Sally shot out of the front door and onto the porch, before flying down the four wooden steps to the lawn. She raced across the sun-baked dirt towards the rickety old storage shed where her daddy kept the old ride-on mower and the tools he rarely used.

She yanked open the door-which was yawing open a crack-and stepped inside. Sure enough, the paint can was right where her daddy had said it would be, sitting on the work bench.

Sally took it, and it was so heavy she almost dropped it. Especially because the wire handle dug into her palm.

Then she heard a noise.

A soft chirping sound. Coming from deeper in the storage shed. It sounded like another stray cat. Those pesky felines were forever taking root in the farm's various outbuildings. Before her momma had died, she always warned Sally about feral cats and the diseases they could carry. Sally had made it a point to try and not pet them when she saw them. But she wasn't always successful.

She approached the hay bale carefully, mindful of the dangers of a startled animal. If it was a cat it could have her eye out in seconds.

The chirping continued.

Sally took her steps slowly, kept her approach quiet, but not completely silent. She didn't want to creep up on the thing so well that she scared the bejesus out of it.

Sally stepped around the bench and looked over the top of the hay bale. The inhuman things which she saw hiding in the loose straw made her scream like an honest-to-God banshee.

Her momma had warned her about feral cats.

But she'd never warned her about monsters.

Ted heard his daughter's screams and immediately dropped the pitcher of lemonade he'd been carrying. The pitcher was a family heirloom, but that didn't matter none; Sally was all the family he had left.

The screams continued and Ted felt his bladder loosen as he raced across the lawn. His whole body ached with dread, wondering what had made his sweet little girl holler so mightily. The sound she was making was the worse torture he'd ever endured.

Then the screaming stopped, replaced by silence. Somehow Ted found that even worse.

He made it over to the storage shed and spotted the open padlock. His daughter was most certainly inside. What made Ted pause and take a heavy breath was the thick red puddle leaking beneath the door, staining the dirt and hay a deep crimson.

Oh Jesus Christ no...

Please, no...

Ted kicked open the door, ready to face down whatever wild animal or heinous pervert had found its way onto his land.

What he found, however, was nothing.

There was a sound, soft and delicate, coming from behind the hale bale in the center of the room. Ted stepped forward carefully, mindful of the sticky puddle beneath his boots.

He approached the hay bale, needing desperately to see what was on the other side, but also being unbearably afraid of what he might find.

If something had taken his little girl away, he would march right up into the farmhouse to fetch his shotgun. He'd put down whatever was responsible and then stick the barrel-end right in his own mouth. Sally was all he had left. If she was gone...

"S-Sally? You there, sweetheart?"

There was another soft sound.

Giggling.

Ted leapt forward and leaned over the hay bale. What he saw was like something out of a dream.

Sally looked at her daddy with sparkling green eyes. "Daddy, look! I found some friends."

Ted studied the scene. He saw the messy paint can, red paint staining the sides. The puddles on the floor were obviously from a clumsy spill-not blood as he had dreaded.

But that was forgotten about now. What concerned Ted was the pack of creatures surrounding his daughter. The green-skinned little critters had pointed ears and swishing tails. They were much smaller than his daughter and were jumping and tumbling all over her, making happy squeaking sounds that mixed with the delirious laughter of his little girl. They looked like little devils with earthworm-like skin, but they were acting like puppies.

Sally looked up at her father, tears of happiness in her eyes. "I fought they was gonna bite me, but they just want to play. Can we keep 'em, Daddy? Can we?"

Ted looked at the bizarre little creatures and found that they were becoming cuter and cuter. The way they played, the way they squeaked. He counted four of the tiny little imps.

Ted shrugged his shoulders. "I...guess. I guess we can keep 'em."

And so they did.

Epilogue Two

Several months later

Dr. Frank Belgium was sitting in his easy chair, his adopted son Jack on his lap. The boy was an absolute marvel. Cute. Smart. More fun than Frank ever could have imagined.

Even if he hadn't married his mother, he would have still wanted Jack around.

"Ma ma ma," Jack said.

"I think he wants you," Frank said to his wife, Sara. "He said mama."

Sara got up off the sofa and took Jack in her arms. "He didn't say mama. He said ma ma ma. He repeated his word three times."

"Hmm. Now where do you think he picked that up?"

"Where do you think?"

"Do I do do do that?"

"Yes you do do do."

They exchanged a smile. The moment was interrupted by the doorbell.

Frank moved to get up, but Sara told him to stay put.

"I'm not an invalid, dear. The doctor said I need the exercise."

He pulled himself out of the chair, wincing at the slight pain from his still-healing wound, and used his cane to make it to the front door.

Frank didn't like what he saw in the peephole. Two men in black suits. One holding a Secret Service badge.

