My story takes place back in the 1980s when I was just a young girl growing up in Story County, Iowa.

Back in those days, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents' farm.

Grandma and Grandpa had a lot of farm animals for many years, but in the late 1970s and early 80s,

they sold their horses, the remaining cattle they had, and the pigs that they kept in the pen.

Although they sold almost all the livestock they had, they kept

their chickens in a large wooden wire coop that was situated and built onto the side of a wooden

tool shed. Grandma or Grandpa would usually be the ones to grab a basket and collect the eggs,

but when I was around, they'd let me do it. It felt good to

contribute in some fashion. Not that my grandparents needed much help. They were spry and tough

and hardworking, and they weren't afraid of physical labor. Three hundred feet or so behind the

house was a big barn, and at one time it was where the horses and the cattle were kept.

In the very back and off to the side, there was an enclosed pig pin and trough.

It stunk to high heaven with all the pig poop when they were there, but in the early 80s that was all a memory.

Not long after all the animals had been sold off, aside from the chickens,

I went to my grandparents' house after school.

And when I got there, they said they wanted to speak to me.

Well, at first, I was worried I had done something wrong,

but they assured me it wasn't anything like that.

Grandma was smiling the whole time and Grandpa did the talking.

Becky, you might see one of them one day and I want to tell you about them now so you won't

be alarmed. He told me that for the past two weeks or so, a large hairy man and a hairy woman had been staying in the barn.

He said that early one morning he was outside checking on the chickens in the coop.

...