Chapter Text
Bloodied hands lay still on the brisk forest floor.
The silence hung thick, so tangible, it seemed to coat the trees in a foggy film. Above, pine branches shivered in a wind that barely stirred the underbrush. No bird dared sing, no squirrel shuffled softly through the ferns. Even the insects held their chirps, as if afraid to break the spell the forest had cast.
The air smelled faintly of copper and damp earth. Sunlight, weak and watery, filtered through the branches in sharp shafts.
The scene was still, reverent. As if the forest, ancient and all-knowing, had witnessed something it would never forget. Something it might never forgive.
A body, which lay half-covered by bracken and old pine needles, served as a warning to the surrounding wildlife.
Even the moss recoiled slightly, curling around the edges of her shape like frightened fingers. There was a stillness to her form—not the peace of rest, but the emptiness of aftermath. Her hair splayed around her like a golden halo, soaking in the dew and fragments of the forest floor.
Something primal whispered through the woods. Not words, but instinct—an ancestral fear. The way deer know when to flee, or the way birds scatter seconds before a storm. The forest, timeless and watchful, had seen violence before. But this was different. This was new.
Danger.
It pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath the surface of the world—subtle, but unmistakable. The trees knew. The wind knew. Even the sky, a bleak tapestry of pewter and bruised gray, had turned its gaze away. Time itself seemed to hesitate in the clearing, uncertain whether to move forward or retreat.
Whatever had happened here hadn't ended. It lingered.
Under normal circumstances, a young girl would be a nuisance to a forest at best. But as her fingers curled around the leaves and nettles, and her chest shook with deep inhales, the forest held its breath for her rising.
Knuckles whitened, joints cracked softly under the pressure. A tremor passed up the arm like a ripple disturbing the surface of a calm pool.
Weary eyes focused on chipped and broken nails while the feeling of wet warmth ran down her right thigh. A prickling sensation washed over her throat, and as the vomit left her mouth, she could do nothing but shed a few tears with what little water her body still had left.
The girl sat back on her legs and gasped between heaves. She took the time to look around and focus on where she was as her body calmed down and the sweet post-throw-up relief set in.
She watched the dawn break through the treeline and began to grasp the reality of where she was. Then, as the wind set through and tousled the undergrowth, she realized she was naked. Fear and confusion clouded her brain as she struggled to push herself off the ground and onto heavy legs.
She was so tired. Tired as if she'd been running for hours, or perhaps like a train had fallen on her. She would believe either story with how her body ached.
Pieces of coming home from work and taking a shortcut through her local park rushed back to the front of her brain.
Then she felt it—the sticky remains on her thigh. She looked down and saw the blood, mostly dried now, clinging to her bare skin. She found its source and looked away, unable to handle the sight of the gash that gleamed in the morning sun.
She couldn't remember the animal that attacked her, only remembered being hit from behind, pushed down, then bitten and clawed at. She could still feel the remains of adrenaline from the encounter, could recall how she had tried to kick away and scream for help.
Whatever she did kick, had not seemed to like it. It had clawed at her clothes and snarled with more determination.
When she had enough time to form a thought, she had flipped over to see what had taken hold of her, but all she remembered was the pain and the heat from the bite. She couldn't keep her eyes open long enough to fight back, let alone see what had taken her as prey.
It all felt so hazy, like someone had plucked the memories from her. Everything after the intense heat she felt the night prior was lost to her. Even now, she stood naked in the woods, not hot or cold.
What the hell happened?
She needed to get home, or she needed to find help. She didn't know how bad the gash was on her leg, and God forbid the animal that bit her had some kind of disease.
Clothes. She needed clothes first.
Normally, when walking home from work, she carried a bag with her uniform in it. Trying to find her regular clothes was a lost cause, but her bag had everything: phone, keys, a shirt.
She took her first steps, as if she had been sleeping for years, and managed to lumber her way between the pines. Eyes darting back and forth for signs of her things.
Branches snapped under her feet. The sound made her jump every time, like something else might respond. She half-expected glowing eyes to blink open in the underbrush, but the woods remained mercifully mute. She took caution, stopping every few steps to listen, resting on a tree every few yards. She was past embarrassment and was about to start calling for help when a red lump caught her eye.
