Chapter 1
Elias Crowe rode his horse, Nightshade, along the creek. The rushing water made perfect background noise for him. He was at peace. He sighed happily—but he wasn’t riding for peace. He was riding for food.
His Winchester Model 1894 bounced lightly at his side, tapping both his leg and Nightshade’s flank as they moved. He kept an eye out for any kind of animal, preferably a Eurasian wild boar.
The year was 1911—he believed around April. He hadn’t been into town for quite some time and had stopped carrying a watch long ago. Leftover meat wasn’t cutting it for cash, and a printed calendar certainly wasn’t in his budget.
Then he stopped Nightshade and listened. He was sure he had heard something.
It came again.
“Hrrff… grnk.”
Elias leaned down toward Nightshade’s ear. “Oh, you hear that, Nightshade? Looks like we’ll be eating some bacon today—well, I will. You’ll be having hay,” he whispered. He grabbed the lever-action rifle and pulled it from its saddle scabbard.
He dismounted, gripping the rifle by the barrel. His finger rested safely on the trigger guard as he hunched down and began to crouch toward the sound.
“Hruuumph.”
Another noise from the boar. A smile crept across Elias’s face. He pushed through the shrubbery, careful not to make too much noise.
“Hrrk?” came from the boar.
Elias stepped out from the brush and raised his rifle toward the black-furred animal. He aimed through the scope with both eyes open and slowly placed his finger on the trigger. He took a deep breath as the boar looked around. He knew exactly where to shoot.
BANG.
The .30 WCF tore through the air and struck the boar, dropping it to the ground. Elias lowered his rifle and placed his finger back on the guard. He stood and walked toward the fallen animal, then knelt beside it, setting his rifle down before bowing his head.
“Thank You, Father, for granting me a successful hunt. Please continue to favor and guide me as I go forth to hunt again. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
He finished with the Sign of the Cross.
Opening his eyes, Elias picked up his rifle and gripped the boar with his free arm. Then he turned and headed back toward Nightshade.
Elias walked through the shrubbery and hoisted the boar onto Nightshade’s back.
“Who’s a good girl—not getting spooked by gunfire anymore,” Elias said, patting Nightshade’s neck.
He slid his fingers into the lever and cocked it forward. A spent shell popped free and fell to the ground. He reached into a pouch on the saddle, pulled out a fresh round, and loaded it into the rifle.
Elias never used more than one bullet. That was how he saw it—if he missed, he would simply move on to the next hunt. He worked the lever back and returned the rifle to its scabbard.
He scanned the area before placing his foot in the stirrup and swinging himself into the saddle. He set his other foot, then tapped Nightshade’s side, and she began to walk forward.
Elias always liked nature. It felt far different from the way people acted in towns or cities. Everything belonged here. Everything had a purpose. By all accounts, he was the intruder. He shouldn’t have been here—but nature didn’t care. It invited him in anyway.
As time passed and he slowly followed the creek, two men in luxurious clothing stepped into view, their hands raised high, their guns plainly visible. Elias cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.
“You boys seem out of place out here,” he said calmly. “What brings you to Dead Man Forest?”
The older man—around fifty or sixty, close to Elias’s own age—spoke in a soft but commanding voice.
“My son’s horse and mine ran off after we fired our weapons. We seem to have lost our way.”
Elias studied their firearms. One was a Holland & Holland; the other appeared to be a James Purdey & Sons.
“Fine guns,” Elias said, both impressed and uneasy. “City folk, I take it?”
The two men nodded.
“There’s a bridge up ahead—collapsed two years back during a storm. Follow the road. It’ll be a four-hour walk.” He paused, glancing at the sun. Midday. “You’ll make it before dusk. And don’t cross the creek, or you’ll be walking four days before you find the next town.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s a great kindness you’ve shown us,” the man said, bowing slightly. The two turned and headed upstream.
Elias frowned when he noticed their fingers resting on their triggers.
He tapped Nightshade’s side and guided her across the creek.
“You know,” he muttered, “fox meat doesn’t sound so bad either.”
Elias rode into the worst part of Dead Man Forest—the place where the midday sun couldn’t fully pierce the canopy. The woods looked as though they were lit by a single, dying candle.
For some reason, foxes liked this place. Perhaps it was because most people feared the curse said to linger over the land.
Elias had never believed in such superstition. Not that he doubted ghosts or demons—but an entire forest being haunted or cursed? He couldn’t see something like that being true.
He continued on, keeping an eye out for bears or other predators. He knew this stretch was dangerous. His hand rested on the stock of his rifle, just below the lever.
Time passed.
“Kek-kek.”
The sound came from only a few feet away. Elias stopped Nightshade, and she halted immediately. He slid off on the side where his rifle hung, grabbed it, and pulled it free. Crouching low, he moved carefully toward the noise.
“Yip-yip!”
Elias raised the rifle and aimed toward the new sound. A red fox stood there—beautiful orange fur, a white chest, and a pointed muzzle.
He brought the sights up on the fox.
He held his breath as his finger slowly crept toward the trigger.
BANG.
The red fox bolted away.
“SKREEEE!”
Elias stared at his rifle.
BANG.
Another shot—definitely not his.
“Damn rich people,” he muttered.
He stood and headed back to Nightshade, swinging himself into the saddle as he slid the rifle into its scabbard. Elias leaned forward, and Nightshade took off at a sprint.
Then he heard something he had never heard in his forty-six years of life.
“AAAAHHHHHH!”
It was loud. High-pitched. And it was definitely not human.
Elias rode toward the sound, not knowing what those damn idiots had gotten themselves into.