"Who is it?" Sara asked.

"It's for me. I've got got got it." Frank opened the door a crack. "Can I help you?"

"Dr. Frank Belgium? The President sent us. Your country needs you."

"Tell the President I'm not interested."

"Please, sir. Can we have just one moment of your time?"

Frank was thrown by how polite they were. Asking, not demanding. Reserved, not threatening.

"I'm done with all this," he said. "I have a family now."

"Believe me, Dr. Belgium, your country recognizes the sacrifices you've made, and they are appreciated. But we truly need your help. Even if it is only on an advisory basis."

Frank sighed, then let them in. "Okay, but but but let's keep it in the hallway. I don't want you upsetting my wife or son."

He let them in, and one of them handed Frank a manila folder. Frank didn't want to take it. As if sensing his reluctance, the agent opened it and held a picture for Belgium to see.

It was of a cow. A very dead cow, almost stripped to the bone.

"I'm a very good scientist, gentlemen, but even I don't think I can help help help you save that cow."

"Here is a close-up of the lower right hand section of the picture, Dr. Belgium."

He held up a second photo, grainier, zooming in to the cow's ribcage.

Perched there, staring into the camera, was a tiny, red creature with bat wings and large horns.

"Do you recognize that, Dr. Belgium? We believe it is one of the demons that escaped from the facility you worked at. Project Samhain."

The biologist made a face, and the first thought that popped into his mind escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"Uh oh."

Selected Cast of Characters

Andy, Sun, and Bub first appeared in the J.A. Konrath technothriller ORIGIN.

Jerry and Lucas first appeared in the Iain Rob Wright horror novel THE FINAL WINTER.

Nosferatus Hominic first appeared in the horror novel DRACULAS written by Blake Crouch, J.A. Konrath, Jeff Strand, and F. Paul Wilson.

Mu first appeared in TIMECASTER SUPERSYMMETRY by J.A. Konrath.

Dr. Frank Belgium appeared in ORIGIN and HAUNTED HOUSE by J.A. Konrath.

Middleword

by Iain Rob Wright

Before I was a writer, I was a reader, and one of the dudes I loved to read was Jack Kilborn (aka J.A. Konrath). Little did I know that only a few years later I would be trying to make it as a writer myself, and that Joe would be instrumental in helping me get there. I was lucky enough to find success as a writer, and it was in large part due to the selfless and never-ending advice on Joe's blog. He is a pioneer and my hero, and a pretty sexy guy to boot, but once upon a time he was just a writer I liked. I loved how he wrote whatever he wanted, and how he would always 'go there'. When I started writing my own fiction, I wanted to write books like Joe, Brian Keene, J.F.Gonzalez, Jeff Strand, and all the other 'pulp' authors who blew my frikkin mind. I wanted to be a writer who didn't give a shit about anything other than entertaining people. If you told me back then that I would be writing a book with one of the guys I adored for so many years as a reader, I would not have believed you. That is why it is such a crazy, unbelievable experience for me to have written a book with Joe. To me it's like kneeling down to pray with the Pope, or kicking around a football with Pele. Not many of us get to work with our heroes, but I have. I am blessed.

My favourite book of Joe's was a genre-bending little novel called ORIGIN. It was like nothing else I had ever read and I loved it. It stayed with me forever and influenced my own fledgling ideas. When a certain story started to float around my head (which would go on to become this book), I knew that it was heavily inspired by ORIGIN. Because of that fact, I emailed Joe and asked him if he would let me write a book that was a direct sequel to his book, while also including some characters (Jerry and Lucas) from my technothriller FINAL WINTER.

Joe loved the idea and told me to go for it. So I did. Once I was done, Joe still loved it, and quickly got to work adding his own contributions. The finished book is about 50% his and 50% mine-it is as if our literary DNA mingled together and gave birth to an abomination that calls us both 'dad'. It contains characters from both of our earlier books, which has been a heck load of fun for us to write, and hopefully a lot of fun for our fans to read.

I think I'm right in saying that neither Joe or I are bothered about winning a Pulitzer with this book, or winning some stodgy publishing award. We don't care about writing humanity's next great novel or becoming the next F. Scott Fitzgerald. We write books because we like it, and because we want to make a living by entertaining people. We don't try to change the world, we just try to change you, our readers. By putting a smile on your face or making you squirm, we change you into a fan. That's enough for me and Joe. Our only intention when writing this book was to entertain the pants off you. So make sure you have a spare pair handy.

As an added bonus, we're including the original version that I wrote on my own, before Joe did his additions. It begins right after this middleword.

There are significant differences with both versions, and we hope you enjoy this alternate take. So sit back, relax, and enjoy. The shit is about to hit the fan.