text: [Themes: horror, action, romance]
  
  "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."
  
  > solicit the help of the Thompson brothers.
  Marcellus and Bernardo Thompson live about a quarter-mile down the road from you. When you and Ophelia arrive, the brothers seem beside themselves with grief.
  
  "We lost our dog too," Marcellus says. "Francisco. We let him outside to pee, and we never saw him again."
  
  "You know what it was that did it, right?" Ophelia says.
  
  "One of them?" Bernardo says.
  
  "Yes," you say. "Obviously there is one running loose through this area, and we want to stop it before it does any further harm. Do you guys want in?"
  
  "Of course!" the brothers say practically at the same time.
  
  The Thompson house sits on a patch of low ground that narrowly avoided the same flooding that damaged Ophelia's home. While their property wasn't submerged, the ground is notoriously soft and muddy; frequently the family's undersized riding lawnmower can be observed hopelessly stuck in the front lawn. What this means for your efforts tonight is that the beast who took Francisco left a clear set of tracks to follow, leading straight into the thick forest surrounding the nearby Mohawk River.
  
  You arm yourself with your trusty deer rifle, which at this time of year is hanging from a rack inside the cab of your pickup. Ophelia borrows your shotgun, and the Thompson brothers delve into their cluttered and lopsided garage to obtain hunting rifles of their own, as well as flashlights to help you find the way.
  
  The tracks in the mud are daunting. They indicate the creature you seek is enormous, with oversized paws and long claws that dig deep into the earth with each step. You are glad there are four of you.
  
  As you follow a narrow and muddy game trail into the willow forest, you notice the light you are throwing into the darkness through the combined output of your flashlights has become noticeably dimmer. You turn to see whose light has gone out and notice instead that Bernardo is missing.
  
  Already upset at having lost Francisco, Marcellus Thompson inches closer to you and Ophelia.
  
  "He probably just had to go pee or something," you say.
  
  Marcellus forces himself to agree that must be what happened, so you continue slowly up the trail. But a moment later when you turn to see how he is doing, there is no one behind you but Ophelia.
  
  "This is freaking me out," she says. "It's like we're getting picked off one by one."
  
  "But from behind, though," you say. "I'm following the tracks of the creature ahead of us."
  
  "Well then that means...."
  
  At the same time you both point your flashlights in a circle around you — and see four sets of eyes reflecting back at you. Not only is there a ceature ahead of you and behind you, but you have been flanked on each side as well. The rear one steps forward, and you can see its giant front paws, with the array of daggers it calls toenails. Its mouth is a star-shaped maw, with tendrils and a lip of flesh that could nearly enshroud a grown person just before being sucked into its digestive system.
  
  "This is not good," Ophelia says.
  
  "No argument here," you say.
  
  "What do we do?"
  
  "I say we shoot."
  
  "But there are four of them and only two of us. Do you really think we can shoot our way out of this situation?" she says.
  
  "No," you say. "But if I'm going to die anyway, I'd rather put up a fight than just go out with a whimper."
  
  "Hammie Dansker, you always did have a way with words."
  
  And so, just before the creatures pounce, you raise your rifle.