She pushed herself off of a hickory she had leaned on for support and made her way to the ground-soaked bag. By the time she had reached it, she was already laughing in relief to see her house keys still secured to the side.
She quickly put on a spare pair of jeans from the bag, careful to be gentle with her wounded thigh, and her dirty work shirt she had stuff in behind the jean, then searched around for her phone.
Nothing.
She found her wallet, one sock, and some old lip balm. No phone.
It had to be nearby. She wished she could call it or that it would magically start to ring and lead her to it buried under some fallen leaves. She checked under branches, in bushes, even her bag again to make sure she was positive it hadn't just been hiding from her.
She paused for a moment, crouched low, catching her breath. A rustling sound came from somewhere deeper in the forest. Not wind. Not leaves. Something else. But it faded just as fast as it came. She didn't wait to confirm it.
After a few minutes, the sun had really started to shine overhead, and she knew she had to get home. She would check again another day, maybe bring a friend out to help her look.
She managed to find the path she took home every night and walked the rest of the way barefoot and delirious.
By the time she had made it home, she had caught plenty of curious eyes and judgmental stares. All of it paled in comparison to the headache that plagued her and the painful itch of the denim irritating her fresh injury.
The keys jingled too loud in the door and the sun pushed its way through her blinds in a manner that transcended annoyance. Everything felt like too much at once. And the clothes she had just put on were pulled away and left to sit on the floor of her studio.
She made her way to the bathroom, pulling open her medicine cabinet and swallowing as many pain pills as allowed. Afterwards, she grabbed a container of wipes and moved towards the toilet. She cleaned up as much blood as she could from her wound, enough to see the damage underneath.
A bite mark imprinted itself on the side of her thigh. Not fresh, but definitely not healed. It didn't seem that deep, but when she took a finger to one of the tooth marks, she hissed at the sting that followed.
She eyed it some more before she dropped the wipes and made her way to her laptop by her bed.
What if she had been asleep for days?
She opened her laptop and sighed in relief to see the date shine back at her. She had only slept through the night.
She couldn't handle a shower to wash away the rest of the blood and whatever else she had caught from the forest floor. So she closed the laptop and curled into bed.
Exhaustion weighed her limbs down and she couldn't think past getting into bed and letting the darkness take her again. The comforter was overly soothing and the coolness of the sheets eased her into a sleep like no other.
She had the thought for a second to set an alarm, but remembered she was down her phone. She would handle that when she woke back up and would go from there.
-
Nausea crept against the back of her thoughts and the back of her throat throughout her nap. It wasn't the worst way to wake up—her morning took that title—but vomit pouring from her lips and onto the concrete floor beside her bed was a close second.
She cleaned up her mess and choked down some water from her kitchen sink before hopping in the shower and scrubbing away the smell of earth and rot from her body. Her muscles still ached, but the hot water helped her untense her shoulders she hadn't realized had been raised.
Afterwards, she fussed over her hair and brushed the foul taste off of her tongue before pulling on a clean uniform. She worked at a local bar, their uniform standard being the company shirt and whatever pants she could afford. As one of their late-night bartenders, she tried to dress a little nicer to make sure she showed off for the large parties that came through at night. She would have coworkers hustling for the same tips she did, but luckily, she had a prime seat in the house.
She made her way out the door, backpack filled with the essentials and a rough guess of the time it would take to get to downtown. She lived in Dimmocks Mill, a small neighborhood about a 30-minute walk from her work. Usually 20 minutes if she took the shortcut through Gold Park.
But with some crazed animal on the loose with a taste for her flesh, she decided the long way was her best option.
The walk wasn't as bad as she remembered, and the constant storefronts filled with people put her racing heart at ease. She made her way into the Last Call Crawl, the local late-night bar that managed to draw more people than she thought even lived in their town, and passed the hostess to make her way to the employees' back room.
"April! Thank God you made it. I had been callin' all day to see if you could come in early! Some band is playing a few streets down and it's drawn a crowd like you wouldn't believe."
April paused as she shoved her backpack in a locker and turned to smile at her coworker, Savannah. Savannah Mae was in no way her friend. Half of the time she was more of a rival than a coworker. She had everything the late-night crowds loved—a charming accent and a huge rack. She could barely scrape up any tips with her on the floor.
