Episode 3 — Blood Beneath the Snow
1990 Words
Morning came to Blackpine beneath a strange silence.
There were no children shouting in the square.
No farmers arguing over prices.
No laughter outside The Howling Wolf.
Even the church bell remained quiet.
Something had happened.
Silas Vane knew it before he reached the village.
He stood outside the abandoned shed behind the mill, staring at the four enormous paw prints in the snow.
They were still there.
Fresh.
The creature had stood directly outside his door during the night.
It hadn’t attacked.
It had only waited.
Watching.
Silas crouched and touched one of the prints.
The snow around it was frozen solid.
Too deep for an ordinary wolf.
He followed the tracks with his eyes.
They disappeared toward the northern forest.
Silas stood.
“Why are you following me?”
The forest gave no answer.
He looked toward Blackpine.
A crowd had gathered near the center of the village.
Silas pulled his flask from his coat.
He took a drink.
Then he deliberately stumbled toward the noise.
The drunk had to make an appearance.
By the time Silas reached the square, dozens of villagers had gathered outside the magistrate’s office.
Thomas Reed stood near the front.
Clara Bell was there too.
Her medical bag hung from her shoulder.
Silas noticed the worried expression on her face.
He pushed through the crowd.
“What happened?”
Thomas looked at him.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Silas swayed.
“That’s what people said yesterday.”
Thomas sighed.
“A man was found dead.”
Silas’s drunken expression disappeared for half a second.
“Who?”
Thomas glanced toward the building.
“Edmund Vale.”
Silas became very still.
Edmund Vale.
The merchant who had laughed at him yesterday.
One of the men who had helped destroy his family.
Silas lowered his head.
A smile almost appeared.
He forced it away.
“Terrible,” he muttered.
Thomas stared at him.
“You knew him?”
“No.”
Silas looked toward the magistrate’s office.
“Never heard of him.”
Thomas frowned.
“You saw him yesterday.”
Silas shrugged.
“Lots of people look alike.”
Clara stepped closer.
“Silas.”
He turned.
“What?”
“You should leave.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t a place for jokes.”
Silas glanced toward the building.
“I wasn’t joking.”
Clara studied him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the door opened.
Two guards carried Edmund Vale’s body outside.
The crowd fell silent.
Silas watched carefully.
There was blood on the man’s shirt.
His face was pale.
His eyes were open.
But something about the body bothered Silas.
The wound.
It was too clean.
A deep cut across the throat.
Not claws.
A blade.
Someone had murdered Edmund Vale.
And whoever had done it wanted everyone to think otherwise.
Silas looked down at the snow.
There were no footprints around the body.
None.
Impossible.
He slowly raised his eyes.
Viktor Rask stood at the entrance to the magistrate’s office.
Their eyes met.
Viktor’s face remained calm.
Silas smiled drunkenly.
Viktor didn’t smile back.
Clara examined the body.
She touched the wound carefully.
“This wasn’t an animal.”
A murmur passed through the crowd.
Someone shouted, “The wolves did it!”
Clara stood.
“No.”
An old farmer stepped forward.
“You weren’t there.”
“I don’t need to be.”
She pointed toward the wound.
“The cut is too straight.”
Another villager shook his head.
“Wolves can tear a man’s throat.”
“Yes,” Clara replied, “but they don’t make cuts like this.”
The crowd became uneasy.
Viktor stepped forward.
“Doctor Bell.”
Clara turned.
“This is not the time to frighten people with theories.”
“I’m stating a fact.”
“Then state it carefully.”
Clara looked at him.
“Someone murdered Edmund Vale.”
Silence.
Viktor’s expression hardened.
“Are you accusing someone?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps you should wait until we have evidence.”
Clara glanced toward the body.
“I already have evidence.”
Viktor stared at her.
Silas smiled faintly.
This woman was going to cause problems.
He liked her more by the minute.
The crowd slowly dispersed.
Silas remained near the body.
He crouched.
His fingers hovered above the snow.
There was something beneath the corpse.
A small black object.
He reached for it.
Before his fingers touched it, someone grabbed his shoulder.
Garrick Holt.
The old hunter stared down at him.
“Leave it.”
Silas looked up.
“Why?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
Silas grinned.
“I’m curious.”
“You’re a drunk.”
“Curious drunk.”
Garrick pushed him away.
Silas stumbled backward.
The crowd laughed.
Silas lowered his eyes.
Garrick walked away.
Nobody noticed Silas slip the object into his sleeve.
Nobody except Clara.
She had seen everything.
That afternoon, Silas returned to the abandoned shed.
He examined what he had taken.
It was a button.
Black.
Heavy.
Expensive.
A small silver symbol had been engraved into it.
A wolf’s head.
Silas frowned.
He had seen the symbol before.
Not in Blackpine.
Twenty years ago.
On the coats of the men who had come to his family’s house.
His breathing became slower.
Someone connected to the old m******e had been at Edmund Vale’s murder.
But why?
Silas turned the button over.
A small smear of blood covered its edge.
He smelled it.
Human.
Fresh.
Silas looked toward the door.
Someone was outside.
He stood.
The door opened.
Clara entered.
“You stole evidence.”
Silas smiled.
“I prefer borrowed.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Silas.”
