James awoke to the sound of his alarm, same time as always. Even on vacation, he kept the schedule. The alarm went off, and he was up.

  Only, this time, he wasn’t in his own bed — he was in the small cramped bed of a borrowed RV. At least Christine, his wife, was beside him. It was cramped, but they made it work. It was just for the weekend, after all.

  Following his usual rhythm, he got up, shuffled to the kitchen area, started the coffee, downed an allergy pill, and slipped on his shoes to take the dogs outside.

  The three of them stumbled out into the little gated area he’d set up. It wasn’t much — maybe twenty by ten feet, fenced around the RV’s entrance. James stretched, joints popping.

  “Ugh. Out of shape,” he muttered. The air was cool, still heavy with the smell of last night’s campfires.

  Then the dogs started barking.

  He glanced out across the campgrounds. The sun was just starting to color the horizon. A few kids were up early, running around near the edges of camp — some of them banging on doors, probably playing pranks.

  “Luna! Ruby! Leave those kids alone,” he called. Once the dogs finished their business, he ushered them back inside, ready for his first cup of coffee. Morning air was brisk, but nothing unexpected — still, coffee came before everything.

  By the time he got the dogs settled, his own kids were awake, arguing about breakfast.

  “Dad, the TV signal’s out!”

  “Ugh, I’ll take a look in a bit.”

  “It better be working — that thing was expensive for just a weekend!”

  “Phones are down too,” another voice called. “No signal at all.”

  “Maybe a satellite’s out of alignment. I’ll check it after coffee.”

  “Whatever.”

  Then the dogs started barking again.

  “Dad, there are some kids trying to get in the gate!”

  James frowned and looked outside. Sure enough, two kids were tugging at the small gate.

  “Are they wearing costumes? Halloween’s months away.”

  Christine’s voice came from behind him. “Can you tell them to leave? I want to smoke and need to call my mom.”

  “Yeah, yeah — phones are still down, remember.”

  He grabbed the bat propped by the door — just in case he thought and stepped outside.

  The “kids” weren’t what he expected. Their costumes looked too good: green skin, huge black eyes, heads too big for their bodies, and ears that stuck out like fins. The smell hit him next — coppery, foul, like they hadn’t bathed or wiped after using the bathroom.

  “Hey, it’s early,” James said cautiously. “Go play somewhere else.”

  The two turned their heads in eerie unison. Their eyes glinted black.

  Then they screamed — a sound so shrill it cut through the morning air and made James flinch, almost dropping the bat.

  While James was still reeling from the shrill, piercing scream, the two creatures began moving again—charging straight at the small gated area in front of the RV.

  The dogs burst out past him, barking wildly.

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  “Get back in there!” James shouted, grabbing at their harnesses, terrified they’d get hurt—or hurt someone else.

  “Hey! Whose kids are these?” he yelled, dragging the dogs back. But as he looked around, his stomach dropped.

  More of the strange children were running through the campground. And now he heard the screams—real screams—as people were being pulled from campers, cabins, and cars. A sudden gust of wind carried the thick scent of blood, and nausea rolled through to him.

  “James… why does it look like Children of the Corn out here?” Christine asked from the RV door.

  A scream tore out of her as she finally saw what he was facing.

  The creatures began hammering at the fence with crude weapons—sticks, stone tools, something like sharpened metal scraps. Every strike dented the fencing. Despite their size, they hit with real force—far more than any child should.

  “Christine! Get inside with the kids! Call the cops! Take the dogs!” James yelled, pulling on the dogs’ harnesses, panic rising. The last thing he wanted was someone’s kid getting hurt—or worse, these things hurting his dogs.

  A moment later, the gate gave way. It wasn’t built to withstand the abuse. One creature tumbled through the opening. The second vaulted over it, leaping straight at James.

  He had no choice but to release the dogs to defend himself. The creature swung its weapon, and James barely brought his bat up in time. The impact was shocking—like being hit by a grown man.

  The dogs were on the first creature instantly, dragging it down. James shoved the attacker in front of him and kicked it hard—brutal, but necessary—to buy space to grab the dogs again.

  With the morning light strengthening, he finally got a clear look at the blood smeared across his dogs’ fur. It wasn’t red. It was a dark, oily purple—almost black—oozing thickly from the creature pinned beneath them.

  No costume was this realistic. No special effect worked like this without computers.

  Whatever these things were, they weren’t human.

  The campground was devolving into chaos. Tents were burning, campers shook as people struggled inside, and cabin doors were being bashed open or had already fallen. James felt cold dread settle in.

  He needed to get his family out. Now.

  The creature he’d kicked was already staggering back to its feet and trying to push through the broken gate again. Several more were turning toward him.

  He tightened his grip on the bat, stepped into position, and swung.

  Crack.

  It dropped—but kept moving.

  He struck again, aiming for the head. Bone—or something like it—gave way, yet the creature still twitched, still clawed at the dirt.

  He didn’t stop until it finally lay still.

  The dogs returned to the one they had pinned earlier, but that one wasn’t getting back up.

  That’s when his son burst out of the RV, clutching a small pocket knife.

  “Dad! Are you okay?”

  “Stay inside with your mom and sisters!” James barked.

  “But Dad, I can help—”

  “There is no helping—we need to get out of here! Pull the dogs in!”

  They grabbed the dogs; surprisingly, the animals released their victim without resistance. But before they could drag them fully inside, James saw more creatures swarming toward the open gate.

  He stepped forward to defend again; the dogs took positions beside him instinctively, without waiting for commands.

  His son, trying to help, charged a creature on the fence with the knife. The creature grabbed his arm with shocking speed and strength, and his son screamed.

  Christine rushed out, swinging the first thing she’d grabbed—a broom. The blow staggered the creature, giving their son a chance to yank his arm free. He stabbed at it, but the cheap blade snapped off when it hit something hard beneath the creature’s skin. He screamed in frustration at the broken knife, not processing the danger.

  “Get back inside with your mom! We can’t fight these things!” James yelled, struggling to hold off the advancing creatures while pulling at the dogs and trying to push his family toward safety.

  He didn’t know what was happening. But he knew one thing for certain:

  They had to get inside the RV, and he had to get them out of this camp—fast.