The Return to Glenville
The bus rumbled to a halt, its brakes squealing in protest. Chris Harrison stepped off, his boots crunching on the gravel as he set foot in Glenville for the first time in ten years. The town hadn't changed much—same old brick buildings, same sleepy streets—but to him, it felt different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was off.
He adjusted the strap of his leather bag and glanced around. The diner on the corner still had its neon sign flickering, casting a dim glow. The old bookstore across the street had a "For Sale" sign in the window. He hadn't expected much, but seeing it like this still stung.
"Chris?" a voice called out.
He turned to see Jack Welch, his old high school buddy, walking toward him. Jack hadn't changed much—still the same easy smile, same confident stride. He was wearing a sheriff's uniform now, the badge gleaming under the streetlight.
"Jack," Chris said, offering a half-smile. "Didn't expect to see you still here."
Jack chuckled. "Glenville's the kind of place you don't leave unless you have to. What brings you back?"
Chris hesitated. "Work. Got a tip about some strange disappearances. Thought I'd check it out."
Jack's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Disappearances? Haven't heard anything about that. But you know how it is—small town, small news."
Chris nodded, but he could tell Jack was holding something back. "Well, I'm here now. Thought I'd catch up with you. It's been a while."
"Yeah, it has," Jack said, his smile returning. "Let's grab a drink at the diner. My shift's over in an hour."
"Sounds good," Chris agreed.
As they walked toward the diner, Chris couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The town felt... off. He couldn't explain it, but he had a sense that he was about to uncover something he wasn't prepared for.
The Shadows Beneath
The diner smelled like grease and coffee, the kind of familiar scent that clung to your clothes long after you'd left. Chris slid into a booth by the window, the red vinyl squeaking as he settled in. Jack sat across from him, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.
"Nothing ever changes around here," Chris remarked, glancing at the faded jukebox in the corner, the same one he'd seen when he was a kid.
Jack chuckled, taking a sip from his mug. "You know, Glenville has a way of keeping things... simple. People live here, they die here, and not much in between. But it's home. At least for most folks."
Chris raised an eyebrow, studying his old friend. "That doesn't sound like the Jack I remember. You used to dream of getting out."
Jack's eyes shifted slightly, a flicker of something behind them. "Yeah, well, some dreams get buried under time."
Chris wasn't sure what that meant, but he let it go. He wasn't here to dissect Jack's life choices. He was here for something bigger.
"So, you mentioned disappearances," Jack said, his voice lowering just a fraction, as if testing the waters. "What exactly are we talking about?"
Chris leaned in, his eyes scanning the room. The diner was mostly empty, save for a few locals sipping coffee in booths at the far end. The thick curtain of night outside made the inside feel like a bubble, detached from the world.
"Six people. In the past six months," Chris said quietly, keeping his voice steady. "No bodies, no witnesses. Just gone."
Jack's lips tightened, and he set his mug down with a quiet clink. "And you're just going to waltz in here and solve it, huh?"
Chris shook his head. "I don't know. But I've got a bad feeling about this place. Something's not right."
Jack leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't believe the stories, do you?"
Chris felt his heart skip. The old stories—the ones about the wolves in the woods, the creatures that came out under the full moon. He'd heard them as a kid, but he'd never taken them seriously. Not then. Not now.
"Stories are just that," Chris replied, trying to keep his tone even. "I don't believe in ghosts or werewolves. But this? It feels like we're missing something. Something's hiding in plain sight."
Jack's gaze dropped to the table, his fingers tapping nervously on the edge of his mug. He was uneasy—more so than Chris expected.
"Look," Jack finally said, his voice low, "there are things in this town... things that don't make sense. People talk, and it's hard to ignore the... patterns. But you're not going to find answers by digging too deep. Sometimes it's better to let sleeping dogs lie."
Chris stared at him, puzzled. "You sound like you know something, Jack."
Jack's eyes flicked to the window, as if the dark outside might be listening. "I know a lot more than I let on. But some things? Some things are better left alone."
Before Chris could respond, the door to the diner swung open with a jingle. The cold night air rushed in, followed by a figure that Chris didn't recognize—a tall, thin man with sharp features and dark eyes. The man paused at the entrance, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for someone.
Jack stiffened, his hand instinctively moving to his holster. Chris noticed it and felt a spike of tension.
The man's eyes settled on Chris. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and he made his way toward their booth.
