The scent of pine needles and woodsmoke lingered in the air of Maple Creek, a sleepy town where gaslights flickered on at dusk. Two summers ago, a young couple, their laughter echoing through the trees, set off on a camping trip into the mysterious Black Hills forest but never returned.

The local police department sheriff, Bobby Simps; had sent out a search party at the request of the town residents after the couple were declared missing two nights after their departure into the deep parts of the forest. The search went on for two days before their bodies were later found mangled almost to pieces.

The wind howled through the skeletal branches of the pines, a mournful symphony that scraped against Sergeant Riley's nerves. Rain, and relentless cold, had been soaking the Black Hill National Forest for weeks.  He huddled deeper into his damp jacket, the orange search vest a flimsy shield against the biting wind.

"Anything, Miller?" he called out, his voice swallowed by the woods.

A faint crackle responded through his walkie-talkie. "Nope, Sarge. Just more trees and rocks. This place is a maze."

Riley wiped the rain from his goggles.  They'd been searching for John and Sarah for almost 48 hours now, ever since their emergency beacon had been activated deep within the wilderness.  Hope was dwindling faster than the daylight.

He scanned the dense undergrowth, a cool damp embrace of wet ferns and fallen branches.  Everything looked the same, an endless tangle of wilderness.  The only sign of humanity was the line of searchers snaking through the woods, their bright orange vests flickering like fireflies.

A twig snapped behind him.  Riley spun around, hand instinctively going for his taser.  A young officer, drenched and shivering, stood there, a lost puppy look on his face.

"Lost, Jones?" Riley asked, easing his grip on the taser.

The young officer, barely out of the academy, nodded mutely.

"Stick close, then," Riley sighed.  He pointed towards the front of the line. "Let's catch up with Miller."

They slogged on in silence, with only the sounds of their heavy breaths and the relentless drumming of rain.  The forest floor was a treacherous mix of mud and roots, threatening to send them sprawling at any moment.

Suddenly, Miller's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie, sharp with urgency. "Over here!"

Riley's pulse quickened as they pushed through the undergrowth, Officer Jones's heart pounding against his ribs as they both emerged into a small clearing, his breath catching in his throat.

A stench hit Jones at first, a thick, fetid wave that clawed at his throat and instantly made him puke. Riley pulled his bandanna higher over his nose and mouth, the thin fabric, a poor barrier against the assault of decay.

Their sight was dominated by a grotesquely familiar scene. Two bodies lay sprawled on the bloodstained grass, their clothing ripped and torn.

Miller crouched beside the first body, a young woman with long, blonde hair matted with grime. Flies buzzed lazily around her vacant eyes, the flesh around her abdomen was a gaping maw where organs should have been. The same gruesome tableau greeted him at the second body.

He rose, his stomach churning. "Animal attack," he stated flatly, stepping cautiously around the perimeter.

"Maybe," Sergeant Riley conceded, a knot of unease tightened in his gut.  The wounds were brutal, a clean removal far beyond the capabilities of any known predator in their area. "But what animal goes for the insides first?"

Jones ran a gloved hand over his chin. "Wild dogs, maybe? A pack?"

"Get forensics on the scene ASAP," Riley ordered.

While Jones scurried off to make the call, Miller crouched once more, scrutinizing the tracks. He had a sinking feeling this was no ordinary animal attack. This was something else entirely, something sinister and unknown lurking in the shadows.

*****

The sterile lights of the autopsy bay cast a harsh glare on the two steel tables.  Sergeant Riley grimaced, pulling his jacket tighter against the sudden chill.  He wasn't squeamish, but the sight never got any easier.  Especially not when the victims were a young couple, their faces peaceful and pale in death, marred only by the savage wounds that spoke of a violent struggle.

Dr. Ramirez, the medical examiner, gestured toward the body on the table. "Male, early twenties. Multiple puncture wounds and lacerations consistent with a large canine.  Cause of death is exsanguination from a deep bite wound to the femoral artery."  Her voice was clipped, and professional.

Riley nodded, his gaze lingering on the gaping wound on the thigh.  "What about the female?"

Ramirez moved to the next table. "Similar cause of death. Mid-twenties.  Though she seems to have fought back more.  See these claw marks on the forearms?"

Riley leaned closer, his stomach churning.  Deep gouges ran down the woman's arm but of a desperate attempt to fend off the attacker.

"Any sign of the animal? Tracks, fur?"

Ramirez shook her head.  "Nothing conclusive yet.  But the signs are all there.  This was a wolf attack."

Riley frowned.  Wolf attacks were unheard of in these parts.  Coyotes, sure, but wolves?  Those were practically mythical creatures in these mountains.

"Are you sure, Doc? Wolves are practically extinct around here."

"Extinct or not, Sergeant," Ramirez said, her tone dry, "something mauled these two kids to death."

Riley sighed, running a hand through his hair.  He needed answers, and fast.  "Alright, cause of death is established.  What about the time of death?"

"Rough estimate puts it two nights ago, give or take 52 hours."

"Which means they were likely attacked sometime around Saturday evening," Riley muttered, his mind already whirling with questions. 

"Did they have any camping experience?  Know the dangers of these woods?" Ramirez asked

Riley flipped through a file.  "They were amateurs.  Weekend getaway, poorly equipped." 

