That evening I had a dinner of cold Beenie Weenies and Dr Pepper, then fell asleep in front of the television watching Andy Griffith reruns. Eric had grudgingly returned to help me load what was left of Daddy into the back of the pickup truck, and then left for town to deliver the body to the funeral home. He was upset that I'd chosen the moral high ground and refused to speak to me. I was unperturbed by the development as Eric rarely had anything to say that I found interesting.

A few hours later, I woke sharply as the tired screen door swung shut. Eric stumbled across the room and deposited himself in the overstuffed Lay-Z-Boy recliner that prior to that morning was off limits to anyone except Daddy. Somewhere along the way he had lost his ever-present scowl and it had been replaced with a wide, drunken grin.

"You know who I ran into?" he asked. His speech was slurred and his tone condescending. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "Papa Crawler. Seems he decided he don't need your permission after all. He said just 'cause you're a dumbass, don't mean I should suffer for it."

He reached deep into the front pocket of his Levis and pulled out a large roll of bills, wound tight in a rubber band. He removed the rubber band and counted out seven hundred and fifty dollars on the coffee table. The Beenie Weenies started to turn over in my stomach as I realized what Eric had done.

"Now, see," he continued, paying no mind to my blank stare, "If you hadn't acted the way you did, half of this would belong to you."

"Eric, you dumb shit," I said, "Don't you care what he wants that body for?"

"Why should I? I never liked him and he never liked me either. Besides, he's dead. He ain't got no use for that body anyway."

"That ain't the point."

"Well here's my point. My point is I got seven hundred fifty dollars and we don't have to buy no coffin or pay no preacher."

I rose from my seat, crossed the living room and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. With a tug, I pulled him to his feet and tossed him hard against the wall. He gave a sharp cry and dropped to the floor, clutching his arm.

A thundering knock at the front door interrupted our scuffle. It was so loud it sounded like the Devil coming to call.

"Go the hell away," I yelled. "We don't want any."

"Open this door right now, Eric, you little son of a bitch." It was a familiar voice, a voice changed somehow, but instantly recognizable none the same.

It was Daddy.

Eric's eyes nearly exploded as he stared at the door in amazement.

"What the fuck?" he asked.

Automatically, I crossed over to the front door and grabbed the knob. Daddy's voice continued to scream obscenities at Eric from the front yard. Eric cried out and I stopped just short of turning the knob all the way.

"Please! Don't open that door. You can have the money."

"Eric, it's Daddy."

"Daddy's dead. Don't open the door!"

I'm not sure if I even had a choice. The rusted knob turned again in my grip and the door swung slowly inward.

There was Daddy, quite unlike how we'd left him. For one thing, he now seemed very much alive. For another, his missing limbs had been replaced. The new appendages appeared to have originally belonged to a wolf or a large dog, and Daddy sat there on his haunches, regarding me with a deliberate stare. Uneven stitches held the limbs in place. When he spoke, I realized he had new teeth as well. They looked like they'd come from the same animal that donated the legs.

"You always were the good one, son. Stayed out of trouble mostly. Just step aside; I ain't got no problem with you."

I didn't have the nerve in me to argue so I stumbled out of the way. Daddy rose to all fours and ambled past me with an awkward gate, claws clicking against the linoleum.

"Daddy?" moaned Eric. He was completely frozen. Tears flowed in a steady stream down his cheeks.

"You ain't got no Daddy. Not no more. Not after what you done. This ain't no way to be, half man, half dog."

"Daddy?" he repeated. It was obvious to me that his mind had gone. He began slowly rocking back and forth, tapping the wall gently with his head. He put both hands out in front of him and then let them drop uselessly to his sides again. Daddy smiled a bit wider. Then he lunged.

His face hit Eric's chest with a sharp crack. Teeth and claws tore at Eric's torso, tossing flesh in their wake. I fell back against the wall as blood erupted from Eric's frozen mouth. Daddy appeared satisfied that Eric's life had ended, and he slowed his meal down to a more leisurely pace. I stood terrified, unable to look away, until the carnage finally ended.

"You mind turning off that TV?" he asked as he turned away from his dead son.

"Sure, Daddy." I said, diving for the remote. With a click, the sound of the television was gone. Without another word, Daddy hopped up into his favorite chair, covered his eyes with his paws, and went to sleep.

Daddy's still around. He never tries to eat me because I tried to give him a proper burial. His appetite is hard to satisfy and everyone except for Papa Crawler and me are fair game. He hates Papa Crawler more that he ever hated Eric, but something won't let him go after the man. I think since he's the one who did all this, he still has some sort of control over Daddy. For his part, Daddy doesn't like to discuss it and I don't press the issue.

I still haven't seen Papa Crawler since he drove off that day but if I did, I might thank him. Daddy and I get along better than we used too and Eric's not around to get in my hair all the time. Daddy never tells me who he feeds on at night and I really don't care, just as long as he brings a piece or two home for the cows.