"Chris Harrison," the man said, his voice smooth but carrying a certain edge. "I heard you'd come back. Been a while."
Chris didn't respond right away. He didn't like the way the man said his name—like they shared some unspoken history.
"Who are you?" Chris asked, his voice careful.
The man slid into the booth across from him, without waiting for an invitation. "Name's Will," he said. "You can call me Will."
Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Chris could feel the change in the air. Will's presence seemed to make the whole room feel smaller, more claustrophobic.
"What can I do for you?" Chris asked, trying to remain polite but on edge.
Will's eyes glinted as he leaned forward, his fingers steepling in front of him. "You're here looking for answers, right? You might want to start by asking the right people." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Things are about to get a lot more complicated than you think."
Chris wasn't sure if Will was threatening him or warning him, but the implication was clear. He didn't want to get tangled up with whatever this man was involved in.
"I'm just here for a story," Chris said, keeping his tone neutral. "I'm not looking for any trouble."
Will's smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's the problem with stories, Harrison. They have a way of finding trouble whether you want it or not."
Jack stood up, breaking the tension with a sharp movement. "Will's right about one thing. If you're planning to keep poking around, be careful who you ask. Some people don't take kindly to outsiders digging into their business."
Chris stood as well, his mind racing with questions. Who was Will? What did he know? And why was Jack so tense around him?
"You still haven't answered me," Chris said, his voice firm. "What do you know about these disappearances?"
Will's smile faded, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something—fear, perhaps?—behind his dark eyes. He leaned back, standing up as well. "You'll find out soon enough," he said cryptically. "But remember this, Chris: not all things that vanish are meant to come back."
Before Chris could respond, Will turned and walked out, disappearing into the night.
Chris was left with more questions than answers, but one thing was certain—he was no longer just a reporter chasing a story. He was in the middle of something much darker. Something that might not even be human.
Echoes of the Past
The diner fell silent after Will's departure. Jack lingered by the counter, his posture stiff as he wiped down a coffee mug that didn't need wiping. Chris sat back in his booth, his mind whirring. Will's words echoed in his head: "Not all things that vanish are meant to come back."
What did that even mean? And why was Jack acting so strange?
He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Jack. "What's the deal with him?"
Jack didn't respond right away, but his gaze flickered to Chris. There was something guarded in his expression—something he wasn't sharing.
"Will's trouble," Jack finally muttered, placing the mug down with more force than necessary. "Used to be a good guy, but... well, people change. Towns like this do that to you."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'people change'?"
Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You'll see soon enough. But right now, you need to focus on the disappearances. That's why you're here, right?"
Chris studied Jack's face. He didn't believe in coincidence. Jack knew more than he was letting on, but whether he was keeping quiet to protect Chris or because he was scared, Chris couldn't tell. Yet.
The bell above the diner door jingled again, and a familiar face stepped inside. It was Mary Field, the local librarian, looking as composed as ever. Her sharp features were framed by a cascade of dark hair, and her expression was unreadable as she scanned the room.
When she spotted Chris, she gave him a small nod, and her lips twisted into the faintest of smiles as she made her way toward him.
"Chris," she said, her voice soft but carrying. "I heard you were back in town."
Chris smiled and gestured for her to join him. "Yeah, just for a little while. I'm investigating a few things."
Mary sat down across from him, her eyes glancing at Jack, who had already returned to cleaning glasses behind the counter. It was clear she was waiting for him to leave.
"I see," she said. "Well, there's a lot to investigate around here these days."
Chris felt the weight of her words. There was an underlying tension to them, something that spoke to the quiet fear that seemed to hang over the town. People in Glenville didn't talk about the strange disappearances, but they felt it—the unease that had been slowly creeping into the town for months. Chris could sense it now more than ever.
"Are you talking about the disappearances?" he asked, leaning in slightly, keeping his voice low.
Mary's eyes flickered briefly to Jack, who had his back turned, before she leaned in too. "I've been doing some research. People around here... they don't like to talk about the old things. The stories. But they're there. And if you're not careful, they'll find you."
Chris narrowed his eyes. "The old things? What stories?"
Mary hesitated, as if weighing her words carefully. "The wolves, Chris. The ones that used to live in the woods around here. The ones people swore they saw—swore they heard—howling at night."
Chris felt a chill crawl up his spine, but he didn't let it show. The stories from his childhood—the ones he'd brushed off as ridiculous—suddenly didn't seem so absurd.
