Jacob pushed through the thick underbrush, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts as Bernie’s frantic barking guided him onward. The dog had never broken their usual routine like this—never taken off leash into the dark unknown. Something was terribly wrong, and the heavy silence of the forest only deepened Jacob’s growing unease.
Branches scratched at his arms as he forced his way toward the clearing up ahead. There, Bernie stood stiff, his body tense, tail low and still. The dog was silent now, eyes fixed on something lurking just beyond the treeline. A cold shiver crept up Jacob’s spine as he took a cautious step closer.
His gaze followed Bernie’s line of sight—and his heart slammed against his ribs. Beyond the clearing, the forest thickened into an unnatural darkness, as if hiding something that shouldn’t be there. What he saw next made the ground shift beneath his feet, the weight of unseen menace pressing close.
Jacob was a middle-aged man who lived in a small cottage perched on the outskirts of a mountain town. Though raised amidst the chaos of a sprawling city, the tranquil isolation of this place had drawn him here ten years ago.
For a decade, Jacob had shared this secluded haven with Bernie, a scrappy dog he’d rescued shivering under his porch the day he bought the house. Their bond was unbreakable—quiet, steadfast, loyal—a companionship as enduring as the forest surrounding them.
By day, Jacob taught mathematics to high school students in town. Returning home was a ritual he cherished—Bernie waiting at the door, tail wagging, eager for their evening walks. These strolls were a simple joy, grounding and familiar, a soothing counterpoint to the demands of the day.
Their route wound through familiar trails, shaded by towering pines and dappled with golden light.