The Little Monsters Come

Allen Nixon is a lone night‑prowler of the Florida Everglades, a rugged farmer with a lifetime of swamp work etched into his muscles. He slips silently through moonlit waters, oar gliding without a splash, eyes fixed on the faint green glints of alligator eyes beneath the surface. The quiet of the bayou is his companion as he stalks two more reptiles, hoping to add their skins to the modest haul he’ll bring back for his brother Ralph.

Beneath the rustle of reeds and the chorus of insects, something else stirs. Tiny, upright silhouettes—no larger than a hand—creep along the banks, their movements ghost‑like and their faint glow barely brighter than fireflies. As Nixon draws nearer, the ordinary night of the swamp takes on an uncanny edge, hinting that the Everglades may hide creatures far stranger than the predators he knows.