"Wolves?" he repeated, trying to sound skeptical. But his mind was already racing, and the old, half-remembered tales from his youth crept back into his thoughts. Wolves that weren't quite wolves. Creatures that could shift, could transform, could hunt under the full moon.
"I know it sounds insane," Mary continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "But there's more to this town than what you can see on the surface. People vanish, Chris, and sometimes they don't come back. And those who do... they're never the same. It's like they're marked."
Chris met her gaze, his pulse quickening. "Marked? By what?"
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the door again, and then back to him. "By the curse. Or the pack. Whatever it is... it's been here longer than we can remember. And every so often, it comes back."
Chris didn't know what to say. He wanted to laugh it off, to call it superstition, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Mary wasn't lying. That maybe, just maybe, there was something to these old stories after all.
"There's a place," Mary said, her voice dropping even lower. "A place deep in the woods where the wolves were said to gather. It's just an old hunting lodge now, but no one dares go near it. Not after dark, at least."
Chris was silent for a moment, processing everything she'd said. "And you think these disappearances are connected to that place? To... wolves?"
Mary's lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded slowly. "I don't know for sure, Chris. But I think it's where you'll find your answers."
Chris stood up, his mind made up. He had to go to the woods. He couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that the key to the disappearances—and maybe even the town's dark secret—was waiting for him there.
"Thanks, Mary," he said, his voice low. "I'll check it out."
Mary looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Be careful, Chris. The woods don't take kindly to outsiders. And neither do the people here."
As Chris left the diner, the cold night air hit him like a slap. The wind had picked up, howling through the trees in the distance, and for a moment, he could almost hear the sound of wolves in the distance.
The kind of howling that would follow you home.
He had no idea what he was walking into. But one thing was certain—whatever was lurking in those woods, it was waiting for him.
The Old Lodge
The road leading out of Glenville was quiet—eerily so. The only sounds were the crunch of Chris's boots against the gravel and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. His mind was racing as he drove toward the woods, a place he'd avoided for years. As a child, he'd heard the stories—the warnings of the dark forest where things went bump in the night. But he was a grown man now. He didn't believe in those old folktales. At least, he told himself he didn't.
The night was thick with fog as he made his way up the narrow, winding road that led to the old hunting lodge. It had been abandoned for as long as Chris could remember, a decaying relic of a time when the town was thriving. The further he drove, the more he could feel the weight of the trees pressing in on him. They towered over the road like silent sentinels, their twisted branches clawing at the sky.
As he neared the lodge, the air grew colder, and a low hum seemed to vibrate in his chest. He could feel it now—an unsettling presence, like something was watching him. Something that didn't belong.
When the headlights finally illuminated the old lodge, it seemed like a scene from a nightmare. The building was crumbling, its windows boarded up, and the front door was a gaping wound in the structure. It looked like it hadn't seen life in decades. Yet, despite its abandoned state, there was something about it that felt... alive.
Chris parked the car a little ways down the road, not wanting to get too close just yet. His heart thudded in his chest as he grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment. He didn't know why, but he felt the need to check the place out—find some clue, some sign that would make sense of the disappearances.
He shut the door behind him with a soft click, the sound carrying through the night air. The fog was thicker here, and the only thing visible beyond his flashlight's beam was the dense forest pressing in from all sides. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Chris took a deep breath, steadying himself. He wasn't some naive kid anymore. He could handle this.
His boots crunched against the dead leaves as he walked toward the front of the lodge. The heavy silence around him felt unnatural. It was as if the world had simply paused, holding its breath.
He reached the door and hesitated for a moment before pushing it open. It creaked loudly, the sound echoing off the walls like a warning. The interior was dark, save for the beam of light from his flashlight. Dust and cobwebs hung from the rafters, and the air smelled stale and musty, like the building hadn't been disturbed in years.
Chris stepped inside, his footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust on the wooden floor. He swept the light over the room, taking in the remnants of what had once been a cozy hunting lodge. Old furniture, now rotten and broken, sat in various corners. A fireplace stood against one wall, its hearth cold and unused. But there was something unsettling about it—the place felt... wrong.
The flashlight beam landed on something peculiar. A large, heavy book, resting on a table near the back of the room. Chris felt a pull toward it, like it was calling to him. He walked over to it, brushing away the thick layer of dust that had settled on its surface. The cover was worn, the leather cracked and peeling, but it was still legible.
The Forgotten Ways.
