I Hauled Dead Cattle in the Sandhills. A Skinwalker Kept Adding to My Load | Human Narrator

A man spends eleven years hauling dead cattle across the Nebraska Sandhills for a rendering plant. He works alone, on sand roads, between midnight and dawn, at ranches where the house lights are off on purpose. He has counted head out loud since he was nineteen and he has never once been wrong about a number. Then he loads four at a ranch and unloads five at the plant scale. The fifth one is warm. Every night after that it rides one step closer to the cab.