Their mom doesn’t believe that there’s a monster, but their uncle has seen it, or at least a portion of it. He’d caught a glimpse of its oily shadow one night as it ran across his lawn. It had been a summer night, and he had been sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette (this part was a secret from their mom) when he had heard rustling in the garden. He had tiptoed over, breath held, hoping to catch at least a glimpse of the thing he shared his property with.