He opened the book carefully, flipping through its yellowed pages. The writing inside was a mix of ink and faded pencil, some pages scribbled with notes that were barely readable. It wasn't just a book—it was a journal. A journal filled with stories. Stories of the woods, of the town's earliest settlers, of strange rituals performed under the cover of darkness. Stories that were almost too wild to believe.
His eyes skimmed over the words, lingering on a passage that caught his attention.
"When the moon is full and the blood runs thick, the pack will rise. They are the guardians of the land, and they will claim what is theirs."
Chris's heart skipped a beat. He quickly flipped to the next page, his mind racing.
"The ones who are chosen will transform when the time is right. They will be marked. And when the hunter comes, they must be ready. There is no turning back."
Chris's hand shook slightly as he held the book. This wasn't some fantasy novel. This was real. These were accounts—accounts of what had happened here, in Glenville, long before he was born. Before anyone in the town could remember.
A sudden noise—a rustling sound—came from the back of the lodge, breaking the eerie stillness. Chris's head snapped toward the sound, his flashlight beam dancing nervously in the darkness.
His heart pounded in his chest as the rustling grew louder, like something—or someone—was moving around. A soft growl echoed from somewhere deep in the building, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws scraping against wood.
Chris froze, his breath catching in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to leave, to get out of the lodge, but his legs refused to move.
A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and thin, its eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. For a moment, Chris couldn't tell if it was human or something else entirely. It stood perfectly still, watching him.
Then the figure spoke, its voice low and menacing. "You shouldn't be here."
Chris's heart raced as he slowly backed away, the flashlight trembling in his grip. "Who... who are you?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The figure didn't answer. It stepped forward, its movements unnatural, jerky—like it was half-human and half something else.
Chris could feel the air growing thicker around him, the temperature dropping as the figure closed in. His breath clouded in front of him, and the growl grew louder, closer, until it was almost deafening.
In that moment, he realized—whatever this thing was, it wasn't human. It was something far older. Something tied to the woods, to the town, and to the very disappearances he was investigating.
And it was hunting him.
With a final, desperate movement, Chris bolted for the door, his heart hammering in his chest. The flashlight fell from his hand, the beam spinning wildly across the room before it finally went dark.
As he stumbled outside, he could feel the eyes of the creature on him, watching from the shadows. He didn't stop running until he was back in his car, the engine roaring to life as he sped away from the lodge.
But even as he drove back toward town, he knew that he hadn't escaped.
He'd just become part of the story. And the story was far from over.
The Wolf's Trail
Chris spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, the images of the hunting lodge and the strange figure from the shadows swirling in his mind. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but there was no question about it—he couldn't just walk away. The town was hiding something, and he was getting closer to the heart of it.
The next morning, the fog still clung to the streets, thick enough to make it feel like the town was holding its breath. Chris grabbed a quick cup of coffee at the diner before heading out to meet with Jack. There was no time to waste. He had to get answers, and Jack seemed like the only person left in this town who might be willing to help.
Jack was sitting at the counter, hunched over a stack of papers. His eyes lifted as Chris walked in, but the weariness in his gaze hadn't softened.
"Morning," Chris said, sliding into the stool beside him.
"Morning," Jack grunted, not looking up. "You sleep?"
Chris shook his head. "Not really. Last night... I went out to the lodge. I found something."
Jack's hand froze mid-sip, the mug inches from his mouth. "You went to the lodge?" His voice dropped, like he was trying to keep the words from being heard by anyone else in the diner. "You didn't go alone, did you?"
Chris ignored the question. "I found a journal there. Old, filled with stories—about the wolves, the pack, the curse. It's all connected to the disappearances."
Jack's jaw clenched. He put the mug down with a deliberate slowness. "Chris, you don't understand what you're messing with."
"I think I understand it better than you do," Chris shot back, leaning in. "What's going on here, Jack? Why won't anyone talk about it?"
Jack's expression darkened. He glanced over his shoulder, checking the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "There are things in this town... things we don't talk about, not even to our own families. It's safer that way."
Chris's patience was wearing thin. "Safer for who?"
"Safer for everyone," Jack said, his voice low, but laced with urgency. "Look, you're not going to find answers in that lodge, Chris. You're just going to get yourself caught up in something you don't understand."
Chris could feel the walls closing in. "I'm already caught up, Jack. People are disappearing, and someone needs to do something about it."
