( Like a Moth to Flame started out with a very different monster and a very different story, but because of a falling out with my editor, I had to nix most of it and reboot. This is the original intro for the story for anyone who’s interested )

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His name was Mike MacDavis.

His friends called him McD. The nickname had developed from a combination of his name and his daily trips to McDonalds. It was an easygoing name for an easygoing guy, always with a smile for the cashier and never a complaint to be heard when he came in for his Big Mac and milkshake.

He had everything he’d ever wanted in life. A stable job that paid the bills, a loving wife that supported him through everything in life – even that brief phase ten years back when he’d attempted to become a painter. The artistic venture hadn’t gone anywhere, but they had some lovely watercolor landscapes that brightened up their home now, adding a splash of color in a modern setup.

They had three wonderful children together, the oldest ten and the youngest toddling along at just two years of age. He trailed after his mother with a thumb in his mouth no matter how much it was discouraged by his parents and siblings.

They had a home together, deep in the countryside. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city and the suburbs, the only disturbance in the peaceful landscape was the cries of the blue jays and grackles hopping around the yard and trying to find seed. A playset out back in their yard was full of toys, even a tonka truck that the two year old Max used to push sand out of his way gleefully, kicking up a whole mess whenever he was out there. Not far away, in the shadowed treeline, a tire swing hung from the thick, tall oak. When kids came out to play, it was one of the most popular places to be.

Past the treeline, there was a pond.

Big enough to swim in, too small for a motor boat. A small dock extended out, providing Mike and his wife Sharon a good place to dive into the murky depths on a warm summer day.

McD stood there now.

His arm were held out in front of him. His boots rocked back for a moment, holding his balance.

Flashes from the last day sped through his mind.

Waking up.

Laughing while he gave his six-year-old daughter a piggyback ride.

Breakfast, always an adventure with the children. Max deciding his eggs and tater tots made good projectiles and had refused to eat, but had been more than happy to try and fill up his father’s coffee cup with floating debris. He spent the entire time happily squealing “Dada!” whenever he was caught.

Packing everyone into the family SUV. Heading out to the circus.

Not much made it into his memory after that.

Little sparks lit up from time to time.

Clowns.

A ring of fire.

Carrie giggling next to him when he bought her a bag of cotton candy half her size. Her sticky face shining in the multicolored light.

Then just the dancers.

McD took a deep breath in the cool evening air. The sun was setting past the trees, a deep twilight falling over the land.

The dancers swayed back and forth in his memory. His gaze was drawn to one in particular, the third eye that was painted on her forehead catching his eyes and pulling them like a magnet.

The eye…

McD hefted up the cinderblock he was holding in his arms.

He paid no mind to the chain that was wrapped around it. He ignored the matching chain that was wrapped around his own leg, anchored securely.

All he could see was the eye as it moved to the cadence of the drums.

The trees were still and silent, no chirps to be heard. The distant sound of a splash reached the peaceful house.

SUPERNATURAL