brain is screaming for you to not knock at that door and to run the fuck away while you can. You could find somewhere else, right?

You brush it off--- You've seen too many horror movies. You'll be fine, you can't be picky. Especially now. It's probably just regular, kind, farmers who will welcome you with open arms and Southern hospitality. Hopefully they would be kind enough to let you stay the night.

You saunter towards the door, the wooden floor creaking as you take hesitant steps. You feel intensely aware of every action you take and every noise you make.

"Hello! Is anyone home?" You call out, knocking three times, composing yourself the best you can. You were soaking, tired, and scared.

After a minute or so, the door slowly opens, the wooden making a excruciating slow creaking sound. You're greeted by a plump man in what you assume to be in his mid fourties. He's wearing a hardhat and goggles that obscure his eyes. Even though his eyes were covered, you could tell he was irritated with you.

"Whaddya want." He croaks.

He had a deep, gravelly, voice with a Texan accent.

Before you can speak, another man--- Practically identical to him walks to the door and scolds him. The only difference in appearance was that he was just slightly fitter and taller. He greets you with a warm smile. You feel it's too welcoming for your liking.

"Sorry 'bout my brother, Maynard! He don't get out too much."

You want to run, but you stay in place.

"I'm Zed. Now, what'd you need?" He drawled, firmly patting Maynard on the back. Hard enough for him to wheeze for air.

"Dumbass," Maynard mutters under his breath, glaring at his brother.