Jack's eyes flicked to the window, where the morning sun was fighting to break through the fog. "I warned you. This isn't something that can be solved with a press pass and a notebook." He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "You want answers? Go to the woods, see what you find for yourself. But don't come crying to me when you do."
Chris watched as Jack stormed out of the diner, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The frustration was gnawing at him, but a spark of determination flared inside. If Jack wasn't going to help, Chris was on his own. He had to find answers. And the woods were waiting.
The drive to the outskirts of town was tense, the air thick with a silence that felt heavy, oppressive. As Chris veered off the main road and onto the dirt path that led into the forest, his headlights cut through the gloom, illuminating the dense trees that seemed to close in on him. The lodge wasn't far now.
His hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles pale. He couldn't shake the feeling that the woods were watching him—like the trees had eyes, and the creatures hidden within them were waiting for him to make a wrong move.
When he arrived at the lodge, the fog was even thicker than before, wrapping itself around the building like a shroud. It looked even more imposing in the daylight, the rotting wood and boarded-up windows giving it an almost haunted appearance. Yet, something drew him in. Something he couldn't explain.
Chris parked the car and got out, his boots crunching on the dry leaves beneath him. He was just about to approach the front door when a rustling sound came from the forest behind him. He spun around, hand instinctively reaching for his phone—though he had no idea why. It wasn't like he could call for backup out here.
But there was no one. No one visible, at least.
His breath came out in a shallow gasp, and for a split second, he thought he heard the distinct sound of footsteps crunching through the underbrush. But then the sound stopped, and the silence returned.
Chris shook it off, his mind racing with everything he'd learned. The journal. The wolves. The pack. Everything was starting to make sense, in a way that made his skin crawl. He had to know more.
He made his way toward the back of the lodge, where the door stood ajar, just as it had the night before. The interior was just as dark, the air thick with dust and decay. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and the flashlight he held flickered uncertainly.
He moved quickly, heading straight for the old wooden table where the journal had been the night before. As he picked it up again, a cold draft swept through the room, causing the pages to flutter.
The book felt heavier this time. Almost as though it was… warning him. He opened it to a new page, the yellowed paper revealing more cryptic writing.
"The pack is awake. When the moon calls, the chosen ones will rise. They will walk as men and wolves. And the one who is marked will carry the curse forever."
The words struck him like a punch in the gut.
Chris flipped through more pages, searching for any clue that would give him an edge—something to help him understand how he could stop this. But before he could get far, a noise behind him stopped him cold. The unmistakable sound of something—or someone—moving through the lodge.
He turned quickly, flashlight beam slicing through the room. But there was nothing there.
Or was there?
The air grew thick, suffocating. Chris felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. This wasn't just an old story anymore. The pack was real. And if he wasn't careful, he would be their next victim.
Into the Heart of Darkness
The wind had picked up as Chris left the lodge, a cold bite in the air that seemed to crawl under his skin. His mind was racing, trying to piece together the fragments of information he'd uncovered. The journal was clear: the pack was real. The curse was real. And if he didn't find a way to stop it, he might not make it out of these woods alive.
He stumbled back toward his car, the trees around him whispering in the wind, their branches creaking like old bones. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of twigs underfoot, made his heart race. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched—no, stalked. The thought sent a chill up his spine, but he fought to stay calm. He couldn't let fear control him. Not now.
As he reached the car, he hesitated, his hand resting on the door. The journal had mentioned the chosen ones—those who were marked by the pack. Chris wasn't sure what that meant for him, but he couldn't ignore the possibility that he had somehow been pulled into whatever this curse was. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized: the disappearances weren't random. Whoever had gone missing had been chosen too.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting through the stillness. He pulled it out, finding a message from Mary.
"Meet me at the library. It's time we talked. Don't trust Jack."
The words were brief but urgent, and Chris felt a surge of curiosity—and apprehension. He had already sensed that Jack wasn't telling him the whole truth. And now, it seemed like Mary was ready to share whatever she knew.
He didn't waste time. Throwing the car into gear, he sped toward the town's center, the trees beginning to thin as he neared the more populated areas. Glenville's streets were eerily quiet at this hour, the only sounds being the low hum of his engine and the occasional rustle of wind against buildings.
When he pulled up in front of the library, Mary was already waiting on the steps, her dark eyes scanning the street nervously. As soon as she saw him, she waved him over, her expression tense.
"Chris," she said softly, almost as if she didn't want to be overheard. "We need to talk. In private."
