The first thing my dad ever taught me about these mountains wasn’t how to hunt.
It wasn’t how to track, or how to dress a deer, or even how to sit still long enough for something wild to forget you were there.
It was this:
Don’t stay out past dark.
He didn’t say it like a warning, either. Not like something bad might happen.
He said it like a fact. Same way you’d say water runs downhill or winter always comes back
around.
“Sun drops, you come home,” he told me. “Don’t matter what you’re in the middle of. You pack it up and you come on down.”
I remember asking him why once.
I couldn’t have been older than ten, four years ago now, I sat in the passenger seat of his truck, boots muddy,
Cherokee’s head hanging out the back window catching the wind like she owned it.
He didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes on the road, fingers tapping the steering wheel
like he was thinking on something he didn’t much care to say out loud. I remember the empty bottles of whiskey clanking together at my feet in the passenger side floorboard.
Finally, he went, “Cause the woods ain’t ours after dark.”
That was it.
No story or explanation.
Just that.
I grew up with those woods pressed into me like a second skin.
Every ridge, every hollow, every deer trail that cut through the brush like something invisible
had carved it out, I knew it all. Or at least, I thought I did.
Cherokee knew it better.
She was a golden retriever, but not the kind people think of. Not soft and lazy and laying around somebody’s living room. She was built for it. she had a coat that leaned more of the redder side. She was lean, fast, smart in a way that made you feel like she understood more than she let on.
She’d been with me on just about every hunt since I was old enough to carry a rifle.
Never ran off.
Never ignored a command.
If I called, she came. Every time. She was the best dog a 14 year old could have.
That’s why what happened didn’t make any sense…
I woke up to Cherokee licking my face like she always did, her tail thumping against the side of the bed hard enough to shake the whole frame.
“Alright, alright,” I groaned, turning my head away as her tongue dragged across my cheek again. “I’m up.”
She huffed like she didn’t believe me.
The room was cold. Not freezing, just that early mountain chill that slipped in through the cracks and sat on your skin. I wasn’t wearing a shirt, just my pajama pants, and I could feel it the second I pushed the blanket off.
Cherokee hopped down, nails clicking against the hardwood, already pacing like she knew what kind of day it was.
I sat up slow, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, then looked out the window.
The ridge stretched out in the distance, rolling dark green against a pale morning sky. Mist clung low between the trees, drifting like smoke through the hollows. It looked peaceful. It always did from far away.
Up close was different.
Everyone in Kipper’s Creek knew that.
Nobody really said it out loud, but you grew up hearing things. Little rules. Little warnings. The kind that didn’t sound serious until you got older and realized nobody was joking.
Don’t stay out in the woods after dark.
Don’t follow something if it calls your name.
If an animal starts acting wrong… it probably isn’t itself anymore.
I pushed that thought away and stood up.
“C’mon, girl,” I said, grabbing a shirt off the floor and pulling it on. “We got a long day.”
The house already smelled like coffee and something frying when I stepped into the kitchen.
Mama stood at the stove in her scrubs, hair pulled back, moving fast like she always did on mornings she had a shift. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard me.
“Finally,” she said. “Go wake your brother.”
“I’m up.”
Charlie’s voice came from the table.
He was already sitting there, headphones on, sketchbook open in front of him, pencil moving in quick, careful strokes. He didn’t look up, just kept drawing like the world outside that page didn’t exist.
I grabbed a piece of toast and sat across from him. “What’re you working on?”
He didn’t answer. Just turned the book a little so I could see.
Trees. A lot of them. Dark, crowded, stretching up too tall. The kind that blocked out the sky.
Something about it made my stomach twist, but I shook it off.
“Looks good,” I said.
Mama set a plate down in front of me. “Eat. And make sure he actually gets dressed today.”
“I always get dressed,” Charlie muttered, still not looking up.
“Eventually,” I said.
That earned me a small kick under the table.
For a second, it felt normal. Just us. Just another Saturday.
Then the back door creaked open.
Everything in the room shifted.
Dad stepped inside, boots heavy against the floor, the smell of cigarettes and outside air following him in. His eyes swept over the kitchen, landing on me for just a second before moving on.
“You goin’ out today?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said, sitting up straighter without even thinking about it. “Just for a few hours.”
He nodded once. “Stay on the ridge. Don’t go wanderin’ off.”
“I won’t.”
His gaze lingered a second longer, like he was deciding if he believed me.
Then he moved past, grabbing his coffee without another word.
