The late winter wind whispered through the trees, carrying the metallic scent of approaching coldness. Jeff Morton adjusted his grip on his Winchester Model 70, the worn wood stock smooth against his calloused palm. The rifle had been his father's before him, its brass fittings dulled by decades of use but its action still smooth as silk. Somewhere in the darkness, a branch snapped with the sharp report of a pistol shot.

  His German Shepherd, Duke, perked up his ears, muscles tensing beneath his thick black and tan coat. The dog's training showed in every line of his body–eight years of hunting had honed him into the perfect companion. Jeff smiled, the weathered lines around his eyes deepening. After twenty years of hunting these woods, he knew every sound, every shadow, from the soft rustle of deer moving through mountain laurel to the way moonlight painted silver patterns through the leafless branches. And tonight, something big was moving through the underbrush.

  "Easy, boy," Jeff whispered, patting Duke's head. The dog's tail wagged once, then stilled, his dark eyes fixed on the shadows ahead. They'd been tracking this buck for hours, following its trail of broken twigs and fresh droppings up the ridge that overlooked Moon Valley. The massive twelve-pointer had eluded local hunters for three seasons, becoming something of a legend among the regulars at Uncle Pete's General Store. Just a little further, and they'd have the perfect shot.

  The night sky stretched above them, an endless sea of stars pierced by a waning moon that hung like a broken cookie in the darkness. The Milky Way painted a ghostly ribbon across the heavens, reminding Jeff of nights spent camping with his father in these same woods. He checked his watch—11:47 PM. Sarah would kill him for staying out this late, her green eyes flashing with that mix of worry and exasperation he'd grown to love over their fifteen years of marriage. But one more trophy for his wall would be worth the lecture. Besides, she'd forgive him once she tasted the venison steaks.

  Duke suddenly tensed beside him, a low whine building in his throat. The sound sent ice water down Jeff's spine–in eight years, he'd never heard the dog make that noise. The German Shepherd's ears lay flat against his skull, and his tail tucked between his legs. Jeff followed the dog's gaze upward, just in time to see a streak of light tear across the sky.

  "Well, would you look at that," he muttered, lowering his rifle. The fireball blazed a brilliant path through the darkness, bigger than any shooting star he'd ever seen. Its core glowed an angry red like molten steel, trailing sparks that reminded him of Fourth of July sparklers. The light it cast turned the forest into a maze of twisted shadows that seemed to writhe and dance.

  But something wasn't right. The meteor wasn't passing overhead—it was getting closer. The object grew larger with each passing second, and now Jeff could see details that made his stomach churn. The surface wasn't smooth like a rock; it pulsed and shifted like something alive, and the color wasn't natural. No meteor he'd ever heard of glowed pink.

  "Holy sh—" A deafening roar drowned Jeff’s curse as the object plunged into the forest less than a mile away. The impact sent a shockwave that nearly knocked him off his feet, rattling his teeth and sending birds screaming into the night sky. Duke barked frantically, his earlier training forgotten in the face of primal terror. The sound echoed through the trees like machine-gun fire.

  "Duke, heel!" Jeff called, but it was too late. The German Shepherd bolted toward the crash site, disappearing into the darkness like a shadow melting into deeper shadows. "Duke! Get back here!"

  Cursing under his breath, Jeff shouldered his rifle and gave chase. The dog's barking echoed through the trees, leading him deeper into the forest where the underbrush grew thick and tangled. Smoke filled the air, carrying an acrid, chemical smell that made his eyes water and his lungs burn. It reminded him of burning plastic, but underneath was something worse–a sickly sweet odor like rotting fruit.

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  "Duke!" he called again, stumbling through the underbrush. Thorns tore at his hunting jacket, and unseen branches whipped his face. The temperature rose with each step until sweat trickled down his back despite the January chill. Through the trees ahead, an orange glow pulsed like a diseased heart, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for him with grasping fingers.

  Jeff pushed through a wall of smoke and found himself at the edge of destruction. A crater stretched before him, maybe fifty feet across, its edges still smoking like the rim of an ashtray. The surrounding trees laid like flatten matchsticks, their trunks scorched black and twisted into unnatural shapes. The air shimmered with heat, and that sickly sweet smell was stronger here, making his head swim.