He followed her inside, the smell of old paper and wood filling the air. The library was dimly lit, the long rows of bookshelves casting shadows on the floors. Mary led him toward the back, where an office was tucked away behind a heavy curtain.
She shut the door behind them, locking it with a soft click. "I don't know how much Jack's told you, but it's not the whole story. I've been researching this for years, trying to find the truth."
Chris leaned against the desk, waiting for her to continue. "The pack, right? The wolves?"
Mary nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. "Yes. But it's more than just wolves. It's a curse that goes back centuries. The original settlers of this town made a pact with the creatures of the forest—humans who could shift into wolves. They gave up their freedom in exchange for protection from a force far worse than anything we could imagine. The pact bound them to the land, and the curse was born."
She looked up at him, her eyes full of fear. "It's why the disappearances happen. The pack chooses one person every few decades to 'mark.' The mark means you're chosen to join them. It's not just a transformation. It's a binding."
Chris felt his stomach drop. "Chosen to join them? You mean... become one of them?"
"Yes," she whispered. "But it's not as simple as just shifting into a wolf. It's a loss of your humanity, a corruption of your very soul. The ones who are marked... they never come back the same. They become part of the pack, and they can never leave. They lose their minds, their memories, everything that made them who they were."
Chris could feel his chest tightening. He thought of the people who had disappeared—had they been marked? And if so, what had become of them?
"But what about the town?" he asked. "What about the people still here?"
"They're tied to the curse too," Mary said, her voice tight with emotion. "The town can't survive without the pack. The protection they offer... it's real. Without them, Glenville would have fallen to something far worse long ago. The people here—they're all bound to it, whether they realize it or not."
Chris shook his head. "So, what, you think everyone's in on this? That they all know about the wolves and just... accept it?"
Mary's face grew somber. "Not everyone knows. Some people are born into it, and some are... chosen. Jack, for example. He's one of them. But he's different. He's been marked, too. And I think he's trying to protect you, even if it means lying to you."
Chris felt a pang of betrayal. He'd trusted Jack. He still wanted to trust him, but the truth was becoming clearer by the minute. Jack wasn't just the sheriff. He was part of the curse, part of the pack's twisted legacy.
"How do you know all this?" Chris asked, his voice low.
Mary's eyes flickered to the window before she answered, almost as if she was checking for someone. "I've been researching it for years—ever since my father disappeared. He was one of the first to go. No one talked about it, not even my mother. But I know the signs. I know what happens to the ones who are chosen. I know the pack is waking up again."
Chris stood up, his mind racing. "So what do we do now?"
Mary met his gaze, her eyes hard with resolve. "We end the curse. We have to. It's the only way to save the town—and to save you, Chris."
He nodded, but deep down, a heavy weight settled in his chest. There was no easy way out of this. The pack was real, the curse was real, and now it seemed like Chris was tied to it whether he liked it or not.
The door to the library creaked open behind him, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw movement in the shadows.
Mary's expression faltered, her hand clutching his sleeve. "We need to go, now."
Chris turned toward the door, but his thoughts were already moving faster than his feet. If the pack was waking up again, there was no time left to waste. They had to stop it—before the full moon rose and the curse claimed them all.
And before it claimed him.
The Price of Knowledge
Chris's pulse raced as he followed Mary through the shadowed hallways of the library, his mind still reeling from everything she had just told him. The weight of the curse, the pack, the townspeople—all of it felt like a crushing force, pushing down on him from every direction. It was hard to take it all in, hard to process how deep the roots of this town's dark past went.
Mary stopped just outside the back door, looking over her shoulder as if expecting someone to follow. "We can't stay here long," she said, her voice low but urgent. "They'll be watching."
Chris glanced around the empty library, his stomach tightening. "Who will be watching?"
"The pack," she whispered. "The ones who have already been marked. They're not just wolves—they're everywhere. In the town. Watching. Waiting. You've probably passed them a hundred times without even realizing it."
Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog. Chris didn't need to ask any more questions. He already felt the eyes of the town on him—he'd known it since he'd set foot back in Glenville. And now he understood why.
"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Mary didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and stepped outside, motioning for Chris to follow. The fog had thickened even more, settling like a shroud over the town, making it feel as though they were the only two people alive in the world.
"Follow me," she said, and Chris obeyed, his steps quickening to match hers.
They made their way to a small alley behind the library, a narrow path that led between two old buildings. The scent of damp earth and decay filled the air as they walked, and Chris couldn't shake the feeling that the town itself was holding its breath.
