Chapter 2: Into the Woods
The next morning, I convinced myself I'd imagined the whole thing. Nightmares, that's all. Moving stress and too many scary movies. But when I went outside to get some fresh air, I found them—massive paw prints in the soft dirt beneath my bedroom window.
They were huge, bigger than any dog I'd ever seen. The claws had left deep gouges in the earth, and there were drops of something dark that might have been blood.
My hands shook as I took pictures with my phone. Whatever had been outside my window last night, it was real. And it was big enough to hurt me if it wanted to.
I should have been terrified, but instead I felt oddly calm. Like part of me had been expecting this somehow.
Beth hadn't been kidding about Murphy being a gruff old bear. The man was built like a linebacker, with gray hair and arms covered in tattoos that disappeared under his rolled-up sleeves. But his handshake was firm and his eyes were kind when Beth introduced us at the diner.
"You Pete Walker's girl?" he asked, studying my face.
"You knew my father?"
"Some. Good man, minded his own business. Heard you might want some work?"
I nodded. "I need something to keep me busy while I figure out what to do with the cabin."
"Can you handle breakfast rush? Take orders, carry plates, deal with cranky customers who haven't had their coffee yet?"
"I think so."
Murphy grunted. "Good enough. Beth'll train you. Start tomorrow, six AM sharp. Don't be late."
And just like that, I had a job.
Beth showed me around the diner, explaining the routine and introducing me to the regulars. Murphy's was clearly the heart of Silver Creek's social scene. Ranchers, shop owners, retirees, and families all gathered here for meals and gossip.
"That's Doc Mitchell in the corner booth," Beth said, nodding toward a woman in her forties with graying brown hair and intelligent eyes. "She runs the medical clinic and knows everyone's business. If you ever get hurt or sick, she's the one to see."
"And those guys at the counter?"
"Construction crew. They're working on some big project up in the mountains, expanding one of the old mining roads." Beth lowered her voice. "They're staying at the motel, but they spend most of their free time here. Nice enough, but they ask a lot of questions about local history."
I glanced over at the men. They looked normal enough—work clothes, tired faces, the kind of guys you'd see on any job site. But something about the way they watched the other customers made me uneasy.
"What kind of questions?"
"About families who've lived here for generations, old stories, that sort of thing. Probably just curious about small-town life." Beth shrugged, but her smile seemed forced.
After my diner tour, I decided to explore the town. Silver Creek was bigger than it had seemed from the road—a main street lined with shops, a library, a small school, and neighborhoods of houses that ranged from cozy cottages to sprawling ranches. Everyone I passed waved or nodded, the kind of friendliness that felt genuine but also watchful.
At the grocery store, I overheard two women talking in hushed voices near the produce section.
"Third one this month," the older woman was saying. "Poor Janet Morrison is beside herself."
"Animal attacks are getting worse," the younger woman replied. "My husband says they found tracks near the Henderson place too."
"What kind of tracks?"
"Big ones. Sheriff thinks it might be a rabid wolf or maybe a bear, but..." She shrugged helplessly.
I pretended to examine apples while listening, but the women noticed me and quickly changed the subject to the weather.
Animal attacks. That explained the nervous atmosphere I'd been sensing. And those paw prints outside my cabin suddenly seemed a lot more concerning.
I bought enough groceries for a few days and drove back to the cabin, but I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd overheard. Three attacks in a month. Big tracks. And whatever had been outside my window last night had definitely been big enough to hurt someone.
That afternoon, I decided to explore the property I'd inherited. My father had left me forty acres, and I was curious to see what else was out there besides trees.
The woods were beautiful in daylight—tall pines, moss-covered rocks, and clearings filled with wildflowers I couldn't identify. A narrow creek ran along the eastern boundary, and I found the remains of what might have been an old cabin foundation near the water.
I was following a deer trail deeper into the trees when I heard voices ahead. Male voices, speaking in low tones that carried tension.
"—should have been more careful—"
"—too close to town—"
"—can't let this continue—"
I crept closer, curiosity overriding common sense. Through the trees, I could see three men standing in a small clearing. One was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt that stretched across muscled arms. The other two were smaller but looked tough, like the kind of guys who settled arguments with their fists.
"The pack won't tolerate another incident," the tall one was saying. His voice carried authority, like he was used to being obeyed. "Marcus is getting reckless. Someone's going to get hurt."
"Maybe that's what he wants," one of the others replied. "Force our hand, make us choose sides."
"There are no sides," the tall man said firmly. "There's pack law and there's chaos. We stop this before it goes any further."
Pack law? What were they talking about?
I leaned forward to hear better and stepped on a dry branch. The sharp crack echoed through the trees like a gunshot.
All three men spun toward my hiding spot, and I got my first clear look at the tall one's face. He was younger than I'd thought, maybe mid-twenties, with dark eyes that seemed to look right through me. Even from this distance, there was something about him that made my pulse race—not fear exactly, but recognition. Like I'd been waiting my whole life to see that face.
"Someone's there," one of the men said.
The tall one held up a hand for silence, tilting his head like he was listening to something I couldn't hear. His eyes swept the trees methodically, and when his gaze passed over my hiding spot, I felt exposed even though I knew he couldn't see me.
"Human," he said quietly. "Female. Alone."
How could he possibly know that?
"Should we—" one of the others started.
"No." The tall man's voice was sharp. "Let her go. But keep an eye on the area. If she heard anything..."
I'd heard enough. I backed away as quietly as I could, then turned and ran through the woods toward home, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.
Pack law. Human, female, alone. They'd been talking like they weren't entirely human themselves.
And somehow, the tall one had known exactly what I was without even seeing me.