He looked at her.
“You followed me.”
“I was worried.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“You’re dangerous.”
The smile disappeared from his face.
Clara stepped closer.
“I saw you yesterday.”
“Many people did.”
“Not like that.”
Silas said nothing.
“You weren’t drunk when you went into the forest.”
He looked away.
“I got better.”
“You moved like a trained soldier.”
Silas remained silent.
“You carried an injured man who should have been too heavy for you.”
Silas smiled.
“I eat well.”
“You don’t.”
She looked around the shed.
“There isn’t enough food here for a dog.”
Silas laughed.
“Then perhaps I’m a very hungry dog.”
Clara didn’t smile.
“Who are you?”
Silas’s eyes hardened.
“Someone passing through.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
The honesty caught her off guard.
Silas walked toward the window.
“You should go home, Doctor Bell.”
“Why?”
“Because Blackpine isn’t safe.”
She watched him.
“Is that a warning?”
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
Silas looked toward the northern forest.
“Everyone.”
That evening, the church bell finally rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
People rushed toward the church.
Silas followed from a distance.
When he arrived, Father Matthias Crowe stood at the entrance.
His face was pale.
“What happened?” someone asked.
Matthias looked toward the mountains.
“The northern bell rang.”
The villagers stared at him.
“That bell hasn’t worked in years,” someone whispered.
Matthias swallowed.
“I know.”
Silas looked toward the church tower.
There were two bells.
The lower bell was used for funerals.
The upper bell had been abandoned for decades.
According to village tradition, it was only rung when someone died in the northern forest.
Silas remembered that tradition.
He had heard it as a child.
Nobody had told him what it meant.
Now he knew.
Something had happened.
Again.
A young boy came running into the square.
“Father!”
Matthias turned.
The boy was terrified.
“They found him.”
“Who?”
The boy could barely breathe.
“Garrick.”
Silence fell.
The old hunter.
The man who had pushed Silas away that morning.
Matthias’s face changed.
“Where?”
The boy pointed toward the northern road.
“Near the forest.”
Silas’s eyes narrowed.
He started walking.
Clara grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
Silas looked at her.
“I need to see.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Clara released him.
“I’ll come with you.”
Silas shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Her expression hardened.
“You don’t give me orders.”
Silas almost smiled.
“Good.”
Then he walked away.
Clara followed.
They found Garrick Holt just before sunset.
His body hung from an old pine tree.
The entire village stopped when they saw him.
Garrick’s hunting rifle lay broken beneath the tree.
Blood stained the snow.
Clara covered her mouth.
Silas stared.
He had seen death before.
More than most men should.
But this was different.
Garrick had been tied to the tree with rope.
His throat had been cut.
And carved into the trunk above him was a symbol.
A wolf’s head.
Clara approached the tree.
“Someone did this.”
Silas nodded.
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“You sound certain.”
“I am.”
“How?”
Silas stared at the blood beneath the tree.
“Wolves don’t tie men to trees.”
Clara said nothing.
Silas stepped closer.
There were tracks in the snow.
Human footprints.
Several sets.
But beside them were enormous paw prints.
Four-legged.
Deep.
Fresh.
Clara noticed them.
“Those weren’t there yesterday.”
“No.”
She looked at Silas.
“You knew.”
Silas didn’t answer.
A low growl came from the forest.
Everyone froze.
Silas turned toward the trees.
The growl came again.
Closer.
A villager raised a rifle.
“Where is it?”
Silas whispered:
“Don’t shoot.”
The man looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t attacking.”
Another growl.
Then silence.
Silas stared into the darkness.
For one moment, two pale eyes appeared between the trees.
Watching him.
Only him.
Silas felt something stir beneath his skin.
His heartbeat changed.
His vision sharpened.
The smell of blood became overwhelming.
He clenched his fists.
Not here.
Not now.
The eyes disappeared.
Silas breathed slowly until the feeling passed.
Clara had noticed.
“Silas?”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Your eyes.”
He smiled.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“They changed.”
Silas stepped closer.
“You’ve been drinking too much.”
“I haven’t had anything.”
“Then you should start.”
He walked away.
Clara remained staring after him.
That night, Viktor Rask stood alone in his office.
A fire burned behind him.
The button from Silas’s sleeve sat on the desk.
He had received it from one of his men.
Garrick was dead.
Edmund was dead.
And someone had begun leaving the wolf symbol at every murder.
Viktor poured himself a drink.
His hand trembled.
Only once.
Then he heard footsteps.
Father Matthias entered.
“You know what this means.”
Viktor looked at him.
“No.”
Matthias closed the door.
“He’s back.”
Viktor stared at him.
“Elias is dead.”
“You saw the house burn.”
“I saw the boy disappear.”
“You never found his body.”
Viktor’s jaw tightened.
Matthias whispered:
“Twenty years ago, we should have finished it.”
Viktor looked toward the dark window.
“And if he survived?”
Matthias answered quietly.
“Then God help us.”
Viktor’s expression became cold.
“No.”
He picked up his glass.
“God won’t have to.”
He looked toward the village.
“I will.”
Outside, somewhere beyond the houses, a wolf howled.
And this time, another howl answered from inside Blackpine.
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