Someone had decapitated the animal and mounted its head on the tree branch above. The ragged state of the poor creature’s neck suggested that its head was torn right off its body.
What kind of monster would do such a thing?!
As Blaire took a step back, a mad cackle burst forth from the dark trees. Terror rippled up her spine and shook Blaire from her fear-frozen state. She exploded into motion, barely aware of crossing the distance between the trees and their tent, ripping the zippered flap open, and crawling inside. It felt as though one moment fear held her in its icy grip and the next she was pressing her frozen face against Eric, shaking him awake. “Wake up,” she hissed, voice quivering. “Someone’s out there.”
A groggy Eric blinked at her, still half-asleep. Before she could offer an explanation, another peal of crazed laughter filled the night, jolting her beau wide awake.
Blaire scrambled to zip the tent closed. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “What’s happening?”
She caught a fleeting glimpse of a black shape outside their tent, followed by a rush of violent motion. The next moment, the tent collapsed on top of them. The stranger outside must’ve torn the guy-lines out of the ground. Blaire and Eric cried out in panic as the world inside the tent went topsy-turvy. The assailant was now dragging it over the bumpy forest floor with both Blaire and Eric still inside. She clung to Eric with all her might while the hard ground bit into their backs.
The violent forward momentum stopped, and for a moment she felt relieved. Then the tent went airborne. Blaire realized with horror that the shadowy figure must’ve thrown one of the ropes over a branch and was now lifting them upward like animals caught in a snare. The tent’s fabric stretched under their weight, but it didn’t rip. They swung back and forth, arms and legs entangled.
A deep wound opened in the tent’s fabric, shredding it from top to bottom. Moonlight seeped through the gutted material as their phantom attacker stood before them, at last revealed.
The monstrous creature glaring back at Blaire defied rational thought. Her terrified scream erupted into the night but was quickly drowned out by another burst of inhuman laughter.
CHAPTER ONE
DEATH LURKED IN the dark forest.
The signs were everywhere, and you didn’t have to be a seasoned paranormal investigator to pick up on them. An unearthly stillness had settled over the landscape, reminding me that I was the sole living creature foolish enough to brave these parts. The animals that inhabited the woods had all fled. Shadows chased the sunlight shafting through the heavy canopy, and the sky above was the color of melted lead. The syrupy air felt heavy and cloying, as if some strange force was sucking the oxygen from it.
Up ahead, the terrain became more challenging. The trees were taller and more foreboding, the underbrush thicker. Once solid ground was transformed now into a swamp by the unending rain. Scaly trunks and winding, overgrown roots threatened to trip me up, while branches reached out with malevolent intent. With each step, the chilling certainty grew: the forest had declared war against me.
No, not the forest, I reminded myself, but the evil hiding within its deepest shadows.
Undeterred, I pressed onward, knowing I was closing in on my quarry.
Most people with a healthy survival instinct would’ve turned back. Unfortunately, in my line of work, one didn’t get the luxury of walking away from danger. Ever since my family was murdered by demons sixteen years ago, I’ve dedicated my life to fighting the forces of darkness. My name is Mike Raven, and I hunt monsters.
And sometimes they hunt me.
Today was one of those days.
I paused as my eyes landed on the shredded tent wrapped around one of the trees ahead. Torn strands of blue fabric flapped in the wind like a war-ravaged flag.
Seven separate groups of campers or hikers had gone missing over the last few weeks. Attempts by local law enforcement to comb the woods had come up empty. It was as if the great forest had swallowed nineteen souls whole, only leaving behind a few tattered remnants of their gear.
People disappear every day, but the inverted pentagrams and other occult paraphernalia found near the campsites suggested a supernatural angle to these particular vanishings. Detective John Kove, a former city cop familiar with my reputation as a problem solver for strange cases, had reached out to me about this one. His call had come at the perfect time. A surprising lull in paranormal activity back in the city made me jump at the chance for some action in the countryside.
But it was already turning into the field trip from hell.