YOU START YOUR CAR

You turn the key and the engine hums to life. Thank God. You throw the car in reverse and stomp on the accelerator.

Then you look up.

There in the broken window pane, you see the squirrel looking back at you. It is screaming its chittering scream, alerting the others.

As you floor the pedal and shoot backward down your driveway, you catch a glimpse of a writhing mass of gray fur pouring around the corner of your house, splashing through your gate like a furry tsunami.

Before you even make it to the road, three squirrels leap onto your hood and latch onto your wipers. You see their black eyes gleaming back at you through the windshield with an unnatural hunger as they press their tiny faces against the glass, leaving greasy nose prints.