Mary stopped in front of a small, inconspicuous door wedged between the two buildings. "This is where we'll find what we need," she said. "A place that holds the answers. But be prepared for what you'll find inside."
Chris felt a knot form in his stomach, but he nodded. There was no turning back now. He had already crossed the line by coming this far.
Mary knocked twice, a sharp rap that seemed to echo through the alley. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing an older man with graying hair and a weary face. He looked at Mary first, then at Chris, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"He's with me," Mary said quickly, before the man could speak. "We need to see the records."
The man hesitated, his gaze flicking between them. Then, with a grunt, he stepped aside and let them in.
The interior of the building was dark, dimly lit by a few flickering lamps. Shelves lined the walls, filled with old tomes, yellowing papers, and dusty artifacts that looked like they hadn't been touched in decades. Chris felt an immediate sense of claustrophobia, as if the weight of the town's forgotten history was pressing in on him.
"Why does this place feel… so wrong?" Chris asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Because it is," Mary said, her tone cold. "This is the heart of the curse. The records here—everything about the pack, the town's history, the ritual—it's all buried here. And it's been hidden from the rest of the world for a reason."
She moved toward a desk cluttered with papers, pushing aside a few dusty volumes until she found a thick, leather-bound book. She opened it with care, flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for.
Chris stepped closer, peering over her shoulder. The pages were filled with more cryptic symbols and words that made no sense to him. But there was one thing that stood out—a symbol, an intricate design of interlocking shapes and lines. It looked almost like a sigil, something ancient and powerful.
Mary traced the symbol with her finger. "This is the mark," she said, her voice hushed. "The one that's given to those chosen by the pack. When someone is marked, they're bound to them. It's a symbol of ownership, of transformation."
Chris felt a chill run through him. The mark. The one he had seen in the journal, the one that had haunted his thoughts. Could he be…?
"Does this mean…" he started, but his voice faltered. He didn't want to ask, but he had to know. "Does this mean I'm marked?"
Mary looked at him, her face grim. "I don't know yet. But if you've been investigating this deeply, there's a good chance you are. The pack doesn't just let anyone dig into their history without a price."
Chris swallowed hard. The weight of her words hung over him like a dark cloud. His thoughts began to spin again, everything he'd uncovered swirling together into a nightmare he couldn't escape.
Before he could say anything else, the door to the small room creaked open, and the man who had let them in stepped forward, a look of alarm on his face. "We've got a problem," he said, his voice tight with tension. "They're here."
Chris's blood ran cold. "Who's here?"
"The pack," the man replied, his face pale. "And they know you're here. You've been marked."
The words sent a shock through Chris's system, and he felt his pulse hammering in his chest. He turned to Mary, his eyes wide with panic. "What do we do?"
Mary grabbed his arm, her grip iron-strong. "We need to leave. Now. But stay close. Don't let them separate us."
Chris's heart raced as they rushed toward the back door. He could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, low and steady, like predators closing in on their prey. He wanted to run, to get out of there, but he knew it was too late for that. The pack was already upon them.
As they stepped into the alley, the fog seemed to grow thicker, almost suffocating. Chris's eyes darted to every shadow, every movement. He could feel the presence of something out there, something just beyond his sight.
And then, he heard it—the unmistakable sound of a low growl, coming from the shadows ahead.
Chris froze, his breath catching in his throat.
"They're here," Mary whispered, her voice full of fear and determination.
The pack was closing in.
And Chris knew, with horrifying clarity, that his time had run out.
The Hunt Begins
The growl was low, deep, and primal—an unmistakable warning. Chris's heart slammed in his chest as he and Mary froze in the alley, the fog swirling around them like a living thing. The oppressive silence that followed felt suffocating, as if the world itself had gone still, waiting.
Mary's grip tightened on his arm. "Stay close," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. "Do not let them separate us. Whatever happens, don't look away. They'll try to confuse you."
Chris barely nodded, but every instinct in his body screamed to run—to get out of the alley, out of town, away from whatever was closing in on them. But he knew it was too late. He could hear the rustle of movement in the fog, the faintest sound of something large pushing through the underbrush.
The man who had let them into the library appeared beside them, his eyes wide with panic. "They're coming from all sides. We don't have much time."
Before Chris could say anything, the man shoved something into his hand—something cold and metallic. He looked down, realizing it was a gun. His stomach turned. He had no idea how to use it, let alone how to defend himself against something like this.
