Blood Mood Rising

I never believed in fresh starts until I found myself driving through Silver Creek with everything I owned crammed into the back of my beat-up Honda. The mountain town looked like something from a postcard—pine trees stretching toward cloudy skies, cozy shops with hand-painted signs, and the kind of Main Street where people still waved at strangers.

Too bad I wasn't here for the scenery.

My father's lawyer had called it a "modest inheritance." The cabin, forty acres of forest land, and enough money to maybe survive six months if I was careful. It wasn't much, but after dropping out of college and losing three jobs in two years, it felt like a miracle I didn't deserve.

"Turn left on Pine Ridge Road," the GPS announced in its annoyingly cheerful voice. "Your destination will be on the right."

I followed a winding dirt road deeper into the woods until I spotted the mailbox with "Walker" painted in faded blue letters. The cabin sat in a clearing surrounded by towering pines, looking smaller and more rundown than the photos the lawyer had shown me. Paint peeled from the wooden siding, and the front porch sagged like it was tired of holding itself up.

Perfect. It matched exactly how I felt.

I parked next to the porch steps and sat in the sudden silence, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. No traffic, no sirens, no sounds of the city that had chewed me up and spit me out. Just wind through the trees and the distant call of some bird I couldn't identify.

For the first time in months, I could breathe.

The key was under a ceramic gnome, just like Mr. Peterson had said it would be. Inside, the cabin smelled like pine cleaner and old wood. A stone fireplace dominated the living room, surrounded by furniture that had seen better decades. The kitchen was tiny but functional, and there was one bedroom with a bed that looked like it might actually be comfortable.

It wasn't much, but it was mine. And after sleeping on my friend's couch for three months, having my own space felt like luxury.

I spent the afternoon unpacking and trying not to think about how I'd ended up here. Twenty-two years old with no degree, no career, no plan. My friends from high school were getting engaged, starting careers, building lives that made sense. And here I was, hiding in the mountains like some kind of hermit.

"Get it together, Grace," I muttered, folding my clothes into the dresser drawer. "This is a new start, not the end of the world."

But as evening fell and shadows crept across the cabin, doubts started creeping in too. What was I going to do for money? How long could I realistically hide out here? And why did I feel like I was being watched every time I passed a window?

I made a simple dinner and sat on the front porch to eat, watching the woods grow dark around me. That's when I heard it—a long, mournful howl echoing through the trees. It raised goosebumps on my arms and made something deep in my chest respond with an emotion I couldn't name.

"Just coyotes," I told myself, but the sound had been too deep, too powerful for any coyote I'd ever heard.

Another howl answered the first, then another, until a whole chorus filled the night air. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I'd grown up in the city where the only wildlife was pigeons and rats. This was a different world entirely.

I was heading back inside when headlights swept across the clearing. A pickup truck pulled up next to my car, and a woman about my age climbed out. She had blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and the kind of easy smile that made people trust her instantly.

"You must be Grace," she called out, walking toward the porch. "I'm Beth Collins. I work at Murphy's Diner in town, and Mr. Peterson asked me to check on you. Make sure you found everything okay."

"That's really nice of you," I said, meaning it. "I was just listening to the coyotes."

Beth's smile flickered for just a second. "Yeah, we get a lot of wildlife up here. You'll get used to it." She studied my face in the porch light. "How are you settling in? This must be a big change from city life."

"How did you know I was from the city?"

"Small town. Word travels fast." She shrugged. "Plus, Mr. Peterson mentioned your dad never talked much about having family. We were all curious."

Something cold settled in my stomach. "My father lived here?"

Beth nodded. "On and off for the past few years. Kept to himself mostly, but he was a good man. I'm sorry for your loss."

The lawyer had never mentioned that my dad had actually lived in Silver Creek. He'd just said I'd inherited property. Why had my father been here? And why hadn't he ever told me about this place?

"Did you know him well?" I asked.

"Not really. Like I said, he kept to himself. But Murphy's always looking for help if you need work. Pays decent tips, and you'd get to know everyone in town pretty quick."

I nearly laughed. Waitressing was exactly the kind of job I'd been trying to escape by going to college. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and my bank account wouldn't last long without income.

"I might take you up on that," I said.

"Great! Come by tomorrow around noon and I'll introduce you to Murphy. He's a gruff old bear, but his bark is worse than his bite." Beth headed back toward her truck, then turned around. "Grace? A word of advice? These woods can be dangerous at night. Wild animals, easy to get lost. Maybe stick close to the cabin after dark, at least until you know the area better."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

After she drove away, I stood on the porch listening to the night sounds. The howling had stopped, but I could feel something watching from the treeline. Probably just a deer or raccoon, but my skin crawled anyway.

Inside, I locked the door and checked the windows. The cabin felt secure enough, but those howls kept echoing in my head. They hadn't sounded like any animal I knew about.

I tried calling my friend Jessica to tell her I'd made it safely, but my phone showed no signal. Great. Cut off from the world completely. I found an old landline in the kitchen that actually worked, but I didn't feel like explaining my situation to anyone tonight.

Instead, I took a hot shower and crawled into bed with a book. The mattress was more comfortable than I'd expected, and the sound of wind through the pines was actually soothing. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

I was just drifting off to sleep when something made me jolt awake. A sound like footsteps on the porch, slow and deliberate. My heart hammered as I lay frozen, straining to hear over the blood rushing in my ears.

The footsteps circled the cabin once, then stopped directly outside my bedroom window.

I held my breath, afraid to move, afraid to make any sound that might let whatever was out there know I was awake. Minutes ticked by in terrifying silence.

Then I heard something that made my blood turn to ice—a low, rumbling growl that was definitely not human.