On April's best nights, she was the beer angel that served the half-drunk dimwits of the town, providing them with a week's worth of relief in a chipped glass. On her worst nights, Savannah Mae was their god of greasy fried goodness who sobered them up enough with food to make them stumble out the door without leaving her a good size wad of cash. They never forgot to sneak Savannah a little something, though.
"Hey, yeah, I lost my phone in the woods last night on my walk home. Must've fallen out of my bag and I didn't notice." She wasn't ready for everyone to know about the attack just yet. At least she wasn't ready for Savannah to know. No doubt the whole town would've heard in two days if she decided to let it slip.
"Oh! Well let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Maybe your provider can track it for you?"
"Maybe." She responded, clicking the locker shut and heading out to begin her night.
Savannah followed along, apron wrapped tightly around her waist, notepad slid securely between her breasts.
It was going to be a long night.
-
And a long night it was. Savannah hadn't been joking about the crowd in town for this band. April found herself running back and forth across the bar well, making sure everyone's drinks were full and the regulars felt taken care of.
She hardly had time to chat with her customers as the line to the bar grew and the owner policed the comings and goings of the more intoxicated guests. She thankfully wasn't too affected by Savannah's stellar customer service and managed to bag a few big dollars before the night grew too late.
She watched as the sunset morphed from purple to a deep blue and the stars began to twinkle between the clouds. It didn't stop the people from flooding in after the band's performance had ended.
She chatted her way across the bar and refilled drinks, dancing between sides for a good portion of the night. It wasn't until she was cleaning off the counter between rush hour lulls that she stumbled on her feet.
Her body hadn't quite felt like her own since she woke up that morning, and the ache in her muscles wasn't the good kind—the kind you earned. This was deeper, stranger. Like her nerves weren't firing in the right order.
"Long night?"
April looked up to find a new face at her counter.
"Oh, you know, just another Friday! Performers play all the time up the block. I can only thank them for bringing in a friendly crowd." She spoke a lot better than she felt—her eyes blurred for only a second and her heart began to pound.
The woman across the counter gave an unamused huff. "I suppose you could call them friendly." April hadn't noticed at first, but she spoke with the crisp, measured tones of an English accent. It was almost jarring to hear in the dank southern bar.
April took in her clothes as well—a long, ankle-length black skirt, a long-sleeve turtleneck to match, and a grey Parisian coat to cover up the void that made up her body.
She had never seen someone look so out of place.
"Not traveling with this crowd?" she asked.
The woman's eyes connected to hers for only a second before they flicked away, surveying the crowd.
"God, no. I was on my way to the store to get a bottle of wine, but they had closed early for this—" she gestured to the people inside, "crowd of sweat and noise. I figured the next best place was a pub."
The woman's voice cut through the slowly developing fog over April's mind, and she had enough sense to put on her best smile before answering. "Well, you name it, and I've probably got it."
The woman still didn't look at her. Her eyes stayed glued to the bodies that walked around or the ones sat in dark corners. She didn't take a seat at the bar either, standing between seats, clearly ready to leave.
"Your most expensive Shiraz will do." She waved her card for April to take before fully turning to face the crowd, back to her.
April took it and rang up one of their bottles before grabbing it off the shelf.
She felt her steps slow, her grip on the bottle's neck loosen. She stopped for only a moment, closing her eyes and breathing in deep.
Something was wrong.
She opened her eyes, but her vision still felt blurry. Her head felt heavy. And she felt... hot.
She bagged the bottle and managed to push herself toward the counter, sliding the bag and card back over. "Here you are. I hope the party animals don't bother you too much tonight."
The woman turned to face her, taking up the bottle and putting the card inside a pocket in her coat. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped when their eyes connected.
"I don't think they'll be an issue," she said. Her words were careful but firm.
April barely heard them over the noise of the crowd. Had it been that loud all night? She saw the woman say something else but didn't catch it. Instead, she just smiled and nodded, hoping it was some sort of friendly farewell.
She spent no time watching the woman leave but instead went to attend to her other customers. She walked around, attempting small talk, but after she had spilled two drinks while topping people off, she couldn't wait for this episode to pass.
Her heartbeat started to race with every step. Sweat beaded on her dry skin. It ached to walk, and the bite mark on her thigh felt like it had been freshly torn open.
