Day 2,271

Maybe it had been an alligator once, if the light caught its swollen face at certain angles you could catch glimpses of scales beneath all the blood and overlapping teeth that were currently working their way through the local postman. He'd soon join the squirming mass of limbs and weeping eyes like so many others before him.

It's hard to say where it originally came from - one day it wasn't there and next thing we knew it was halfway through a school bus. There are still patches of blue on its skin from the uniforms and when it cries out its voice is laced with thirty-odd children crying out for their parents.

That's how it gets to you, a little whisper here and a little sobbing there and suddenly you're joining the postman half in the stomach and half writhing about the body of some ungodly behemoth of a creature. The worst of it is that the county can't decide if we should kill it or not.

On the one hand we'd all be safer but on the other hand the grieving wouldn't be able to hear their loved ones any more. It's as tragic as it is disrespectful to the memories of their loved ones who could be enduring unfathomable suffering or lost entirely to the inner workings of the nameless beast.

I hope it's the latter to be honest with you, that postman was a nice lad and I'd hate to think he was hurting.