Chapter 1

The evening air hung thick with pine and damp earth, the woods settling into their twilight hush. The sun drooped low across the horizon, smearing the sky in orange and purple haze. Shane’s sneakers scuffed over roots and crisp leaves as he hurried along the tree line. His voice cracked, thin and urgent, as if calling could keep the silence from swallowing him whole.

“Sam! Here, boy!”

But there was no answer. Only the soft chirps of crickets, tree frogs, and the distant creak of branches swaying against one another.

Shane swallowed hard, throat tight, and pushed deeper into the gloom. Sam rarely strayed far from the property. Most days he lounged by the workshop or explored the woods’ edge, chasing off birds and watching squirrels scramble up the firs. Last Shane had seen him, Sam had been doing just that, trailing the tree line, tail wagging, nose to the dirt as he gave chase to something long gone. But now, he was nowhere to be seen, and Shane was beginning to worry.

A glint caught Shane’s eye at the edge of the trees. He knelt. Sam’s collar lay half-buried in the grass, the silver tag smeared with dirt. He wiped it clean with his thumb until the name appeared.

The metal was cold against his palm, too cold for the summer air.

He straightened and looked back toward the house. The porch light glowed dimly against the deepening dusk, throwing long shadows across the yard. Inside, his mother was fixing dinner; his father, washing up in the shop sink. Everything looked ordinary. Safe.

His gaze drifted past their house, up the hill to where Ms. Loukkanen’s place crouched against the horizon. Its yellow paint had peeled to the color of old bone. Windows stared down black and hollow, like sockets in a skull.

Everyone in Millhaven whispered about that house and about the woman who lived there. Even Shane’s parents warned him to stay away, calling her a witch. The kids at school told stories: pets gone missing, the witch seen standing in backyards at night. One rumor claimed Pastor Brown’s house burned down because he’d invited her to church. Shane usually laughed them off, even added his own spin to the tales. He hadn’t been so sure that his elderly neighbor, Ms. Loukkanen, was actually a witch though. Sure, she might have looked like one, and her accent sure didn’t help her cause, but living in the shadow of her house, he’d never actually seen her do anything witchy.

A flurry of black dots rose above the roofline. Crows, their cries harsh against the quiet. They circled once, then landed along the crooked gutters, jostling each other until, suddenly, they fell silent.

Every beady eye turned toward the trees. Toward him.

Shane’s throat tightened. He rubbed the collar in his palm, the metal biting into his skin.

He’d never believed Ms. Loukkanen was a witch.

But now... it was beginning to look like he might have been wrong.

A shiver crept up Shane’s spine as his mind conjured the image of Ms. Loukkanen watching from those black windows.

Something deep inside him told him to turn back before the sun completely slipped below the horizon. For a moment, he nearly gave in. He almost turned back. But then he thought of Sam, probably scared, probably hurt, and alone. Sam needed him. After one glance back toward his home, he forced his legs forward.

The last light drained from the valley as he stepped into the forest’s gloom. The treetops wove together, forming a high, dark canopy that swallowed the sky. The air grew thick with the buzz of insects and the restless stir of leaves. Each sound felt too close, too alive.

“Sam,” he called softly, then gave a low whistle. Only the echo of frogs and the creak of branches answered.

Shane strained to see into the hazy woods. He should have brought a flashlight, but he’d thought Sam would come running when he called. He squinted as he pushed aside a low branch of a fir tree, the sap sticking to his fingers as he stepped forward.

A sudden snap made him freeze. The scurry of movement in the brush ahead.

He could barely make out a moving shadow in the distance, a white patch bobbing up and down before disappearing behind the thick tree trunks.

He let out a shaky breath. A deer. Just a deer.

Then another scent reached him through the damp earth, faint but sharp. He sniffed again, and it hit him. Smoke.

His brow furrowed. No one should be burning this time of year. Dad always complained that the county bans open fires in summer. Someone must have ignored the rule, burning brush anyway. But out here? There weren’t many houses nearby, only Ms. Loukkanen’s place. The nearest neighbor was miles up the gravel road.

