text: [Themes: horror, romance]
  
  You are wearing nothing but a hoodie, and the evening is growing cold. You are in no condition to go prowling around the fields of the Elsinore Farm looking for mysterious creatures in the night. Perhaps you hate almost everybody inside that house, but the news you have to share pertains to them as much as it does you.
  
  The door slams shut behind you, and you jog with your boots still on into the den. The Bills and Cowboys are still filling up the giant TV screen.
  
  "The play's the thing," Claude is saying. "If Buffalo is going to break open the game, they gotta make this play."
  
  "Guys," you say, and all three men turn with surprised expressions to look at you. "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead!"
  
  "Dead?" Paul says. "Didn't anybody remember to feed them?"
  
  "I'm not saying they starved," you say. "I'm saying they're dead."
  
  "Hammie, my dear son—" this is Claude speaking "—I'm not sure what distinction you're trying to make."
  
  "Dear Uncle Father, perhaps if you could be so motivated to get off your ass and come have a look, you can see for yourself."
  
  In the words your grandmother might have once used, Claude is a puke — but this is the same grandmother who brought your former uncle into the world, so perhaps Gramma might have seen things differently in this particular circumstance. But you can't stand the bastard, or the way he swept in and took over the farm by marrying your mother before you had a chance to legally inherit the place. Therefore by your estimation you are under no obligation to make a pretense at liking the bastard.
  
  But your proclamation about the dogs has caught the attention of the kitchen, and now Gertrude has entered the den. "By all means, do show us, Hammie. Claude, I hung your jacket up in the closet."
  
  A moment later the entire household has stepped out into the driveway, where you present as Exhibits A and B the frayed ends of the steel cables, where each of the two dogs should be. Larry seems especially bored, as if he were expecting to see actual bodies. Gertrude watches politely from the porch, as if she is having a hard time seeing what the issue is, but wants to feign interest anyway if this is important to you, he only child. But Paul and Claude are taking the evidence to heart; each man is holding one of the severed leads and pondering the mangled ends.
  
  "This isn't natural," Paul says.
  
  "No, most certainly it isn't," Claude says. "I suspect foul play."
  
  "But who?" Paul asks.
  
  Claude knows the stories about them as much as you do. In fact, back in the days when you actually liked the asshole, he was the one who told you some of the tales about the vicious beasts that came up from the ground on cold nights when the earth was frozen. So what he says next takes you by complete surprise.
  
  "I'll bet you anything it was the Fortinbras kids. You know, from up in the Town of Norway."
  
  "That seems like a long way to come down here just to steal a couple mutts," Paul says.
  
  "It's not so far as you might think," Claude counters, dropping his lead back on the pavement. "Just take Route 8 through the village of Poland, and you can be in Utica in maybe half an hour. Maybe an hour, tops, between their place and ours."
  
  "But why would they do such a thing?" Gertrude asks from the porch.
  
  "How would I know? Maybe they're still upset that we got the Chobani contract and they didn't."
  
  You almost never noticed Ophelia standing behind you, trying to get your attention. She seems hesitant at first, perhaps fearful of either your reaction or that of her father, but while Claude and Paul are discussing the most direct route between Elsinore and Norway she steps forward and whispers into your ear.
  
  "This had nothing to do with Tyler Fortinbras," she says.
  
  You turn to look at her.
  
  "It was them," she says. "Just like in the stories."
  
  "HAMMIE!" Claude shouts, apparently after several repeated attempts to get your attention.
  
  "Yes, mother?" you say, hoping he takes the bait. But he doesn't.
  
  "Hammie, I need you to come with us to Norway," he says. "We plan to have some words with Old Man Fortinbras, and the more of us who are there the stronger an impression we'll make."
  
  "I don't really think—" you start to say.
  
  "Hammie, you should go!" Gertrude encourages. "The change of scenery will do you good."
  
  Sure. Being stuck in a car with the bastard as you go on a pointless errand will make you forget the death of your old father and come to love the new one.
  
  "I insist on it," Claude says.
  
  Ophelia, on the other hand, is shaking her head and mouthing the word no, as if she has some other plan in mind. But when her father sees this, he steps forward and intervenes.
  
  "My dear daughter," Paul says. "Perhaps you should go inside. It's cold out and you aren't wearing a coat."
  
  This leaves you with a decision to make: go with Claude and Paul to Norway, or defy everyone and see what Ophelia is trying to tell you?
  
  > find out what Ophelia has to say.
  "I'm going to be absolutely blunt with you, Claude. These dogs aren't in Norway, and Fortinbras had nothing to do with it."
  