Dr. Ramirez looked up, her gaze meeting his.  "Look, Sergeant,  a wolf attack is a nasty way to go, but it's a simple explanation.  Unless you have reasons to believe otherwise..."

Riley did.  Something about this whole thing felt off.  Two young campers mauled by a wolf? It seemed too... convenient.  He forced a smile.  "No, Doc.  Just trying to cover all our bases."

Later, outside the morgue, Riley stood beneath a sky bruised with the colors of a dying sunset.  He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, Miller," he said into the receiver.  "We got a situation here.  I need you to dig up everything you can on wolf sightings in these parts.  Anything in the last few months.  And I mean anything."

Later that evening at the police department, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the cramped conference room. Officer Miller shuffled his notes, the sound echoing in the tense silence.  Sergeant Riley, Sheriff Simps, Officer Jones, and a gaggle of nervous park rangers all stared at him expectantly.

Miller cleared his throat. "Alright, folks. Here's what I found on those wolf sightings in the Black Hills."  He paused, tapping a picture on his tablet.  It showed a grainy trail cam image – a blurry silhouette with pointed ears and a bushy tail disappearing into the undergrowth.

"We've got multiple reports, all from the past few months.  Trail cam footage, blurry cellphone pictures, even a couple of shaky eyewitness accounts."  He tapped through a series of similar images.

"Now, most of these could be misidentified coyotes. But..." He paused, letting the tension build.  "One stood out."

He flipped to a picture with a higher resolution.  The image was still dark, but the outline was unmistakable. A large, lanky creature with powerful legs and a broad head stood staring into the camera lens, eyes glowing with an eerie light.  A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Sheriff Simps, a weathered man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, spoke first.  "Miller, are you seriously suggesting there are wolves out there?"

"Sheriff," Miller said, his voice steady, "these sightings are too consistent to ignore.  And the attack on the young couple..." He looked at Riley, who grimly nodded.  "The nature of the wounds... a wolf attack is certainly a possibility."

A young park ranger, barely out of his teens, piped up.  "But wolves haven't been seen in these parts for decades! This could be something else, right?"

"We can't rule anything out," Riley said, his gaze sharp. "Which is why we need to tighten security around the park perimeter. More patrols, trail camera sweeps, the whole package."

Miller nodded in agreement. "We also need to warn any hikers or campers about the potential danger.  Recommend they stick to marked trails, travel in groups, and be aware of their surroundings."

"And what about the locals?" Sheriff Simps asked, his brow furrowed. "There's a whole community living near the park entrance. We can't exactly scare them half to death with stories of rogue wolves."

"Transparency is the key, Sheriff," Miller said. "We just need to inform them of the potential risk while assuring them we're taking all necessary precautions."

The next hour was a whirlwind of discussion. Strategies were formulated, resources allocated, and a sense of grim determination settled over the room.  As the meeting adjourned, the Sherrif clapped Miller on the shoulder.

"Good work, Officer. We may not know what's out there, but at least we're not going in blind."

Miller nodded, a tight knot of worry twisting in his gut.  The Black Hills held a secret, and he had a feeling it was far more dangerous than a lone wolf.

At the corner of the low-ventilated office space, Sergeant Riley tried to make himself a cup of coffee, but the coffee maker wouldn't work. He banged on the machine with his fist, so hard that it almost fell off.

"Goddamnit! What's the use of a coffee maker when it doesn't pour coffee?" He exclaimed, "I thought they were supposed to replace this thing."

"It was probably taken off the budget," young officer Jones added. "There are other pressing issues than a coffee machine, I guess"

"Yeah, like what?" Miller asked,

"Like, the air ventilator!" Jones suggested.

  "Well, what's more concerning is the budget allocated to this district every year." Miller said, as he dumped the file in his hand on the desk behind him, "Heard the new mayor also decided to cut our funding, says the allocation needed some... readjustments as he quoted. Could you believe that?" just as he was about to continue, his phone buzzed on the table, the caller ID flashing "Forensics Lab."

He cleared his throat right before he answered, "Miller here."

"Officer, it's Dr. Patel from Forensics.  I have some results on the DNA samples from the Thompson case." Dr. Patel's voice was clipped and professional, a stark contrast to the chaos that settled on Miller's fueled reality.

"Hit me, Doc," Miller said,

"The DNA found on the victims isn't a perfect match to any known animals in our database," Dr. Patel said, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Wolf-like, but with some anomalies."

Miller's brow furrowed.  "Anomalies? You mean like a mutation?"

"It's possible," Dr. Patel said. "Mind you, there's a small chance, that this DNA could be from a subspecies of wolf not currently documented."

Miller sat up straighter, his tiredness momentarily forgotten.  An undocumented wolf?  That sounded more like something out of a horror movie than a police report.

"How small are we talking?"

Dr. Patel sighed. "Very small. Like, winning-the-lottery small.  But statistically speaking, it can't be ruled out entirely."

Miller pinched the bridge of his nose. This case was getting weirder by the minute. "Alright, Doc.  Thanks for the heads up."

"Of course, Officer," Dr. Patel said. "And hey, keep an eye out for werewolves, just in case."

Miller chuckled, a dry sound devoid of humor. "Will do, Doc."

He hung up, staring at the red blinking light on his phone. Werewolves?  "Great. This whole thing just went from bad to... potentially supernatural."  He proclaimed while reaching for the cigarette pack in his pocket, both Miller and the officers braced themselves for another long night, one filled with more questions than answers.