Uneasy, Shane moved on. The air grew hazy the deeper he ventured, thin streams of smoke weaving like ghostly ribbons between the trees. His throat burned, and he coughed, tugging his shirt over his nose.

“Great,” he muttered through the fabric. “Dad’s going to kill me.”

The ground sloped downward beneath his feet. It had been a while since he’d come this far, but he knew a creek wound through the woods and emptied into Stillwater Lake. Maybe Sam might have gone there for a drink or just to avoid the smoke. He might be close.

Shane tightened his grip on the collar and kept walking, deeper into the smoke, deeper into the darkness.

He slipped on a patch of slick moss, caught himself on a fallen log, and half-slid down the hill. He stopped just short of tumbling into a wall of blackberry vines. Panting, he stared at the thorny snarl that clawed toward him from the dark.

“That could’ve been bad,” he breathed. He’d picked enough berries to know how deep those thorns could bite.

As he skirted the edge of the brambles, something flickered beyond them, a faint, wavering glow. In the darkness, it looked like a heartbeat pulsing between the leaves.

He squinted. Fire. Too big for a campfire, he thought.

Shane crouched low, instinct telling him not to be seen. No one ever came this deep into the woods. Not to camp. Not to burn. Especially not now, with fire bans posted all over the county.

The vines snagged his jeans as he crept closer, tearing small holes through the fabric and scraping his arms. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, the brambles whispering against him like dry fingers. Then pain flared in his knee. He’d knelt on a hidden thorn.

He clapped a hand over his mouth to smother a cry, breathing fast through his nose until the sting dulled. Warm blood soaked through his denim jeans.

Still clutching Sam’s collar tight, Shane pushed aside a cluster of vines and crawled under, squeezing into a small hollow where the brush thinned enough to see through.

The forest had gone dead silent. No crickets. No frogs. Only the pop of burning wood and the occasional hiss of sap exploding in the flames. Heat rippled through the leaves, painting his face in orange light.

Shane shielded his eyes, blinking against the brightness. When his vision adjusted, he looked again and froze.

A scream caught in his throat.

A pale, fleshy figure hung above the fire, motionless yet swaying as if the air itself held her up. The flames breathed and flared beneath her, illuminating her skin in red and gold. Long strands of white hair drifted around her face like underwater weeds. Her arms were spread, palms lifted to the sky. Loose skin trembled at her elbows, and the sag of age clung to every curve.

The light hollowed her features. Where pupils should have been, only milky orbs stared heavenward.

Shane’s stomach lurched. It was Ms. Loukkanen, the witch. The sight of her nakedness, the way she floated above the blaze like an offering, filled him with shame and terror. He looked away, blinking hard, willing the image to vanish.

Then he saw what was lying beside the fire...

At first it was just a shape, against the dark. Then the shape became clearer: limbs bent wrong, fur slick with something darker than shadow. The firelight revealed what his mind refused to name.

Sam.

The air left his lungs, and he had to catch himself from crumbling to the forest floor. The world narrowed to the sound of the fire crackling and the wet hiss that followed each pop. Strange symbols circled the pit, drawn in something dark and glistening. Blood.

A sacrifice.

“No...” The word rasped out of him, barely a sound. His throat closed around a sob that clawed its way up until it burst free, a strangled, broken wail.

Above the fire, Ms. Loukkanen turned. Her head dipped slowly, until her blind eyes met his. A grin split her face, thin and sharp as a blade.

The laugh that followed was dry and brittle, like dead leaves crushed underfoot.

Shane stumbled back, thorns clinging to him, tearing into his clothes and raking his skin. His chest tightened as the darkness pulsed around him. The world tunneled, and the blaze of the fire grew distant as his vision swam. He seemed to hover above himself, small and fleeting. Somewhere far away, someone was screaming... It sounded like it was him. Then everything folded in on itself, and the night swallowed him whole. 

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