Earl Snyder made two very bad decisions that day. During breakfast, after his wife had spilled coffee over the table, he flew into a violent rage, grabbed her by the hair, threw her against the refrigerator, then landed his fist on her face again and again. She lay bloodied on the floor as he stormed out the back door. “Stupid bitch,” he yelled back at her.
That afternoon in the woods near his house Snyder began killing squirrels. One shot led to another and, after a few hours, he had killed 27 squirrels which he told himself must have been some sort of record for an afternoon hunt. The desire to share this thought led him to the Belly Up Bar. Inside he downed several shots and beers and happily recounted to others both the beating of his wife and the amazing number of squirrels he had killed that day.
Hours later he walked out of the bar into the fading twilight. By the time he turned his Silverado into his dirt driveway it was nearly dark. He parked under the old oak tree at the side of his house.
It happened as he pulled himself drunkenly out of the truck. Several squirrels dropped out of the tree and landed on him. Claws dug into his skin. He felt panic. He frantically tried to brush the squirrels off of him, but they clung to him tightly. Then dozens more squirrels fell out of the tree. In seconds squirrels covered his whole body. He screamed and flailed at them, but they dug in. Teeth bit into his flesh. Snyder fell to the ground, and the squirrels swarmed over him gnawing and tearing at him. He wailed in pain.
The screams brought Snyder’s wife to the window. She saw what was happening. She did not move to help him. She did not look away.
Finally the screaming ended, but the squirrels continued in a rapacious frenzy. Flesh and muscle were torn away from bone. Snyder’s body was in a thousand bloody pieces under the oak.
Earl Snyder had lived his last Halloween.
