Orville Shackleford

The end of the world came with the sun, scorching all life during the day, and the Guests, coming at night. They devoured people and copied their appearance to gain their trust.

It was at the juncture of two deaths, as the crimson sunset faded, that she—an exhausted, burned girl—approached Orville Shackleford's lonely house. The man saw her through a crack in the shutter, his fingers clutching a shotgun. Her mind screamed, "A guest!" To trust is to die.

Her knock was weak and hopeless. -Please... I beg you... The sun has almost set. He remained silent. "I'm not It!" the voice broke into a shriek. "I have a shadow! Look!" He saw a shadow, but that proved nothing. Demons in legends could cast them too. "They will come with the darkness! I heard their whispers! I just need a corner!"

He didn't answer. The twilight was deepening, and vague shadows were already moving in it. The girl froze, her shoulders shaking. “Okay...” she whispered. “Just... don’t watch when they eat.”

And at that moment the latch slid back with a screeching sound. The door opened, and Orville's pale face appeared in the doorway. “Quickly,” he croaked. She rushed inside, slipping through the narrow opening like a frightened animal.