Asher sat at the counter of a modest diner in Everton, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint scent of grease in the air. The late afternoon light slanted through the dusty windows, casting soft golden hues across the checkered tiles. He sipped his coffee absently, his eyes fixed on the rain-speckled glass. Raven's Peak awaited him, a small, isolated town wrapped in the dense embrace of the forest.
He had heard the rumors wolf attacks, whispers of strange occurrences. For a journalist always chasing the next story, it was a siren call he couldn't ignore.
The bell above the diner door jingled, and a grizzled old man shuffled in. His clothes were threadbare, and his weathered face told stories of long, hard years. He slid onto the stool beside Asher without a word, gesturing for coffee.
"Mind if I sit here?" the man asked, his voice rough but steady.
"Not at all," Asher replied, offering a polite smile.
The old man took a sip of his coffee, his gnarled hands steady despite the faint tremor of age. He studied Asher for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked. "Journalist, I'd guess."
Asher blinked, surprised. "What gave me away?"
The man chuckled, a sound more weary than amused. "I've been here a long time. I know the faces that pass through Everton. Yours isn't one I've seen before. And you've got that look about you like you're hunting for something."
Asher leaned back, intrigued. "You're right. I'm heading to Raven's Peak. I've heard about the wolf attacks."
The man's expression darkened, his gaze drifting to the window. The rain had begun to fall harder, streaking the glass like tears.
"Yes,the wolves" he murmured. "It has made it hard for those that are a part of Raven's Peak. Harder for strangers, too."
There was something heavy in his tone, a weight Asher couldn't ignore. "Why does it sound like you know more than you're saying?"
The old man hesitated, his fingers curling around his coffee cup as though drawing warmth from it. "Because I do," he admitted softly. "And because some truths aren't safe to tell."
His voice thickened with emotion, and for a moment, the mask of his gruff demeanor slipped. "It could be the tears of a parent for his children," he said, almost to himself.
Asher felt a pang of empathy, though he didn't press further. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, his sincerity evident.
The man looked at him, his eyes reflecting a mix of hope and resignation. "If you're going to Raven's Peak, be careful. Not every truth is meant to be uncovered."
The narrow road to Raven's Peak wound through a sea of towering pines, their dense shadows creeping over Asher's car as the sun hung low on the horizon. It was an hour from setting, casting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. The warm light softened the edges of the small town as it came into view, nested snugly between the forest and the hills..
Raven's Peak was quaint, yet its charm felt unsettling under the circumstances. The main street was lined with weathered buildings, their wooden facades marked by years of harsh winters. A general store, a post office, and a few other modest establishments were scattered along the road, their dimly lit signs swaying in the cold evening breeze.
Asher parked his car near the town's only inn, a creaking, two-story building with peeling white paint and ivy creeping up its sides. A weathered sign swung lazily above the door, the words "Moonlit Rest" barely legible.
A tall, slender yet athletic figure stood on the porch, his slightly unkempt beard a stark contrast to the crisp white shirt peeking out from beneath his long, black coat. His dark trousers were tucked into scuffed boots, giving him a rugged air. As Asher stepped out of the car, the man's gaze followed, his eyes narrowing slightly. He offered a curt nod, his arms remaining tucked in the pockets of his coat, his posture relaxed yet guarded.
"You must be the journalist," the man said in a gravelly voice. "I'm van. I'll be your guide while you're here."
Asher extended his hand. "Asher Kingston. Thanks for meeting me."
Van shook his hand firmly, then glanced at the bags in Asher's car. "You travel light."
"Always," Asher replied. "I'll just grab my camera. You can take the rest inside for now."
Van frowned slightly but didn't argue, hauling Asher's belongings onto his shoulder. "Your room's on the second floor. Corner unit. Don't expect much, but it's warm, at least."
Asher slung his camera around his neck and glanced toward the edge of the forest, its dark expanse looming over the town like a silent guardian.
"You planning on heading in there now?" van asked, his tone tinged with concern.
"Just a quick look around," Asher said.
Van narrowed his eyes. "I'd rethink that if I were you. This forest doesn't take kindly to strangers at night."
"I'll be careful," Asher assured him, already stepping toward the woods.
Van muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as he carried the bags inside.
ten minutes had passed and he arrived at the edge forest.
The forest loomed before him, its dark canopy dense and unwelcoming. Asher gripped his camera, the weight of it oddly comforting. The reports he'd gathered were consistent hikers chased by wolves, their encounters escalating in aggression. And the gray wolves with piercing yellow eyes… that detail stuck with him.
The air grew colder as he stepped into the trees, each crackle of leaves underfoot a sharp contrast to the eerie stillness. He felt watched, though when he turned, the woods offered only silence.
A sudden rustling made him freeze. His pulse quickened as he scanned the shadows, his breath hitching. Then, from the underbrush, a pair of luminous blue eyes emerged.
They weren't human, yet they held a startling intelligence.
Asher's heart thundered as the creature stepped into view a massive white wolf, its coat gleaming like frost under the fading light. It moved with a quiet grace, circling him deliberately, its movements almost predatory yet… restrained.
"What do you want?" Asher whispered, his voice unsteady.
The wolf paused, tilting its head as though it understood him. Then it stepped closer, its breath warm against his skin. Slowly, it nudged his arm with its nose, the gesture so gentle it caught him off guard.
Asher stood frozen, unsure whether to run or stay. The wolf's piercing gaze met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch. Then, without warning, it bared its teeth not in a snarl, but something eerily akin to a grin.
Before Asher could react, he felt the faintest scrape against his forearm, a fleeting sting that barely registered. The wolf stepped back, tilting its head skyward.
Its mournful howl cut through the stillness, reverberating through the forest and sending a chill down Asher's spine.
Then it was gone, vanishing into the shadows as if it had never been there.
Shaken, Asher stumbled into a clearing. At its center stood a stone monument, weathered by time and covered in moss. Intricate carvings depicted wolves standing upright, their heads thrown back in reverence to a crescent moon.
"This… this is something," Asher murmured, snapping photos.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for him. Asher decided it was time to leave. But as he turned to go, a sharp burn flared on his forearm.
He hissed, pulling back his sleeve. A jagged mark had formed, as though the wolf's earlier scrape had left something behind. The cut glowed faintly, pulsing with a strange energy.
A low howl echoed in the distance, and Asher's blood turned to ice.
Clutching his arm, he stumbled toward the edge of the forest, the shadows pressing close. Whatever he had uncovered in Raven's Peak, it was only the beginning.