Grandma called it a “Dog Moon” cause ‘it shined like the bottom of a mutt’s bowl and turned everyone into a sonnavbitch.’

That’s what hung over the sky today. A real solemn bastard, I reckoned. Dog Moon blues is what I had— and the only way out was through.

I stood in front of the entrance to the Red Hill salt mine and prayed to each star on Orion’s Belt that I’d see that wretched moon again.

I didn’t have to go in. Hell, the mine itself had been shuttered for fifty years.

Rotten slats covered the entrance— otherwise I’d be staring at a gaping mouth. I didn’t want to go in.

But my grandfather left his soul at the bottom of the mine— along with the rest of our family fortune.

Thought I was genius for going in. A hero ready to save the family name. Not the kid responsible for waking the Horrors.