The Quiet Before
It was a dark and stormy night threading through the mountains south of Highway 13. The storm clouds were thick, swallowing the sky in patches of charcoal gray while the full moon fought to break through, casting pale beams of light across the winding asphalt. Traffic was nearly nonexistent, the kind of night when even truckers stayed home.
Officer Christina “Chrissy” Throne leaned back in her seat, one hand on the wheel, the other dipping into a half-crumpled bag of barbecue chips. The crunch echoed inside the car, followed by the soft slurp of lukewarm coffee from her thermos. She let out a contented sigh, shoulders relaxing, the kind of rare peace that only came on quiet night shifts.
Chrissy smiled as a warm thought sparked in her mind, momentarily chasing away the chill of the night. She reached for her phone, dialling a familiar number with the muscle memory that came from years of practice.
The line rang a few times, her headlights cutting through the darkness of the highway, before a groggy but alert voice answered.
“You know normal moms don’t call at twelve-oh-two, right?” Avalon’s tone carried that delicate balance of teenage sass and sleepy protest.
Chrissy smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching as her light laughter mixed with a hint of exasperation. “And you know normal daughters don’t stay up past midnight writing about dead things. You should’ve been in bed hours ago.”
Avalon huffed softly, the sound of shifting blankets crackling faintly through the receiver. “It’s called research. The woods are practically screaming tonight. Something out there keeps howling.”
For a moment, Chrissy’s eyes flicked to the forest pressing against the two-lane road, shadows thick between the trees. The storm earlier had left everything damp and restless, and with the radio off, silence pooled heavily in the patrol car.
“It’s probably coyotes,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “Or maybe some stray dog. Don’t let your imagination run wild.”
Avalon let the silence linger before her tone softened into a teasing murmur. “You say that like it hasn’t already.”
That earned a genuine smile from Chrissy. She loosened her grip on the steering wheel, her thumb brushing against the phone as if she could stroke her daughter’s cheek from afar. “Go to bed, nightmare queen. Lock the doors. I’ll be home before you even wake up.”
There was a pause long enough for Chrissy to hear the faint creak of Avalon shifting, as if nestling into her pillow.
Then, quieter and more fragile, Avalon said, “…Love you, Mom.” Chrissy’s chest tightened, the words pulling at something soft and unguarded inside her. She smiled into the phone, her voice steady and tender. “Love you more.”
The line clicked softly as Avalon hung up, leaving Chrissy alone with the hum of the tires and the restless shadows of the night pressing in around her.
The line went dead. The cruise was quiet again—just for the distant soft thunder.
Her K9 partner, Ruins, was curled up in the backseat, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The German Shepherd’s ears twitched occasionally at the crack of thunder, but otherwise he was still, a perfect shadow in the dim glow of the dashboard. Chrissy allowed herself a small smile, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.
“Lazy bones,” she muttered, brushing crumbs off her lap.
The mountains around her felt different tonight. Usually, she enjoyed the snowy scenery—the jagged peaks standing proud, the dense Friendship forest below stretching like an ocean of black trees. But the storm made it uncanny. Every branch that snapped in the wind felt like something watching. Every flicker of moonlight through the forest canopy resembled shifting eyes. The atmosphere was thick, charged, and the air smelled of pine, wet soil, and something else—something metallic.
Then the radio came alive, loud enough to jolt her.
“Dispatch to all units—we’ve got a situation at Redwood Lake Campgrounds. Possible animal attack. Multiple injuries reported.”
The static buzzed after the message, filling the silence of her cruiser. Chrissy’s heart skipped. She sat upright, instantly alert, chips forgotten.
She grabbed her radio. “This is Officer Throne. I’m ten minutes out. Heading there now.”
The cruiser roared as she flicked on her siren and lights, the blue and red beams splintering across the highway. Ruins jerked awake, instantly on alert, ears pricked forward. He began barking, a deep, booming sound that filled the car.
“I know, I know,” Chrissy said, gripping the wheel tighter as she pushed the accelerator. “Something’s wrong.”
The rain came down harder as she raced across the twisting mountain roads. Pines lined both sides, their massive trunks bending slightly under the storm’s force. The sirens cut through the howling wind, and the wet pavement gleamed like obsidian under her headlights.
When she finally skidded to a stop at the campground’s gravel lot, her stomach tightened. Flashing lights already painted the trees in violent hues. Other officers were scattered near the RV park by the lake, their radios crackling with frantic chatter. She slammed her car door, Ruins leaping out right behind her, teeth bared, already sniffing the air.
Chrissy jogged across the muddy ground toward the tape strung haphazardly between trees. An officer she knew—Ramirez—stepped forward, his expression tight.
“Throne,” he greeted, his voice grim. “It’s bad. Real bad.”
“What happened?” she demanded, breath fogging in the cold.
“Campers reported screaming about an hour ago. When we got here…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like a bear tore through one of the RVs.”
She frowned. “A bear? Out here? That doesn’t track. They stay farther up north this time of year.”
“Tell that to the mess inside,” Ramirez muttered, gesturing with his flashlight.
Chrissy ducked under the tape. Her boots crunched broken glass, and immediately, the smell hit her. Blood—thick, iron-sweet—mixed with the acrid scent of burnt wiring. The RV was a ruin: walls ripped apart like cardboard, furniture splintered and thrown across the floor. Blood smeared the counter, dripping down the cabinets. The television lay cracked on its face, and next to it, several mangled animal carcasses—rabbits, a raccoon, even a deer. Their bodies were torn open, flesh shredded.
But there were no people.
Chrissy’s pulse quickened. “Where are the campers?”
“Nowhere inside,” Ramirez said from behind her. “No bodies. Just this.”
Her notepad was in her hand before she even realized, scribbling down details—patterns in the blood, claw marks too wide and deep for any bear she’d ever seen, the way the furniture had been smashed upward, as if something massive had forced its way in.
Ruins growled suddenly. The hair on his back stood stiff, his nose pointing toward the treeline. Chrissy crouched beside him. “What is it, Ruins?”
The dog’s growl deepened, throat vibrating. His eyes began focusing on something in the woods, but Chrissy couldn’t seem to see anything. She feels like she was being watched by something or someone deep in the woods. Little creep out, she starts writing down more words in her notebook about that experience.
Ruins’ eyes locked on something above them, near the tree.
Drip.
Chrissy felt it before she saw it—the faint drip of something warm on the back of her hand. She blinked down. Dark droplets stained her skin.
Drip.
Slowly, she tilted her head upward. Lightning flashed through the dark sky, revealing something in the trees above her.
There, tangled in the thick branches of the pines, hung the bodies of the missing family. The father, mother, and their young daughter, all suspended grotesquely in the limbs like broken dolls.
Lightning flashed again.
Their eyes were open and glassy, reflecting the moonlight. The child’s small hand dangled limply, swaying in the wind. The daughter kept looking at Chrissy, seeking a glance, just as another flash of lightning illuminated the scene, quickly followed by the loudest thunder, drowning everything in darkness.
Chrissy’s breath caught in her throat, her body shaking and turning cold with fear, her heart hammering in her chest. She staggered back, muttering, “Jesus Christ...” It wasn’t a bear. Whatever had done this was smarter. Stronger. And still out there in the woods.
It wasn’t a bear.
Whatever had done this was smarter. Stronger. And still out there in the woods.
