Wade forced his way through the dense underbrush, lungs burning as Milo’s frantic barking echoed in the distance. The dog had never abandoned their routine like this—never vanished into the forest without warning. A heavy silence clung to the towering pines, making each step feel perilous, amplifying Wade’s sense that something was very wrong.
Low-hanging branches raked at his arms, and the swish of brambles against his jeans sounded unnaturally loud. Milo’s barking came in fierce bursts one moment and stopped entirely the next, setting Wade’s nerves on edge. He paused, hearing nothing but his own labored breaths.
As he crested a small ridge, Wade’s blood ran cold: Milo stood stock-still in a moonlit clearing, eyes locked on a towering silhouette. Whatever it was loomed taller than anything Wade expected to find out here, an imposing presence that seemed terrifying. A primal fear seized him as he stood rooted to the spot.
Wade was a middle-aged man who had traded the bustle of the city for the peace of a remote mountain town nearly a decade earlier. Back then, he’d stumbled on a neglected cabin on the fringes of the forest.
Its weathered walls offered solitude—exactly what he craved after years of urban clamour. The day he moved in, a scruffy, skittish dog appeared under the rickety porch. Wade named him Milo. Over the following years, Wade and Milo developed a routine that shaped their quiet life.
By day, Wade taught high-school mathematics, guiding restless teenagers through equations. By late afternoon, he returned to a wagging tail and bright eyes, ready for their shared escape into the woods. It was their tether to nature, a respite from life’s demands.
Each evening, the two set off into the forest, their steps in sync on trails flanked by soaring pines. Filtered golden light danced between branches, illuminating soft moss and wildflowers. Sometimes they saw deer darting through clearings, or hawks circling overhead.
The familiarity of these walks lulled Wade, comforting him with a sense of belonging he had never quite found in the city. That night, however, the tranquillity cracked. As Wade clipped the leash onto Milo’s collar and stepped outside.
The air felt different—heavier, charged with an undercurrent of unease. The sun had already sunk behind the peaks, leaving lingering traces of twilight. Milo paused on the threshold, ears pricked as though sensing a disturbance in the darkening wood.
Pushing aside his own unease, Wade led Milo along their usual route, skirting the forest’s edge. A tapestry of wildflowers—blues, yellows, and purples—crowded the path, their gentle fragrance mingling with pine.
Normally, Wade found comfort in these small wonders: the soft rustle of petals in the breeze, the way dusk gilded each petal with fading light. Tonight, though, even the brilliance of the flowers did little to settle his nerves.
He couldn’t shake the prickling sensation that they were not alone, that the whispering leaves concealed more than the usual woodland critters. Milo’s behavior fed that worry. The dog typically trotted ahead with cheerful purpose, sniffing at logs and pausing for a reassuring pat before bounding off again.
But this evening, his ears were perpetually alert, swiveling at the slightest crack or rustle. His nose swept lower to the ground, and his trot became a restless prowl. Wade tried to dismiss it—perhaps they’d just startled a raccoon or crossed paths with a skunk.
Yet the hush that draped the trees felt more profound than the quiet he’d grown to love. It was as if the forest itself had fallen silent in anticipation, waiting for something to break the uneasy calm.
Halfway around their usual loop, Milo came to an abrupt halt. The dog’s muscles coiled, and a low growl rumbled from his chest, the sort Wade had heard only once or twice before—when something truly threatened him.
Wade squinted into the dimness beyond the pines, seeing only a faint sway of branches, as if moved by a breeze that left no sound behind. A surge of dread rippled through him. Something was out there—something unnervingly still, watching.
The hairs on Wade’s neck prickled in warning, and though he saw no movement, he sensed they were no longer alone in the dark. “Easy, boy,” Wade murmured, stepping closer and giving the leash a gentle tug. Milo stood firm, hackles raised and ears pinned forward.
Then, in a blur of movement, the dog lunged with explosive force. The leash ripped free from Wade’s grasp, the violent jerk pitching him forward. He slammed onto the ground, pain jolting through his palms as they raked across the rough earth.
Heart pounding, he scrambled to his knees, calling after Milo with a voice already fraying at the edges. But the dog was gone, swallowed by the looming shadows as swiftly as he had bolted. “Milo!” he yelled, watching the dog vanish among the trees, trailing the leash behind.
A fresh wave of panic surged. Milo never ran off. Rubbing his stinging hands, Wade debated calling for help but realized every moment wasted might endanger the dog. He snatched a fallen branch and followed, heart thumping.
The forest turned dense fast. Under the canopy, the light dimmed to near-darkness. Wade stumbled over root tangles and shoved past snagging bushes. Milo’s barking reverberated in short bursts, guiding him deeper than he’d ever ventured. Unbidden visions of predators, pitfalls, and danger assaulted his mind, yet he pressed on.