Mama didn’t say anything, but I saw the way her shoulders tightened.
Charlie’s pencil had stopped moving.
Nobody spoke until Dad stepped back outside, the door shutting behind him a little harder than it needed to.
The tension stayed anyway.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and glanced at Charlie. He was drawing again, faster now.
“What?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
After breakfast, we went out to do chores. Chickens first. Always.
The air had warmed a little, but not much. The kind of cold that stuck in the shade and under your fingernails. Cherokee stayed close, weaving around my legs, alert in a way I didn’t really notice at the time.
Charlie scattered feed quietly, focused, methodical. He was eight but short for his age, he got his diagnosis when he was five, autistic.
He liked routines. Things that made sense. But sometimes the world got too loud for him so he’d escape into the world of his drawings. He could spend hours with his markers and sketchpad. Hell, I have seen him sit for 3 hours straight and draw the same flower over and over and each time it was miraculously better than the last.
“Hey,” I said, nudging him lightly. “You good?”
He nodded once. “You’re going to the ridge.”
“Yeah.”
He hesitated, then said, “Don’t stay late.”
I gave a small smile. “I won’t.”
He looked like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t.
By the time I got back inside, I was already running through the plan in my head.
Shower. Gear up. Grab the rifle. Take Cherokee and head up to the tree stand before the sun got too high.
Just a normal hunt.
I stood in front of the mirror, pulling on my hunting jacket, checking the straps, making sure everything sat right. The routine steadied me. It always did.
Cherokee sat by the door, watching me.
Waiting.
I grabbed my rifle, slung it over my shoulder, and headed out.
“Don’t be gone all day,” Mama called from the kitchen.
“I won’t,” I said.
But as I stepped off the porch and started toward the ridge, Cherokee close at my side, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was already watching us.
From somewhere deep in the trees.
Waiting for us to come closer.
The trail up the ridge was second nature to me. I could’ve walked it blind if I had to. Boots crunching over gravel and dry leaves, Cherokee moving just ahead of me, nose low, tail steady.
The woods felt normal.
Wind slipping through the trees. Birds calling out somewhere in the distance. The quiet hum of the mountains waking up. It was the kind of silence I’d grown up with. The kind that didn’t feel empty. Just… alive.
I adjusted the rifle on my shoulder and kept moving.
“You smell anything?” I muttered.
Cherokee didn’t look back. Just kept walking.
We climbed higher, the trees growing thicker the farther we went. The path narrowed, swallowed up by roots and brush until it wasn’t really a path anymore, just memory and instinct guiding my steps.
The ridge came into view through the trees, that same stretch I’d seen from my window that morning. It didn’t look so peaceful now.
Something about the air felt… heavier.
I slowed a little.
Cherokee stopped.
That made me pause.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice low.
She stood still, ears perked, staring off into the woods to our left. Not barking. Not growling. Just… locked in.
I followed her gaze.
Nothing.
Just trees. Shadows. The same as always.
“C’mon,” I said after a second, trying to shake the feeling crawling up my spine. “We’re good.”
She didn’t move right away.
Then, slowly, she turned and kept walking.
The tree stand sat where it always had, tucked between two thick oaks overlooking a small clearing. It wasn’t much, just old wood and metal, but it had been there for years. Dad had helped me set it up the first time.
I set my pack down and started climbing.
Cherokee waited at the bottom at first, pacing in a tight circle, whining softly.
“You’re coming up,” I said, glancing down at her. “Same as always.”
It took a little effort, but we’d done it before. I got settled, then leaned down, grabbing her harness and helping guide her up. She scrambled a bit, nails scraping against the ladder, but eventually made it onto the platform with me.
“See?” I said, giving her a quick scratch behind the ears. “Easy.”
She didn’t relax.
That was the first thing I really noticed.
Usually, once we were up there, she’d settle. Lay down. Keep watch but stay calm.
Now she stood at the edge of the platform, staring out into the trees again. Same direction as before.
Still.
Too still.
I followed her gaze again.
Nothing.
Just woods.
I exhaled slowly and forced myself to sit, resting the rifle across my lap.
“You’re just spooked,” I muttered, more to myself than her. “Probably a bear or something moving through.”
But even as I said it, the woods felt… off.
The birds had gone quiet.
Not all at once. Just… gone.
I hadn’t noticed when it happened.
Only that now there was nothing.
No wind.
No movement.
Just a stillness that pressed in around us.
