It wasn’t really a crew yet. More like a bunch of half-feral kids, a VHS sorceress, one toddler, and a dog with murder in its eyes. But under the yellow bulb of Peppa’s garage—the one that flickered like it was scared—they looked almost official.

  Peppa sat on the edge of her grease-stained mattress, welding goggles still on, legs swinging like she was waiting for detention to start. She'd cleared a corner of the garage for Bug, a makeshift hideaway stuffed with blankets Marlene had begrudgingly donated and a mattress Daisy pulled from a condemned shack behind her tent. The whole place smelled like metal and root beer.

  Bug didn’t say anything. She rarely did. She just sat with her knees tucked to her chest, staring at the dog.

  Knochenbrecher, Peppa’s gigantic Leonberger, was half-asleep, his face buried in an old couch cushion. He only lifted his head when someone mentioned “bath” or when Daisy got that haunted look in her eyes, which she did now.

  “There’s somethin’ wrong out there,” Daisy said, drawing a tarot card from her sleeve. “This town’s got rot under the sand.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s got rot in the fridge too,” said Peppa, pulling her goggles off. “Mason keeps putting leftover meatloaf in there like we’re not one raccoon away from the apocalypse.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I like meatloaf,” Twig whispered, through a mouthful of candy.

  Mason, tall and constantly scowling, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “You let a whole stranger into the garage, Pep.”

  “She’s not a stranger. She’s Bug.”

  “That’s not a name.”

  “It is if she says it is.”

  Bug didn’t correct her.

  Alex tightened the knot in her hair and sighed. “We need to keep it together. The radio’s been going static. Something’s messin’ with the signal again.”

  “You think it’s aliens,” Mason muttered.

  “I know it’s not just weather.”

  Outside, the wind howled and knocked over a tin can. Everyone flinched. Twig clutched the dog’s tail like a security blanket. Daisy pulled her shawl tighter and drew another card.

  Peppa looked at Bug, who looked at nothing. Just the wall.

  She stood. “Okay. Fine. Nobody wants her here? She’ll stay with me. Under the bench. We got space between the toolbox and the broken lawnmower.”

  Bug nodded once. Tiny. Silent.

  “No offense,” said Daisy, “but this feels like the part in the movie where the possessed kid eats someone.”

  “I like her,” Twig said, licking a battery.

  Mason shook his head. “We need rules.”

  “We have rules,” said Peppa. “Rule one: if you say ‘meatloaf’ again, I’m throwing a wrench at you.”

  “Seconded,” said Alex.

  No one slept that night. They just lay in odd corners, watching the shadows creep along the garage door. Something was out there. Something that didn’t like being watched back.

  Bug didn’t blink the whole time.