"Take it," the man urged. "They won't stop until they've got you. They have to finish the hunt."
Chris felt a sickening weight in his gut. He didn't want to kill anyone—he wasn't even sure he could—but he didn't have a choice. His life was on the line, and from the look in the man's eyes, so was Mary's.
"Where do we go?" Chris asked, his voice tight with fear.
"Follow me," the man said, and before Chris could protest, he turned and darted into the fog. Mary tugged on Chris's sleeve, pulling him along behind.
The alley gave way to a larger street, but there was no sign of life. Not a single car passed by, not a light flickered in any of the windows. It felt like they were in a ghost town, the only sounds the distant growls and the pounding of their own footsteps.
As they moved deeper into the streets, Chris felt the weight of the gun in his hand. It was a poor defense, but it was all he had. His mind was reeling—The pack is real. They've been hunting me since I got here. The thought made him nauseous. He had been drawn into something that wasn't just dangerous—it was ancient, something that had been lurking in the town's bloodline for centuries. And now he was marked, just like all the others.
Suddenly, the fog thickened, a wall of it closing in from every side. The streetlights flickered, casting eerie shadows across the pavement. Chris could barely see ten feet ahead of him. The silence was crushing—he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
The man in front of them stopped abruptly, his hand raised in a gesture to be still. "They're close," he muttered under his breath. "Too close."
Chris's heart hammered in his chest as he scanned the shadows. His breath quickened, and for a moment, he thought he saw movement in the mist—figures, just out of reach of the light. No, he told himself. I'm imagining things.
Then, a rustling sound came from the alley behind them. Chris spun around, his hand tightening on the gun. But there was nothing there—just more fog, swirling and shifting like a living thing.
The man looked back at them, his eyes wide with terror. "Get to the church," he said, almost pleading. "It's the only place they won't follow."
"The church?" Chris asked, barely able to hear his own voice over the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
"Trust me," the man replied, his face pale with fear. "They have rules. They won't enter the sacred ground. Go now!"
With that, the man took off running, and Chris, heart racing, followed. Mary was right behind him, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. But there was no time to stop and ask questions. They had to move. They had to get to the church.
The sound of footsteps in the fog grew louder, closer. Chris felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his veins. He pushed his legs harder, trying to keep pace with the man in front of them.
The church was up ahead, a dark silhouette against the fog. Its steeple rose like a needle piercing the sky, and the tall iron gates loomed in front of them, promising a temporary escape. Chris felt a brief flicker of hope. Maybe they could outrun whatever was hunting them. Maybe there was still a way out.
But the growl came again, louder this time, followed by another, then another. The pack was closing in—they knew where they were.
As they reached the gates, the man swung them open with a force that startled Chris. He pushed them through and followed quickly, slamming the gates shut behind them. The fog seemed to recede slightly, the air feeling cooler and cleaner, but that didn't stop Chris from feeling the weight of the pack's presence pressing down on him.
The man led them up the steps and into the church. The interior was dark, the only light coming from the flickering candles on the altar. The scent of incense and old wood filled the air.
"Stay here," the man said, his voice strained. "I'll try to hold them off."
"No!" Chris protested, stepping forward. "You can't fight them alone."
"I know what I'm doing," the man said sharply, his eyes glinting with something hard, something desperate. "Just stay hidden. And when the time comes, you'll know what to do."
Before Chris could argue, the man turned and disappeared into the shadows of the church. Chris felt a cold chill run down his spine. He didn't know whether to trust him. But he didn't have time to think about it. The pack was almost here, and they wouldn't stop until they had him.
Mary grabbed Chris's arm, pulling him toward a side alcove, away from the open doors. "We need to stay quiet," she whispered. "They can hear us. They can smell fear."
Chris nodded, his heart still racing. The sound of the growls was louder now, so close that it felt as if the walls of the church were vibrating with their power. He glanced over at Mary, whose face was pale but determined.
"Do you think we're safe here?" Chris asked, his voice barely audible.
Mary shook her head, her eyes flickering toward the door. "For now. But not for long. They'll come. And when they do, we need to be ready."
Chris didn't know how to be ready for something like this. But he didn't have a choice. The pack was coming, and it wasn't just hunting him—it was hunting them all.
And as the growls grew louder, Chris realized one thing: survival wasn't just about escaping. It was about fighting the pack—and doing whatever it took to break the curse before it was too late.
The hunt was on.