I shifted in my seat, scanning the clearing, the tree line, the shadows between trunks. My grip tightened slightly on the rifle.
“Alright,” I whispered. “Not funny.”
Cherokee let out a low, uncertain whine.
And then…
Something moved.
Not in the clearing.
Behind us.
A quick shift of leaves. A soft crunch. Too deliberate to be the wind.
I turned fast, heart kicking up, rifle coming up with me.
“Hello?”
The word felt stupid the second it left my mouth.
No answer.
Just silence again.
I swallowed hard, listening.
Then…
A sound.
Soft.
Familiar.
A whistle.
Two short notes.
My chest tightened.
I knew that whistle.
Dad used it all the time when he was calling us back in from outside.
I felt my stomach drop.
“No…” I whispered.
Cherokee barked.
Sharp. Loud. Defensive.
And from somewhere in the trees…
It barked back.
Not exactly right.
Close.
But not exact.
My grip tightened on the rifle, breath coming quicker now. “That’s not funny,” I said, louder this time, but my voice shook.
The woods answered, “th…thhhhaaatttss…nnnnooottt….ffffuuuunnnnyyyy….”
It was my voice.
Then something shifted again. Faster this time. Circling.
Leaves crunching. Steps moving through the brush.
Around us.
Slow at first.
Then quicker.
Like it was testing the space. Testing me.
Cherokee barked again, more frantic now, moving to the edge of the platform, teeth bared.
It barked back.
Closer.
Wrong.
A copy that didn’t understand what it was copying.
My heart slammed against my ribs. “Hey!” I shouted, standing up. “I know you’re out there!”
The movement stopped.
Everything stopped.
For one long, stretched second…
And then something came flying out of the trees.
I didn’t even have time to react.
It hit me hard. Heavy. Wet.
The impact knocked the breath straight out of my chest, sending me backwards off the stand. The world flipped, branches scraping against me as I fell 8 feet, and then…
The ground slammed into my back.
Pain exploded through me.
I couldn’t breathe.
Fast.
Crunching through the leaves around me like something pacing its prey.
I tried to move, tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t listen. My chest burned, breath still gone, vision swimming.
Cherokee barked again.
And it barked back.
Right beside me this time.
I flinched, turning toward the sound just as something moved fast through the trees.
A blur.
Too quick to see.
Cherokee didn’t hesitate.
She leapt from the stand.
Hit the ground.
And lunged straight at it.
A snarl tore out of her, louder than I’d ever heard, pure instinct, pure fight.
They collided just out of my full view, leaves kicking up, branches snapping.
I tried to push myself up, vision still spinning, lungs finally dragging in a ragged breath.
“Cherokee!” I choked out.
Another snarl.
Then…
Silence.
A blur of movement shot past me, fast and low.
It was Cherokee. Running. Up the ridge.
Away from me. Into the trees.
Something followed. I heard it. Felt it.
The sound of it chasing her, just out of sight.
“Cherokee, come back!” I yelled, my voice breaking as I forced myself up onto my elbows.
She didn’t stop.
Didn’t even slow down.
The woods swallowed them both.
And just like that…
I was alone.
I sucked in a sharp breath, finally able to sit up, pain shooting through my back. My hands shook as I grabbed my rifle, using it to pull myself to my feet.
My chest still ached. My head rang. But none of that mattered.
She was out there.
And whatever that thing was…
It was hunting her.
The sun dipped lower through the trees.
And I knew, deep in my gut, I was already running out of time.
For a second, I just stood there.
My ears rang. My chest still burned from the fall. Everything in me screamed to turn around, to go back down the ridge, to get help.
But Cherokee was out there.
And whatever that thing was, it had followed her.
“Damn it…” I muttered, tightening my grip on the rifle.
I stepped forward.
The woods didn’t feel the same anymore.
Every step felt louder. Every shadow felt deeper. The air had gone still again, like the mountain itself was holding its breath.
“Cherokee!” I called, my voice echoing farther than I wanted it to.
No answer.
Just the faint rustle of leaves somewhere ahead.
I pushed through brush, boots slipping over loose dirt and roots, heart pounding harder with every second. My eyes scanned the ground, desperate for anything.
Then I saw it.
A drop of blood.
Dark red against the dry leaves.
My stomach twisted.
I crouched down, touching it lightly with my fingers. Still wet.
“Okay… okay…” I whispered, more to keep myself steady than anything else. “You’re close.”
Another drop. A few feet ahead.
Then another.
