Updated Jan 5, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Rory
Morning light revealed what darkness had hidden.
I stepped onto my porch with coffee I couldn’t drink and a resolve I didn’t feel. If I was losing my mind, I needed evidence. If something was stalking me, I needed proof.
The garden answered both questions.
Massive footprints. Everywhere.
Not human. Not dog. Something bigger. Wolf-like but impossibly large. Each print sank deep into the soft earth—whatever made them was heavy. Powerful.
And they circled the entire cottage.
My hands shook as I followed the trail. Each window had prints beneath it. Like something had stopped. Looked in. Moved to the next.
Methodical. Deliberate. Hunting behavior.
The prints were fresh. Made last night. After the rain stopped around midnight. Before dawn when I’d finally passed out from exhaustion.
I pulled out my phone. Took pictures. Evidence I wasn’t imagining this. Proof that something real had been here.
The trail led away from the cottage toward the forest. Deep impressions in the mud. Whatever had made them hadn’t tried to hide its path.
I should have gone inside. Locked the doors. Called someone.
Instead, I followed.
The forest edge was twenty feet from my back door. I’d lived here three years without fear. Had walked these woods dozens of times. They were safe. Familiar. Just trees and wildlife and the occasional deer.
Now they felt alien. Threatening. Like stepping into another world where different rules applied.
The tracks led deep. Past the clearings I knew. Into sections I’d never explored. The trees grew denser here. Older. Their branches creating canopies that blocked most sunlight.
I should turn back.
But something pulled me forward. Deeper. Like invisible strings tugging at my chest.
The forest wanted me here.
Which was insane. Forests didn’t want things. They just existed. But I felt it anyway—a calling I couldn’t explain.
The tracks ended at a clearing.
And there—
My stomach turned.
A deer. Or what was left of one.
The carcass was fresh. Hours old at most. Something had killed it. Devoured most of it. Left bones and scattered remains.
This wasn’t scavenger work. This was a predator kill. Clean. Efficient. The deer’s throat torn out. Major organs consumed.
Wolf behavior.
But wolves didn’t exist in these woods anymore. Hadn’t for decades. The last ones were hunted to extinction in the early 1900s.
Everyone knew that.
Except the evidence said otherwise.
I backed away slowly. Don’t run. Running triggers chase instincts. Every nature documentary I’d ever watched screamed that at me.
Walk. Slowly. Don’t show fear.
I made it to the forest edge before breaking into a sprint.
Ran all the way back to the cottage. Slammed the door. Locked it. Pressed my back against the wood while my heart tried to break out of my chest.
Something was hunting in these woods.
Something big enough to kill a deer.
Something that had been circling my house last night.
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands. Called the one person who might actually listen.
“Dr. Winters’ office,” the receptionist answered.
“I need to speak with Dr. Celestia Winters. It’s urgent. Tell her it’s Aurora Sinclair.”
“Dr. Winters is with a patient—”
“Tell her it’s about my mother. She’ll take the call.”
Silence. Then: “One moment.”
Dr. Celestia Winters had been my doctor since childhood. Had known my mother before she died. Was one of the few people in Millbrook who remembered when my family wasn’t just me.
“Aurora?” Her voice came through. Concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to see you. Today. As soon as possible.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I—I don’t know. Something’s wrong. I can’t explain over the phone.”
“Come to my office. I have an opening at two.”
I spent the next hours trying not to lose my mind. Took pictures of the footprints. Measured them—nearly eight inches long, four inches wide. Way too big for any normal wolf.
Researched wolf sizes online. Gray wolves averaged four to five inches for paw prints. Dire wolves—extinct for 10,000 years—got up to seven inches.
These were bigger.
Morgana called twice. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t explain this yet. Couldn’t hear her say something paranormal when I was desperately clinging to logic.
At 1:45, I drove to Dr. Winters’ office in town.
Millbrook was small. One main street. Library. Doctor’s office. Post office. Handful of shops. Everyone knew everyone. Safe. Normal.
Everything my life wasn’t right now.
Dr. Winters met me personally. Mid-fifties. Kind eyes. Silver hair pulled back. She’d always seemed warm. Motherly. Today she looked worried.
“Come in. Tell me what’s happening.”
I showed her the pictures first. “Something’s been circling my house at night.”
She studied them carefully. “These are… large.”
“Eight inches long. I measured.”
“And you’re certain they’re fresh?”
“Made last night. I found them this morning.”
“Have you seen what’s making them?”
I hesitated. Telling her about the wolf in my bedroom sounded insane. But: “Last night. In my bedroom. A wolf. Massive. Amber eyes. It was just… sitting there. Watching me.”
“Did it attack?”
“No. It just watched. Then it was gone. Like it was never there.”
Dr. Winters’ expression shifted. Not disbelief. Something else. Recognition, maybe?
“Aurora, I need to run some tests. Blood work. It’s probably nothing, but given what you’re describing—”
“You believe me?”
“I believe something unusual is happening. Let’s rule out medical causes first.”
The blood draw was quick. Dr. Winters worked in silence. Efficient. Professional.
Too professional.
Like she was expecting this.
“Results will be back in a few hours. I’ll call you. But Aurora—” She met my eyes. “Don’t go back to the cottage tonight. Stay with a friend. Somewhere in town.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever’s making those prints is large enough to be dangerous. Until we know what we’re dealing with, I want you safe.”
“You think it’s a wolf.”
“I think we don’t know what it is. And until we do, caution is warranted.”
I left with more questions than answers. Dr. Winters knew something. I could see it in her eyes. But she wasn’t telling me.
I drove back to the cottage anyway. Couldn’t stay away. This was my home. I wasn’t going to be driven out by footprints and nightmares.
The sun was setting when I pulled up. Golden light painting everything soft. Peaceful.
Deceptive.
I walked to the back garden. The footprints were still there. Still massive. Still impossible to explain.
But now there were new ones.
Leading from the forest.
Stopping at my back door.
Like something had stood here while I was gone. Waiting.
I ran inside. Checked every room. Every closet. Every space something could hide.
Empty. Nothing there.
But the smell was stronger. Pine and musk. Wild and ancient. The scent from last night.
Something had been inside.
My phone rang. Dr. Winters.
“Aurora, I need you to come back to the office. Now. Don’t tell anyone about this. Just come.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Your blood work. We need to talk. In person.”
“Tell me now.”
She was quiet. Then: “Your DNA has anomalies. Markers I’ve never seen before. Aurora, genetically speaking, you’re not entirely human.”
The world tilted.
“What?”
“Come to the office. I’ll explain everything. But Aurora—lock your doors. Don’t let anyone in. And whatever you do, don’t go into the forest alone.”
She hung up.
I stood in my cottage with the smell of wolf in the air and impossible words echoing in my head.
Not entirely human.
The claw marks on my shoulder throbbed. Blood under my fingernails that wasn’t mine.
Footprints circling my house.
A wolf in my bedroom.
And somewhere, deep in the forest, something was howling.
Long. Mournful.
Like it was calling my name.
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