  Duke's barking echoed from somewhere in the haze, taking on a strange, metallic quality that made the hair on Jeff's neck stand up. He took a step forward, testing the ground with his boot. The earth crumbled beneath his weight, hot and loose as beach sand, and suddenly he was sliding, tumbling down the crater's steep wall in an avalanche of loose dirt and stones.

  He hit bottom hard; the impact driving the air from his lungs in an explosive grunt. His rifle clattered away into the darkness, the sound of metal on stone echoing off the crater walls. For a moment, he lay there gasping, every muscle screaming in protest. His mouth tasted of copper and ash.

  When his vision cleared, Jeff found himself face to face with the meteor. It sat in the center of the crater like some prehistoric egg, its surface riddled with cracks that glowed an impossible shade of pink–not the soft pink of sunrise, but a violent, radioactive color that hurt his eyes. The object was roughly spherical, about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, and covered in what looked like organic patterns: swirls and whorls that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. But that wasn't what made his blood run cold.

  The thing was split open, its shell peeled back like the petals of some nightmarish flower. And the interior was empty, lined with a glistening substance that looked like raw meat left too long in the sun. Whatever had been inside was gone.

  Duke's bark snapped Jeff back to reality. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the protest of bruised ribs, and began climbing the crater wall. Loose dirt cascaded down with each step, but he finally pulled himself over the edge, leaving bloody handprints in the scorched earth.

  "Duke?" he called, squinting through the smoke. A shape moved in the darkness—his dog, standing rigid near a cluster of bushes. Relief flooded through Jeff as he approached. "There you are, boy. You had me worried for a—"

  He stopped. There was something on the ground near Duke's feet. Something that gleamed wetly in the starlight like fresh-spilled oil. Jeff moved closer, and his stomach turned.

  Bones. Picked clean and scattered across the forest floor like a mad artist's sculpture, covered in some kind of viscous pink substance that seemed to pulse with its own inner light. The skeleton was fresh–strips of meat still clung to some bones, and a puddle of blood hadn't yet soaked into the earth. And there, propped against a fallen log, was a skull. A dog's skull, its empty eye sockets filled with that same pulsing pink substance.

  Jeff's mind refused to process what he was seeing. He looked at Duke, who hadn't moved or made a sound since he approached. The dog's head turned toward him with mechanical precision, like a wind-up toy, and in the darkness, Jeff could have sworn its eyes glowed pink. Not just the irises–the entire socket seemed to burn with that unholy light.

  "Duke?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

  The dog's jaw unhinged like a snake's, stretching impossibly wide until the skin split with a wet tearing sound. Pink tentacles erupted from its throat, writhing and glistening in the starlight like obscene tongues. They moved faster than Jeff could react, wrapping around his arms, his legs, his throat. The tentacles were hot and slick, covered in tiny barbs that dug into his flesh.

  He tried to scream, but the sound died in his constricted windpipe. Duke's form melted, fur and flesh dissolving into a mass of pulsating pink slime. The creature that remained looked like something from his worst nightmares—a shapeless horror of tentacles and viscera, covered in a membrane that reminded him of bubble gum stretched too thin. Through the translucent surface, he could see organs that no earthly creature possessed, pulsing and squirming like a bag full of snakes.

  Jeff struggled against the tentacles, but they only tightened their grip. Through bulging eyes, he watched as the thing that used to be his dog loomed over him. Its surface rippled, and for a moment, he thought he saw faces in the slime—twisted, agonized faces that seemed to scream silently. He recognized one of them as his dog.

  Then the creature surged forward, engulfing him in its gelatinous mass. The pink substance burned like acid where it touched his skin, and he could feel it beginning to dissolve his clothes, his flesh. Jeff's last conscious thought was of Sarah, waiting at home, wondering why he was late for dinner. Then the darkness took him, and the forest fell silent once more.

  High above, the stars continued their cold vigil over Moon Valley, indifferent to the unleashed horror in the woods. And somewhere in the shadows, something pink and terrible moved toward the lights of civilization, leaving behind nothing but clean-picked bones and the lingering scent of decay.