Skinwalker's kin Chapter one- Part four (Final)
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Skinwalker's Kin
Chapter One: The Call of Black Hollow (Part 4 – Final)
Something inhaled.
The sound came from somewhere inside the darkness, impossibly deep and impossibly close at the same time. It was slow, deliberate, like a creature awakening after centuries of dreamless sleep.
Rowan held his breath.
His flashlight had gone dead.
The lanterns lining the chamber walls had extinguished in the same instant, leaving only the faint silver glow of the symbols carved into the enormous stone door.
Kaela's voice broke the silence.
"Don't move."
It was barely more than a whisper.
Rowan couldn't even see her.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I don't know."
He almost laughed.
"You just said my family has been guarding it for generations."
"They were."
"And you don't know what it is?"
"No one alive does."
Another breath echoed through the chamber.
This one carried with it a strange smell.
Not decay.
Not blood.
Cold rain.
Pine needles.
Ancient stone.
It smelled like the mountain itself had come alive.
Then the voice returned.
"Ashcroft..."
Rowan's heart lurched.
The voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
It seemed to speak directly inside his mind.
"The blood remembers."
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
Images flashed through his consciousness.
A moon stained crimson.
Men and women standing in a circle around the same stone door.
A wolf larger than any horse, its fur black as midnight.
A figure wearing the skin of that wolf while walking upright like a man.
A scream.
Fire.
Blood soaking fresh snow.
The visions vanished as suddenly as they had come.
Rowan stumbled backward, gasping.
"What did you see?" Kaela demanded.
He blinked, trying to steady himself.
"I..."
He looked at his trembling hands.
"I don't know."
She studied him for a long moment.
"You're lying."
"I wish I were."
Before she could press him further, a deafening crash echoed from somewhere above.
The entire chamber shook.
Dust and pebbles rained from the ceiling.
Kaela cursed.
"They've reached the cabin."
They raced back through the tunnel.
Every few steps another impact reverberated through the mountain.
The sounds were no longer random.
Someone—or something—was tearing the cabin apart.
As they reached the hidden passage behind the oak cabinet, Rowan smelled smoke.
The basement door stood open.
Orange light flickered across the walls.
He sprinted upstairs.
The sight that greeted him stopped him cold.
The living room had been destroyed.
Furniture lay splintered across the floor.
The front wall had partially collapsed inward.
Rain poured through the opening.
Deep claw marks scored the wooden beams.
The fireplace had been overturned.
Ash and burning logs scattered across the room.
"Miriam!" Rowan shouted.
No answer.
He rushed through the cabin.
Bedroom.
Kitchen.
Porch.
Nothing.
She was gone.
Again.
This time there was no sign of struggle.
Only a single object rested on the dining table.
A brass key.
Beneath it lay another note.
This one was written hurriedly.
Rowan,
If you're reading this, then they came sooner than I feared.
Do not waste time looking for me.
Protect the key.
Trust the girl.
Do not trust the moon.
—Miriam
Rowan folded the note with shaking hands.
Kaela glanced toward the shattered wall.
"They're leaving."
"What?"
"They weren't here to kill us."
"Then why attack the cabin?"
"They wanted to make sure you found the key."
Rowan frowned.
"How does that make sense?"
"It doesn't."
She looked toward the forest.
"And that's what frightens me."
A cold breeze swept through the ruined cabin.
With it came a low howl.
Not close.
Not distant.
Waiting.
Kaela drew her silver knife.
"We have maybe five minutes."
"Until what?"
"They stop watching."
"And?"
"They start hunting."
Rowan stared at her.
"You keep saying 'they.'"
"There are four packs living in these mountains."
"I thought werewolves were legends."
She gave him a tired look.
"Legends usually begin with someone surviving."
Before Rowan could answer, movement caught his eye.
A figure stood just beyond the tree line.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Wrapped in a dark cloak.
Its face remained hidden beneath a hood.
It made no attempt to approach.
Instead, it raised one gloved hand.
Slowly.
Respectfully.
Then it turned and disappeared into the forest.
Kaela relaxed slightly.
"Good."
"What was that?"
"Not one of the wolves."
"Then who?"
"I don't know."
"You just said good."
"Because if he arrived first..."
She sheathed her knife.
"...the others are still keeping their distance."
Dawn came reluctantly.
Gray light filtered through the broken walls as rain finally ceased.
The forest looked peaceful once more.
Birds sang.
Mist drifted between the trees.
Nothing about the landscape suggested the nightmare of the previous hours.
The sheriff arrived shortly after sunrise.
His name was Daniel Mercer.
A broad man in his late fifties with weathered skin and calm blue eyes.
He climbed from his truck and surveyed the damaged cabin.
"Storm hit pretty hard."
Rowan stared at him.
"Storm?"
Mercer nodded toward the claw marks.
"Tree came down during the night."
Kaela stood silently behind Rowan.
The sheriff didn't acknowledge her.
Didn't even seem to notice she existed.
"There wasn't a tree," Rowan replied.
Mercer smiled politely.
"Trauma can play tricks on memory."
"My aunt is missing."
"We'll organize a search."
"There were animals here."
"Bears."
"They spoke."
The sheriff's smile faded.
He stepped closer.
"Your father wasn't always well near the end."
Rowan stiffened.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"He believed unusual things."
"My father wasn't delusional."
"No."
Mercer's expression softened.
"He was frightened."
He tipped his hat.
"If you remember anything... ordinary... come see me."
As the sheriff drove away, Kaela let out a slow breath.
"Now you understand."
"My father warned me not to trust him."
"He was right."
By midday, Rowan stood alone on the porch, holding the brass key in one hand and his father's letter in the other.
His life had unraveled in less than twenty-four hours.
His father was dead.
His aunt had vanished.
His childhood home had become the center of a mystery older than the town itself.
And somewhere beneath the mountain, something had recognized his blood.
Kaela approached quietly.
"The Iron Fang Pack won't wait long."
"What do they want from me?"
"They believe your blood can open the prison."
"And can it?"
She hesitated.
"I don't know."
"You've said that a lot."
"Because no one's lived long enough to find out."
She looked toward the mountains.
"There are stories."
"What stories?"
"That the first Skinwalker wasn't born."
She met his eyes.
"He was made."
A chill settled over Rowan.
"The first Ashcroft made a bargain with something beneath Black Hollow. In exchange for the power to wear the forms of beasts, he swore that every generation of his bloodline would guard the prison."
"And if they failed?"
Kaela's gaze drifted toward the forest.
"The prison would open."
A howl echoed faintly across the valley.
Then another answered.
And another.
Not threatening.
Calling.
Rowan slipped the brass key into his pocket.
"I spent eight years trying to escape this place."
Kaela nodded.
"Black Hollow doesn't let its guardians leave."
He looked at the battered cabin one last time.
"What happens now?"
Kaela's expression grew grim.
"Now..."
She glanced toward the mountains, where dark clouds were gathering once again.
"...we find out why your father died."
Far above them, hidden among the pines, a massive gray wolf watched in silence.
Its amber eyes never left Rowan.
When he finally turned away, the beast lowered its head—not in submission, but in recognition.
Elsewhere, deep beneath the mountain, ancient silver symbols continued to c***k.
One by one.
As though counting down to something inevitable.
And in the darkness beyond the stone door, unseen eyes slowly opened.
"The last heir has returned."
"Let the hunt begin."
End of Chapter One
To be continued.... in Chapter two
- Writer