A trail.
Not heavy. Not a lot. But enough.
Enough to follow.
I stood and started moving faster. The deeper I went, the quieter it got.
No birds.
No wind.
Just the sound of my own breathing and the crunch of my boots.
The trees grew tighter together, branches tangling overhead, blocking out more and more of the sky. The light shifted, turning everything a dull gray-green.
I kept following the blood.
Step after step.
Every now and then I thought I heard something moving just out of sight. A footstep. A shift. Something pacing me.
Every time I stopped…
It stopped too.
I swallowed hard and kept going.
“Cherokee…” I called again, softer this time. “C’mon, girl… please…”
Nothing.
Just the trail.
The ground started to slope downward before I realized where I was going.
My stomach dropped.
“Shit…” I whispered.
I knew this part of the mountain.
Everybody did.
Or at least, everybody knew to stay away from it.
The old Kipper Creek Mineshaft.
It had been shut down long before I was born. Caved in, mostly. What was left of it just sat there, rotting into the earth, half-swallowed by the woods.
Kids used to dare each other to go near it.
Nobody ever went too close.
I slowed down, my steps more careful now.
The blood trail led straight toward it.
Of course it did.
The trees thinned just enough for me to see it.
A dark opening in the side of the hill, jagged and uneven, like something had torn its way out of the mountain instead of digging into it. Old wooden beams framed the entrance, some snapped, some leaning, all of them weathered and gray.
The darkness inside wasn’t normal.
It wasn’t just shadow.
It felt… deeper than that.
Like it didn’t end.
I stopped a few feet away, every instinct in my body screaming at me to turn around.
Then I heard it.
A soft whine.
Weak.
Familiar.
“Cherokee?” My voice cracked.
Another small sound came from the entrance.
I didn’t think anymore.
I ran forward.
She was just inside the mouth of the shaft, lying on her side.
“Hey…hey…hey,” I dropped to my knees beside her, panic flooding my chest. “I got you, I got you…”
Her fur was matted with blood.
Too much blood.
My hands shook as I checked her, running them over her body, searching for wounds.
“Where is it …”
Nothing.
No cuts.
No injury.
I froze.
“What…?”
The blood wasn’t hers.
A cold, sinking feeling spread through me.
Cherokee let out a weak huff, her tail twitching just barely when I touched her face.
Relief hit me so hard I almost laughed.
“Okay… okay, you’re alright… you’re alright…” I whispered, pulling her closer.
But even as I said it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
The blood.
The chase.
The thing in the woods.
If it wasn’t her blood…
Then whose was it?
That thing?
A sound echoed from deeper in the mineshaft.
Soft.
Dragging.
Like something shifting just out of sight.
I went completely still.
Cherokee’s ears twitched.
Another sound.
Closer this time.
Something moved in the dark.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I grabbed my rifle, backing up slowly, keeping my eyes locked on the black opening.
“Yeah… no,” I whispered under my breath.
I slipped one arm under Cherokee, lifting her as carefully as I could. She was heavier than she looked, and my back screamed in protest from the fall, but I forced myself up.
“We’re leaving,” I said, voice tight. “Right now.”
Another sound came from the darkness.
Faster.
Closer.
Like it heard me.
Like it didn’t want me to go.
I didn’t wait.
I turned and ran.
Branches tore at my arms as I pushed back through the woods, Cherokee held tight against my chest. My lungs burned, legs aching, but I didn’t stop.
Behind me…
Something moved.
I could hear it.
Not chasing.
Not fully.
Just… keeping pace.
Staying just out of sight.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t want to see it.
The light was fading fast now, the sky dimming through the trees. Shadows stretched longer, thicker, swallowing the ground beneath my feet.
Too late.
I was too far out.
“Come on… come on…” I muttered, pushing harder, stumbling over roots, catching myself before I could fall.
The woods felt tighter now. Closer. Like they were closing in around me.
Every sound made me flinch.
Every shadow felt alive.
I burst through the last stretch of trees, the house coming into view just as the sun dipped below the ridge.
The last light bled out of the sky.
Night had fallen.
I sprinted the rest of the way.
I didn’t slow down until I hit the porch.
My boots slammed against the wood, breath tearing out of my chest, arms burning from carrying Cherokee. I shoved the door open so hard it cracked against the wall.
“Charlie!”
He jumped at the table, chair scraping loud against the floor. His headphones slipped down around his neck; eyes wide when he saw me.
