THE WOLF’S CURSE

Chapter 8

Alec

The morning light filters through the trees, pale and weak, as if the forest is reluctant to let go of the night. I’m exhausted, my eyes gritty and my body heavy with fatigue. I barely slept after what happened last night, my mind racing with questions and my ears straining for every sound outside the tent.

I crawl out of the tent, the cool morning air biting at my skin, and stretch, my muscles stiff and aching. The first thing I do is grab my torch and knife, my eyes scanning the ground around the campsite. There has to be something—claw marks, paw prints, anything to explain what shook the tent last night.

I crouch down, running my fingers over the dirt, but there’s nothing. No tracks, no scratches, no signs of an animal. The ground is undisturbed, the only marks my own footprints from when I set up camp.

I stand, frustration bubbling up inside me. What the hell was it? A wolf? A bear? Or something else entirely?

I don’t know much about tracking animals, but I’m pretty sure something big enough to shake the tent would’ve left some kind of mark. But there’s nothing. Just the forest, quiet and still, as if it’s mocking me.

I sigh, running a hand through my messy hair, and glance at the tent. It’s time to pack up and move on. The summit is still a day’s hike away, and I need to get moving if I’m going to make it before dark.

I start packing up the tent, my movements slow and deliberate, my mind still racing. The deeper I go into the forest, the stranger things seem to get. First the woman by the stream, then the dream, and now this. It’s like the forest is playing tricks on me, testing me, pushing me to see how much I can take.

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away. I’m overthinking this. It was probably just a wild animal, curious about the tent. Or maybe it was the wind, or a falling branch. There’s a logical explanation for everything.

But even as I try to rationalize it, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. The forest feels different today, heavier, darker, like it’s closing in around me.

I finish packing up, slinging the backpack over my shoulders, and take one last look at the campsite. The fire pit is cold, the ashes scattered, and the remnants of last night’s dinner are still sitting on a rock nearby. I should clean up, but I don’t have the energy.

I start down the trail, the forest stretching out ahead of me, endless and uncharted. The trees loom tall and dark, their branches twisted and gnarled, and the air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth.

The deeper I go, the quieter it gets, the only sound the crunch of my boots over the dirt and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. But the silence feels alive, like the forest is holding its breath, waiting for something.

I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the woman from the stream or the glowing eyes from my dream. But there’s nothing—just the trees, the trail, and the faint hum of the wind.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I need to focus on the hike, on getting to the summit, on honoring Dad. But as I walk, the feeling of unease grows, a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of my mind.

Something is out there. And it’s only a matter of time before I find out what.

I stop on the trail, the weight of my backpack pressing into my shoulders, and set it down against a tree. My shirt is soaked with sweat, clinging to my skin, and I wipe my face with the hem of it, the humidity making the air feel thick and suffocating. The forest is quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze, but the stillness does little to ease the tension coiled in my chest.

I pull out my phone, the screen lighting up as I open the map. The red line marking the trail winds through the dense forest, and I trace it with my finger, calculating the distance. If I keep this pace, I’ll reach the mountain peak in the next two hours. The thought should feel like a relief, but instead, it feels like a countdown.

I glance at the satellite phone tucked into the side pocket of my bag. Jamie’s probably been worrying all morning, and I know I should check in. I pull it out, the weight of it familiar in my hand, and dial her number.

She picks up almost immediately.

“Alec?” Her voice is soft but urgent, and I can hear the relief in it.

“Hey, Jamie,” I say, forcing a lightness into my tone that I don’t feel. “Just checking in. I’m about two hours from the summit.”

“Two hours?” she repeats, her voice tinged with surprise. “That’s great. I was starting to think you’d gone off the grid completely.”

I chuckle, but it sounds hollow even to me. “Not yet. The forest is… intense, though. Beautiful, but intense.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can picture her chewing on her bottom lip, the way she always does when she’s worried. “Alec, are you sure you’re okay? You sound… different.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Just tired. It’s been a long few days, and the humidity’s brutal. But I’m almost there.”

“Okay,” she says, but I can hear the hesitation in her voice. “Just… promise me you’ll take care of yourself. And call me when you get to the summit, okay?”

“I will,” I say, my voice softening. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice now. “Be safe.”

I hang up, the silence of the forest rushing back in as soon as the call ends. I sit there for a moment, the phone in my hand, letting Jamie’s words sink in. Her voice is a lifeline, a reminder of the world I’ll eventually return to, but out here, it feels distant, almost unreal.

I tuck the phone back into my bag and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I didn’t tell her about last night—about the tent shaking, the dreams, the woman. I couldn’t. She’s already worried enough, and I don’t want to make it worse. Besides, I’m a man. I should be able to handle this.

But the truth is, I’m not sure I can.

The forest feels different today, heavier, darker, like it’s closing in around me. The deeper I go, the more I feel like I’m losing control, like the forest is testing me, pushing me to see how much I can take.

I stand, slinging the backpack over my shoulders, and start down the trail again. The trees loom tall and dark, their branches twisted and gnarled, and the air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth.

The summit is close, but it feels like a world away. And as I walk, the feeling of unease grows, a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of my mind.

Something is out there. And it’s only a matter of time before I find out what.