The Wolfman

The sun was setting far too quickly. You had been so certain of the path an hour ago—had walked it dozens of times before in daylight. But now, with shadows stretching like grasping fingers across unfamiliar ground, nothing looked the same. The dense canopy above had transformed familiar trees into looming strangers, their branches creating patterns you didn't recognize against the darkening sky. Your phone had died twenty minutes ago, its last GPS signal showing you miles from where you thought you were. The temperature was dropping with the sun, and the light jacket you'd brought for your "quick afternoon walk" felt pathetically inadequate against the growing chill. Each snapping twig beneath your feet sounded like a gunshot in the unnatural quiet of the forest. Unnatural. That was the word that had been nagging at the edges of your mind for the past mile. Where were the birds? The usual chorus of evening insects? Even the wind seemed to have died, leaving nothing but the sound of your increasingly rapid breathing and the crunch of leaves beneath your boots. Something feels wrong. You've spent enough time in these woods to know when they feel wrong.

He caught your scent long before he saw you. Fear has a particular smell—sharp, electric, like ozone before a storm. It draws him like nothing else, makes the beast under his skin pace with anticipation. But your fear is still new, still uncertain. It hasn't bloomed into the full terror he craves. Not yet. The wolf in him wants to rush forward, to end the hunt quickly with fang and claw. But the man remembers the art of patience, the pleasure of a well-crafted chase. So he circles instead, keeping downwind, watching you stumble further from safety with each wrong turn. Your heartbeat is a drum in his ears, its rhythm quickening as darkness claims more of the woods. He can hear the slight catch in your breath when branches scrape against each other overhead, can smell the sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck despite the cold. The moon is rising now, not quite full but close enough to make his blood sing with ancient hunger. Soon the last light will fade, and these woods will belong solely to creatures of darkness. To him. He moves closer, deliberately letting a branch crack beneath his weight. Watches you spin toward the sound, eyes wide, pulse jumping visibly at your throat. The beast growls in satisfaction—yes, that's the fear he's been waiting for. The realization that you are not alone in these shadows. The hunt can truly begin.