Something elks entirely
Driving with Uncle Moe to the liquor store was always a joy. It would start like every pit of summer spent at Nantucket when I was a gosling. Slipping away from school was the joy of the new dream, warm and cozy with hot breakfast, slowly giving way to a shiver working its way through my whole body. Finger tips and the tip of the nose, it would usually start the third morning into summer, and I could already smell the monsters rancid breath as I dreamed within the dream of dreaming of the... I didn't even like to think about the monster, or say his name.
Monsters always come at night. Cheerleaders are the worst. Such a huge mound of bullshit packed into such a small, too slender body. Then as the darkest dark encroaches, no moon at all, shadows devaporize into semi-solid form, a sign points to the zoo.
Following the woodland path, turning when the next sign came, saying Zoo: A Place To Store Animals. Past the wombat cage, too busy wombatting to notice me. Past wolverines and feral turkeys... and then, something elks entirely.