Goodreads asked P.B. Cannon:

Can you tell us a two-sentence horror story?

P.B. Cannon The cops’ tracking dogs had cornered the man they knew to have committed the horrendous double murder where he was hiding in an old boxcar on a side rail, but when he didn’t come out at their shouted commands, guns drawn, they went in, where they found his torn off face, some ragged pieces of flesh and bone chips, and a tremendous amount of blood. Wondering what had happened to him, they scanned around but soon left the remains to be assessed by the crime scene investigators, not seeing the vague outline of the dark-scaled, many-eyed being with rows of bloodstained teeth, crouching in the strange inky shadows at the far end of the boxcar licking its clawed hands clean.

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