THE WOLF’S CURSE

Chapter 4

Alec

The fire crackles softly, its flames reduced to a faint glow as the last of the wood burns down to embers. I sit hunched on a log, my elbows resting on my knees, staring into the flickering light. The forest around me is dark now, the kind of dark that feels heavy, like a blanket pressing down on everything. The air is sharp and cold, carrying the faint scent of smoke and pine.

I’d messaged Jamie hours ago, just after I’d set up camp. The satellite phone had buzzed and clicked as it connected, the sound oddly comforting in the silence. Her voice had been a lifeline, even if it was just a text: Made it to the first stop. Safe and sound. Miss you. She’d replied almost instantly, her words simple but enough to ease the knot in my chest: Be careful. I love you.

I’d tucked the phone back into my bag after that, the weight of her words lingering in my mind. Now, sitting by the fire, I feel the exhaustion creeping in, my body heavy and my thoughts sluggish. The day’s hike had been longer than I expected, the trail steeper and rougher than it looked on the map. My legs ache, and my shoulders are sore from the weight of the backpack, but there’s a strange satisfaction in the fatigue. It feels earned.

The fire sputters, a few sparks rising into the air before disappearing into the darkness. I should add more wood, keep it going a little longer, but I’m too tired to move. Instead, I sit there, letting the warmth of the embers wash over me, my eyes drooping as the cold night air bites at my face.

The forest is quiet, but not silent. The wind whispers through the trees, their branches creaking and groaning like old bones. Somewhere in the distance, there’s a low, mournful sound—a howl, maybe, or just the wind playing tricks. I don’t know. My mind is too tired to care.

I glance at the tent, its shape barely visible in the dim light of the fire. It’s a small, domed shelter, its fabric fluttering slightly in the breeze. I know I should get up, crawl inside, and try to sleep, but the thought of leaving the fire’s warmth feels impossible.

My breath fogs in the air, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. The temperature has dropped sharply since the sun set, the chill seeping into my bones. Fall in the mountains is unpredictable—warm during the day, but freezing at night. I can already feel the cold creeping through the soles of my boots, numbing my toes.

Finally, I force myself to stand, my joints stiff and protesting. I kick dirt over the fire, smothering the embers, and the forest plunges into darkness. The sudden absence of light is disorienting, and I fumble for my headlamp, its beam cutting through the black like a knife.

I unzip the tent and crawl inside, the cold ground biting through the thin sleeping pad. I quickly remove my boots, my fingers numb and clumsy, and pull on a pair of thick thermal socks. The fabric is soft and warm, a small comfort against the chill. I tug my thermal beanie down over my ears, the wool scratchy but familiar, and climb into my sleeping bag.

The sleeping bag is rated for sub-zero temperatures, but it still takes a few minutes for the warmth to seep in. I shiver, curling into a ball, my breath fogging in the air. The tent feels too small, too fragile, like it could be swept away by the wind at any moment.

I close my eyes, trying to relax, but the forest outside is restless. The wind picks up, whistling through the trees, their branches creaking and groaning like old bones. Somewhere in the distance, there’s that sound again—low and mournful, almost like a howl. I tell myself it’s nothing, just the wind or an animal far away, but the sound lingers in my mind, unsettling and primal.

My thoughts drift to Jamie, her voice echoing in my head. Be careful. I love you. I hold onto those words, letting them anchor me as the cold and the darkness press in around me.

Eventually, exhaustion wins out, and my eyes grow heavy. The sounds of the forest fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of my breathing. I drift into a restless sleep, the cold and the darkness pressing in around me.

Sleep comes slowly, dragging me under like a riptide. The cold fades, the sounds of the forest blur into nothing, and suddenly I’m standing in a clearing. The trees around me are taller, darker, their branches twisting together like a cage. The air is thick, heavy, and there’s a strange stillness, like the forest is holding its breath.

And then I see him.

Dad.

He’s standing a few feet away, his figure stark against the shadows. He looks just like he did in the photo from the memorial—alive, vibrant, his face crinkled with that familiar smile. But something’s wrong. His eyes are wide, frantic, and he’s waving his arms over his head, his mouth moving like he’s shouting.

“Dad?” I call out, but my voice doesn’t carry. It’s like the forest has swallowed it whole.

He’s shouting something, his hands gesturing wildly, but I can’t hear him. It’s completely silent, the kind of silence that presses against your ears until they ring. I take a step toward him, my boots sinking into the soft earth, but he doesn’t move closer. He just keeps shouting, his face twisted in panic.

“What are you saying?” I yell, my voice breaking. “I can’t hear you!”

He points behind me, his movements urgent, desperate. I turn, but there’s nothing there—just the trees, their shadows stretching long and dark across the ground. When I look back, Dad is still there, still shouting, still waving his arms. His mouth forms words I can’t understand, but I can feel the urgency in them, the fear.

“Dad, I don’t understand!” I shout, my chest tightening. “What are you trying to tell me?”

And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he’s gone. The clearing is empty, the trees closing in around me, their branches reaching out like claws. The silence is deafening, and I’m alone.

A low, guttural growl rips through the air, so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside my chest. I jerk awake, sitting up with a gasp, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.

The tent is dark, the air cold and still. My breath comes in ragged gasps, fogging in the dim light of my headlamp. I fumble for it, switching it on, the beam cutting through the darkness.

“What was that?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

I listen, my ears straining, but there’s nothing. No growl, no movement, just the faint rustle of the wind in the trees. My throat is dry, my mouth sticky, and I swallow hard, trying to calm my racing heart.

Did I dream it? The growl, the clearing, Dad—it all felt so real, but now it’s gone, like smoke dissolving into the air. I sit there for a moment, my hands shaking, trying to make sense of it.

Dad’s face flashes in my mind, his wide eyes, his frantic gestures. He was trying to tell me something, warn me about something, but I couldn’t hear him. I’ve never dreamt of him like that before. It wasn’t just a dream—it felt like something more, like he was really there, trying to reach me.

I shake my head, running a hand over my face. “It was just a dream,” I mutter, more to convince myself than anything.

But the unease lingers, a knot in my chest that won’t loosen. I lie back down, pulling the sleeping bag up to my chin, and stare at the ceiling of the tent. The dream plays over and over in my mind, Dad’s face etched into my thoughts.

What was he trying to tell me?

The forest outside is silent now, the wind having died down. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily. When it finally does, it’s restless and shallow, the dream lingering like a shadow I can’t shake.