She looked around to find her boss. Ben was the only one who could take her spot on short notice, and she needed to sit down before she collapsed. Maybe she was having a heart attack? Or maybe she actually had contracted something from the wild animal? She could barely form those thoughts, let alone figure out what to do if either were true.
"Ben?" she choked out, her eyes feeling heavy.
By some kind of luck, Ben appeared from around the dining room, hands full of dirty dishes, wiping some sort of spill from his shirt.
"You okay, April? You look rank." Ben threw the dishes into the sink and turned to face her, looking displeased at the wet stain on his blue button-up.
"Something's wrong. Can you watch the bar while I take a ten?" At this point, she was halfway to their backdoor, barely listening for his reply.
"A break? We're in the middle of rush, and that concert just got out. It's a miracle we're not overrun already!"
April heard him, but as her hand touched the cold metal of the backdoor, she felt she would die without its cool contact. "Ten minutes. I'll be right back," she said, pressing in the door handle and leaving to embrace the night air.
Outside, she stumbled down the two steps and into the brick wall. Pain ripped from her chest around her back and down into her feet. It felt like every muscle and bone in her body moved, and with each movement, they pinched a new nerve, sending pain rocketing through her.
She was breathing heavily through her mouth, feeling the rough scrape of brick against her cheek and palms.
She slid down the wall, clawing at her shirt around her neck, wishing for some kind of release.
She was so hot, and her eyes began to spot as if she was going to blackout.
"Ma'am? Are you okay? The party's inside, you know?"
A man.
She could hear the deepness of his voice. The rattle in the back of his throat as he pronounced each word. She could hear the smile in them—imagined the way his lips peeled back to reveal crooked teeth.
She couldn't stand, couldn't see his face. But every step he took sent a heavy rumble up her spine and into the top of her chest, her heart matching his pace.
He spoke again, but she focused on breathing rather than his words. And when his hand touched her shoulder, she jerked back so hard she felt the trash can next to her hit her left shoulder.
"I'm fine." She wasn't fine, but she didn't know what else to say. She didn't want to cause a fuss and have someone send an ambulance, but she didn't think she could stand this pounding in her body much longer.
She got dizzier by the moment and took the man's hand off her shoulder, forcing it away. She could tell she had been too rough by the hiss of pain he let out.
She scrambled slightly to a crouch so she was off the damp concrete, leaning on the trash can for support.
"Leave," was the man's final warning before she felt the pull of her eyelids begging her to let go. Of what, she wasn't sure. And that fear made everything she felt so much worse.
"You need help, lady! What? Did you take the wrong drug?" the man yelled, now attempting to get back up close to her.
April could feel the heat off of his body. It felt like the sun had shifted too close and he would burn away her skin. She didn't like how close he had gotten—it was too much to bear. So she pushed him back, hoping the distance would help cool her off.
But something happened. When he stumbled back a few feet, she stepped forward instead of backward. Like her feet had minds of their own, she shuffled towards him, her breathing growing more ragged by the second.
"Leave," she tried again, managing to make her mouth move despite the fire that coursed through her.
He advanced on her again, and to her surprise, she met his advancement halfway.
Her hands gripped his neck and she slammed him against the brick she had just leaned on. She felt too fast and too slow all at once, couldn't make out the man's features as her eyes fought to stay open.
She let go of him as lightning shot through her body and she gasped in pain.
Hands flew to her throat as the man took this opportunity to turn the tables. He continued to yell things at her, his face dangerously close to hers. She couldn't hear any of it.
As soon as she got her breath back, she peeled his hands from her throat and pushed him so hard he flew onto the ground, landing loudly in a puddle.
She was giving in—whatever she was fighting, rabies or otherwise, was winning, and she felt white-hot anger wrap around her mind as she went to walk toward the man.
An animalistic sound crept from her mouth as she shrieked in pain. She had dropped to all fours, nails digging into the ground.
What is happening?
The man made a movement as if to get up, and she felt her head snap up, eyes locking onto him. She couldn't explain her feelings—couldn't even move her mouth anymore to speak to him. All she felt was that anger and confusion, scaled up to eleven now.
As she crept forward, a guttural growl was the only noise she made, her teeth bared as if she were a wild animal. Then she snapped, and her vision went dark and her memory hazy.
The last thing she felt was nails digging into her hair and her forehead hitting coarse brick.