The warmth of the house didn’t do much to shake the cold from Savannah’s bones.

  She shrugged off her coat, but a weight in her chest stayed put—like she’d brought something back with her from the woods.

  Sierra was already at the table, rubbing her hands over a steaming mug, as if they’d just raced home to avoid a storm instead of riding three klicks in the dark, terrified.

  Callan had waited patiently, letting the girls hang up their jackets and put away their things.

  He’d used the time to bring the dogs in and mount his shotgun back over the door.

  All while keeping a keen eye on his youngest daughter, to make sure she unloaded her sidearm and stowed it properly.

  Callan had always been wary of Cecil’s interest in weapons, but she was careful, followed the rules, and had earned his trust.

  Tonight’s events, however, required an explanation.

  Firing a weapon was strictly limited to the range.

  He watched as the old Rottweiler wandered over to the pet bed nearest the stove and, unconcerned with the fat orange cat already sleeping there, dropped himself into it.

  The cat squished into a corner, glaring at the intruder.

  Callan smiled, then turned to his girls.

  Time for some answers.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Savannah took the lead, as she tended to. “Ok… so… We were out past the ridge—you know, the spot where you can ride up and look out over the valley? We went that way and then…”

  She hesitated, searching for a landmark that might help, but finally just shrugged.

  “Usually when we hit the top, we keep going in the same direction. West, I think? But today, we turned around and went the other way.”

  “East,” Sierra said flatly, sipping from her mug without looking up.

  Savannah shot her a glare.

  Sierra slurped louder.

  Flopping onto the couch, Savannah felt the strain of the night creeping into every inch of her. Exhausted or not, she knew bed wasn’t an option until she gave her uncle something to work with, so she pushed on.

  “We went a good ways, maybe an hour or so? Just… meandering. We were heading back, but I heard something.”

  Callan, who had been standing by the stove, moved to the old leather recliner, the heat from the fire still radiating off him as he sat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, waiting.

  Savannah let her head fall back against the couch and closed her eyes for a moment. “It didn’t sound natural.”

  “Metallic, with this sort of buzzing underneath it, like some kind of insect. I wasn’t even following the sound—it just appeared in front of me, and-”

  “Cicadas,” Sierra spat.

  Savannah sat up a little, nodding immediately. “Yeah! It sounded like cicadas, but more metallic!”

  Callan, who had been following carefully, frowned. “How do you two know what cicadas sound like?”

  “School,” they replied in unison.

  Savannah stretched her arms over her head and exhaled before continuing.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “We got to a sort of… well, it wasn’t a clearing, but that’s what I want to call it. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “One second, it was just regular woods, same as always. Then… the trees were straighter? And had way too much space between them. And the ground—” she hesitated, searching for the right words.

  “You know how the dirt out in the valley is soft, how it squishes under you? This wasn’t like that. It was packed hard, like the path the cattle take.”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “The noise stopped before we got close to it and in the clearing everything was weirdly quiet, like last night.”

  Savannah gave a small shrug, “Not ‘winter time’ quiet. Creepy quiet. No birds, no bugs, no little animals. Even Vesper knew. She kept flicking her ears and arguing with me about where I wanted to go.”

  “Anyway this clearing or whatever, it went on for a little ways but we were… well i guess either at the beginning or the end of it?”

  “In one direction, it went off, out like a road. Every other direction, it just stopped.”

  Sierra set her mug down with a deliberate clink—empty. “There’s a big smooth, black rock kinda in the middle. It was dirty and old, but it had been… smoothed,” she frowned, “I don’t know another word for it.”

  Savannah nodded again. “Yeah, it was weird. I didn’t notice it until Cecil pointed it out, but once I did, it looked like an egg or a river rock. Buried mostly in the ground.”

  Sierra leaned back against the counter. “It had been there a really long time, you could tell, but nothing had… happened to it?“

  “Like, you could just wipe the dirt off, it wasn’t even stuck. And it was perfect–except for being dirty–no scratches, no marks. Looked new.”

  She hesitated for just a moment, then added, “That’s also when the monster showed up.”

  Turning to the sink, she set her mug inside without bothering to rinse it. That was someone else’s problem.

  Maybe Future Sierra’s, but definitely not Now Sierra’s.

  “I don’t think it liked when I touched the rock.”

  “Or when you shot at it?” Savannah added, helpfully.

  It was Sierra’s turn to glare.

  “About that.” Callan raised an eyebrow at Sierra.

  “It chased us all the way back here!” Sierra shot back, voice sharp with defense.

  “Was it just the one shot?”

  “Yes!”

  Callan knew Cecil feared losing her pistol above almost any other privilege, so he spoke quickly to ease her worry.

  “That does seem to warrant a response.”

  Sierra visibly relaxed. Callan didn’t reassure you when you were in trouble. He let you sit in it, squirm under your own fear and panic until you broke. Sierra was pretty that was some kind of torture.

  “It wasn’t scared,” she volunteered.

  “At all,” Savannah agreed.

  “It didn’t even flinch, Uncle Cal. I flinched, and I’m the one who shot!”

  Callan took that in, then nodded.

  “What did it look like?”

  The question hung in the air.

  The girls stared at each other, daring the other to speak first.

  Callan, as was his way, let the silence sit until one of them couldn’t stand it.

  It was Sierra.

  “It was big,” she said slowly. “And… it had two legs… And possibly some arms. Maybe a head.”

  Callan couldn’t help a small smile at her delivery. She was deflecting, playing up the absurdity.

  He turned his expectant look toward Savannah.

  Savannah sighed. “If it didn’t make me sound crazy, I’d say it was kind of invisible?”

  Callan waited.

  “Like… you could see it but not always? You knew something was there.”

  “And you could hear it, super clearly! It was crashing through the bushes and breaking tree limbs! It was big!” She turned to Sierra, her expression almost pleading.

  Sierra shrugged. “Some arms. Maybe a head.”

  Callan gave Cecil a grin and leaned back in his recliner, his gaze softening as he looked between them.

  Whatever had scared them had been real, he’d heard it crashing around himself.

  And if it had chased them as far as they claimed that was something new.

  But still, he thought, almost certainly something mundane.

  “Well, this was all terrifying,” he slapped his hands on his knees, “I think we should get some sleep.” he rose, groaning as he stood, “I’ll wake you early—not quite first light, but as soon as it’s bright enough.”

  “We’ll go out and check for tracks, see what there is to see. Carefully. Together.”

  Callan leaned down and kissed Savannah on the top of the head

  “For now, I’m going to bed. Lock up. Empty the cat boxes, but leave them on the porch. We’ll take them down tomorrow.”

  He gestured Cecil over for a hug—just a little too tight to be comfortable.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” they echoed.

  Callan excused himself to bed, a gray tabby slipping past him in the hall, brushing against his leg before trotting off toward the girls.

  He knew they’d stay awake, talking.

  Probably raid the kitchen, too.

  He left his bedroom door ajar, just enough to overhear the louder bits.