I swear it was Jerry. After he got lost, we searched for him for over a day. He, it, came walking out of the woods. He was made of grass, like a naked scarecrow, and he shambled toward Mike.
Henry ran off screaming, who can blame him, and I seriously thought I was going to shit myself. The sun was coming up, and I could see Mike glistening with sweat. His eyes were huge. He was crying, and talking to Jerry–asking him what happened, what was wrong with him–that kind of stuff.
The Jerry thing stopped a few feet in front of him and blades of grass shot out from all over its body, really long ones, and they stabbed right into Mike’s body, sliding right in. There wasn’t any blood and he didn’t seem like it even hurt.
I screamed at him to run away, but I don’t think he could, it was like he was hypnotized. I ran up behind him and grabbed his shoulders, but several of those blades of grass slid right through the skin on my hands and face. No pain, no blood, and I instantly felt weirdly sleepy.
It really pissed me off, and I jerked away, long grass sticking out from me like I was turning into a plant porcupine. While I fell on my ass, grass was already growing out of Mike’s back–the shit had skewered him–and the Jerry thing shot out a bunch more that cut right into Mike and started wrapping around him like a green cocoon. That’s when I ran like a bitch.—Lyle Morris, giving a statement in Interview Room 1 at the Peyton County Sheriff’s Office.
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