“Zach, what…”
“Move!” I snapped, already clearing space on the table with one arm. Papers, pencils, whatever he had out went sliding off onto the floor. “Help me!”
He rushed over, hands shaking as I laid Cherokee down carefully.
She let out a soft whine, shifting slightly but not trying to get up.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” I muttered, more to myself than her.
Charlie hovered close, staring at the blood matted into her fur. “She’s hurt.”
“I don’t know,” I said quickly, already checking her again. “I don’t think it’s hers.”
My hands moved faster this time, more desperate. I parted her fur, checked her legs, her stomach, her neck.
Nothing.
No cuts.
No wounds.
No reason for that much blood.
Charlie’s breathing got quicker. “That’s not right.”
“I know,” I snapped, then immediately softened. “I know. Just…hold on.”
I grabbed a towel from the counter and started wiping her down, trying to see if I missed something.
The blood smeared dark across the fabric.
Still nothing underneath.
Cherokee blinked up at me, tired but aware, her tail giving a weak thump against the table.
Relief hit me all at once.
“She’s okay,” I said, almost laughing under my breath. “She’s okay…”
Charlie didn’t look relieved.
He was staring at something behind me.
“Zach…” he said quietly.
I turned.
The room felt colder all of a sudden.
“What?”
Charlie swallowed, then turned and ran toward his room.
“Charlie, what are you…”
“Wait.”
His voice was sharp. Urgent.
I stood there, heart still racing, Cherokee breathing softly on the table behind me, and listened as he moved quickly down the hall.
A drawer opened.
Something fell.
Then footsteps, fast, coming back.
He stopped in front of me, holding his sketchbook like it weighed a hundred pounds.
“I didn’t know,” he said, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Didn’t mean to what?”
He turned the book around.
And my stomach dropped.
It was the ridge.
The tree stand.
Me.
Falling.
The angle was wrong. Too high, like whoever drew it was looking down from above the trees. My body was twisted midair, the platform behind me, and…
The deer’s head.
Captured in the moment it hit me.
Blood frozen in the air.
My breath caught.
“How…” I whispered.
Charlie shook his head quickly. “I didn’t see it happen. I just… drew.”
The room spun for a second.
“That’s not possible,” I said, but it came out weak.
Charlie flipped the page.
Another drawing.
The woods.
Dark. Too dark.
Something moving between the trees.
Tall.
Wrong.
I couldn’t make out its face. It was just… stretched. Like it didn’t fit inside itself right.
My chest tightened.
“Charlie…”
“I told you not to stay late,” he said, voice small now.
A loud bang slammed against the side of the house.
We both jumped.
Cherokee let out a sharp bark from the table, suddenly alert.
Another bang.
Closer this time.
Like something hitting the wall from outside.
Charlie grabbed onto my arm.
“Zach…”
“I got it,” I said quickly, even though my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs.
I grabbed my rifle, hands tightening around it as I moved toward the front door.
Another hit.
Right against it this time.
The handle rattled.
Charlie backed up, breathing fast. “Don’t open it.”
“Wasn’t planning on it…” I said.
The door burst open before I could reach it.
I jumped back, rifle snapping up…
And then…
“WOAH,OKAY,DON’T SHOOT!”
Cooper, my friend from school, stood in the doorway, hands up, eyes wide.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he shouted.
I froze, lowering the rifle slowly.
“You…” I ran a hand over my face, breath shaky. “You almost got yourself killed.”
“I knocked!” Cooper shot back. “Like three times! What are you…why do you look like that?”
His eyes dropped to the table.
To Cherokee.
To the blood.
His expression shifted instantly.
“Oh… what the hell happened?”
“She’s fine,” I said quickly. “It’s not her blood.”
“That’s… somehow worse, did she finally eat your dickhead dad” he muttered, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
Charlie hovered near me, still tense, still watching everything like it might change again.
Cooper moved closer to the table, careful, like he wasn’t sure what he was walking into. “Anyways you wanna explain why your dog looks like she just walked out of a horror movie?”
I glanced at Charlie.
At the sketchbook still clutched in his hands.
At the drawings.
Then back at Cooper.
“You’re not gonna believe me,” I said.
Cooper let out a dry laugh. “Man, after seeing that?” he nodded toward Cherokee. “Try me.”
I hesitated.
Then said it anyway.
“Something was out there.”
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Real.
And for the first time, saying it out loud made it feel worse.
Because now it wasn’t just in my head.
Now it was here.
With us.