  "My dear Hammie," he says, "how could you possibly be so sure?"
  
  You see Ophelia approaching the door to the house, but turning one more time to look at you. And you see Paul Onius watching both of you with envy. It occurs to you that speaking with your old lover would be easier if these two crazy people were removed from the scene, so you decide that a change in tactics is required.
  
  "You're right, I don't know," you say. "You guys absolutely should drive up to Norway. I can't go, though; I promised Mr. Seymour I'd help with the cows tonight."
  
  "Have it your way, then," Claude says. And when he and Paul drive away into the night, you head into the house to find Ophelia.
  
  It's not hard to do, considering she went no further than the den.
  
  "OK, tell me what you're thinking," you say.
  
  "So, it's right down to business, is it?" she says. "I see, then."
  
  You're not sure what step it is you just missed, but then that's been the problem these last few months, hasn't it? Here she is, living in your house, and you still can't find a way to connect with her.
  
  "You mentioned them," is all you can think to say. "The stories about... you know."
  
  "Yes, I do know," she retorts. "But I just want to make sure we're both on the same page about all this."
  
  "The stories I'm talking about are the ones about the vicious mole-beasts that live underground, coming up to feed only when the nights are freezing to feed on livestock," you say.
  
  "Then good, we're on the same page. Now what are we going to do about it?"
  
  "What do you mean?"
  
  "I mean we have a theory that these strange beasts are running wild on the farm tonight, eating dogs from the driveway and God knows what else," Ophelia says. "But does either of us know what we're looking for? Or what we should do if we find it?"
  
  "Maybe we should get more information," you say. "Who was that fellow that dug my father's grave? He seemed to know a lot about these kinds of things."
  
  "Would you even know where to find him?"
  
  "As I recall, he usually hangs out at the pub."
  
  "It's Thanksgiving," she says. "They're probably closed. And besides, there's no time for that. If the beast that killed the dogs is still on Elsinore, we need to corner it now. The more people we have helping us, the better."
  
  "Who do you have in mind?"
  
  "The Thompson brothers down the road, Marcellus and Bernardo."
  
  > seek out the grave digger at the pub.
  The pub that the grave digger likes to frequent is called Stockdale's, and while you don't know offhand if the place is open on Thanksgiving it won't take long to drive into town and find out. So you and Ophelia climb into your old Chevy truck and drive away from Elsinore.
  
  Indeed the pub is closed, but the Nice-n-Easy down the street is open, so you decide to check there to see if anyone can help you out. There is no one in the store except the cashier, but as it turns out asking about the whereabouts of an individual can be difficult when you know so few biographical details.
  
  "You know, the guy who digs graves and hangs out at Stockdale's?" you say.
  
  "Oh, him," the cashier finally says. "If the pub isn't open, I think you can find him at the diner in Whitesboro, right on the boulevard. They should be open tonight."
  
  And indeed the diner on the boulevard in Whitesboro is open, and the talkative guy who dug your father's grave is sitting at one of the booths.
  
  "Aye," he says, "this is certainly the kind of night they would be out and about. The cold weather brings 'em up to the surface. They need to feed, you see. Ain't no earthworms big enough to fatten a creature that size. That's an interesting hat you're wearing."
  
  This last comment is addressed to Ophelia. "It is?" she says.
  
  "Yeah," the grave digger says. "Where did you find it?"
  
  "I don't know, somewhere at Elsinore," she says. "I lost all my stuff in the flood. This was the first thing I found that fit."
  
  "Do you know whose hat that was?" he says. "That hat, miss, was Yorick's hat. Even that." He nods smugly, pleased with himself for making this arcane connection.
  
  "Look, we have no time for this," you cut in. "We think we have one of those beasts running around the farm. It took two dogs while we were eating dinner, and we want to know what is it, and what can we do to stop it?"
  
  "Oh, there's nothing you can do," the grave digger says. "Better'n you have tried. There's a reason why no one has ever taken a picture of one, or shown the world a body."
  
  "But even a creature such as this must have a vulnerability, no?" Ophelia says.
  
  "These are creatures of the shadows," he says. "From the shadows, to the shadows. They kill, and viciously, because it comes easy to them. They are nature's revenge on the human race: just when we think we can harness everything she has created, here she comes with something beyond our control. The creature who killed your dogs today was indeed a Vicious Mole of Nature."
  
  You think the grave digger for his time and pay for his coffee. Then you and Ophelia return to your truck.
  
  "That was enlightening," you say.
  
  "That was frustrating," she says. "I feel like we've been pursuing the wrong path."
  
  "Well, then we'll just have to return to Elsinore and pursue a different one," you say.