The sounds from the darkness grew more frantic—loud squeals and the unmistakable sound of something digging into the earth. Mark froze, his light fixed on a pair of glowing eyes in the corner.
The eyes weren’t round like a cat’s or small like a rodent’s; they were wide and filled with a fierce, protective light. As Mark moved the beam closer, the terrifying “monster” finally came into focus.
It wasn’t a beast or a bird, but a massive mother badger, her silver fur bristling in the light. Huddled tightly against her belly were three tiny, shivering cubs, no bigger than grapefruit.
The “nest” in the barn had been her nursery, a place she had built to keep her babies safe and warm. She had used the crawl space as a secondary fortress when she heard me entering the barn.
Relief washed over us like a tidal wave, and for the first time all morning, Mark actually started to laugh. We weren’t being hunted by a monster; we were just accidental landlords to a very busy mother.
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