Chapter 2 Some stones glow in Dark Black

How long had it been since I'd passed through a town that didn't feel like it was rotting from the inside out? Rochester, maybe? That had to be the last one. A few streetlights, a gas station that actually looked like it was still in business, maybe even a person or two walking around-normal things. From Des Moines to here hadn't been an exhausting drive. A single day's trip, easy enough. But the stretch between civilization and wherever the hell this was felt like an endless blur of trees and silence.

Miles and miles of empty road, framed by thick woods that closed in on both sides like a dark tunnel.

I yawned into the back of my hand, the motion sharp against the stillness of the car. My coffee was lukewarm now, but I sipped it anyway, letting the bitter taste pull at my senses. I wouldn't be rolling in too late, thank God. Work didn't start until tomorrow, technically. The cabin I'd rented along the river was isolated, tucked in deep enough that it practically brushed up against the forest. A perfect location. Not far from the crime scene. Close enough that I could pass it on my morning run. That is, if I still felt like running by morning. If the fog in my head didn't drag me under again. If the nightmares didn't come.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, letting the same thoughts cycle again and again. The case. The details. The look on Mr. Morrison's face when he begged me to come. A full thirty minutes slipped by before I even noticed, my eyes glued to the winding road as streetlights slowly began to dot the darkness.

Wolf River's main stretch rolled into view, and I slowed instinctively. My gaze darted around as if expecting something-or someone-to be waiting. But there was no one. No cars. No motion. Just a single gas station perched like a half-forgotten relic on the corner of an empty street, its neon lights flickering faintly, like they were giving up the will to keep glowing. I took it in, eyes narrowing. A gas station with a diner attached. A faint buzz of electricity and nothing else. The town was deserted. The kind of empty that didn't feel accidental. The kind of quiet that stuck to your bones.

My tank was still a quarter full, but I liked to be prepared. Old habits. And something else, too-an old itch beneath the surface. One that said: make yourself known. Leave breadcrumbs. Even if you think nothing's going to happen, make sure someone can trace you if it does.

I parked under the canopy of the gas station and climbed out, pulling my blazer tighter against the chill. The night was too still. No wind, no insects, no distant hum of nature. Not even the sound of cars echoing from far off. Just dead air pressing in all around. My boots tapped softly against the pavement as I moved to the passenger side and grabbed my wallet. A handwritten note was taped to the pump-PAY INSIDE-the words barely legible, smeared and faded like they'd been there for years. I groaned inwardly. Of course.

The sound of my heels filled the void as I walked toward the door, the rhythmic tapping too loud in the silence. I felt watched, irrationally so. The sensation curled around the back of my neck like a breath I couldn't place. My eyes drifted to the trees lining the lot-tall, unmoving, thick with shadow. It was ridiculous, but I could swear something stared back at me from between those trunks. Hiding. Waiting.

I reached the door and stepped through just as the bell overhead let out a tired ding. The weight of my firearm pressed against my lower back, a small comfort. But the moment I crossed the threshold, something shifted. The air inside felt... wrong. Thicker, somehow. Electric. Like walking into a room where something awful had just happened. Like the aftermath of a scream.

A man stepped out from the back room. Older. Heavyset. Balding, with tufts of white hair around the sides. His smile was too quick, too forced. It didn't reach his eyes. And his eyes-they were small, shadowed, watching too closely.

"Gas stop, I suppose?"

I nodded, returning the smile out of habit, reaching for my card. "Yeah. Not much farther to go, though. Maybe five more minutes."

His hand hesitated halfway to the register, eyes flicking up to mine. For a second, something flickered in his expression-hesitation? Worry? Then he reached for the card and ran it without another word. The air between us was stiff, like neither of us wanted to be there.

He gestured vaguely toward the window behind me. "You're staying in Wolf River? You don't look like the rafting type."

I raised an eyebrow, gauging the sudden shift in tone. There was something in his voice-too casual to be innocent. He was fishing for something.

"Rafting?"

He nodded quickly, eyes darting away. "Yeah. Folks come here sometimes for white water rafting. Though not as much anymore."

I told him to put twenty dollars on the pump and tucked my card away. "Is it seasonal? Or just... fallen out of fashion?"

"We don't see many visitors these days. Not since last winter," he muttered, half to himself. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, then shut it with a sharp press of his lips.

The air got heavier. Thicker.

"Where are you staying, if you don't mind me asking?"

I hesitated. Something about the question didn't feel right. "A cabin by the river. Few miles out. Good access to the trails."

His face tightened. "I didn't see a bike on your car. You don't strike me as the ATV type either. You planning on running those trails?"

I stared at him, unblinking. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

He shifted behind the counter, clearly uncomfortable now. His hands fussed with a container of jerky, then a stack of napkins, as if organizing them gave him something to hide behind.

"They don't call it Wolf River for nothing," he muttered. "People've been attacked out there. By... things. I'd hate to see something happen to you too."

My spine stiffened. "How many attacks?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned his back to me and began rearranging a display of candy bars like his life depended on it. "Just a few. Not recently. Just be careful out there, especially after dark."

I didn't press. I wanted to. But the hour was late and I was tired. Too tired to dig when I could always come back and press later. Still, my thoughts churned as I stepped back into the cold and returned to the pump. The silence outside hadn't changed. It was too quiet, too still. As the gas filled my tank, I turned to glance back at the woods. The trees stared back.

Wolf River.

I'd been so focused on bears. But now... wolves.

Something ran a cold finger down my spine.

The pump clicked to a stop. I replaced the nozzle and climbed back inside, locking the doors without thinking. The heater hummed softly, but the chill in my bones didn't ease.

My grandfather's voice rose from memory-old stories, whispered warnings. Warnings I'd brushed off.

But now I wasn't so sure.

And even as the road stretched before me again, empty and dark, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was already following.