Prologue

She awoke to a soft thump which followed with long, heavily stressed creaks as the old floorboards moaned complaints of their age into the dead of the night. The sound seemed to come from the kitchen, which was located directly beneath the featherbed that moments ago held her in a deep and undisturbed slumber.

She stared at the pale moon-lit floor as thoughts of what could have made a noise at this hour ran to the surprised jackhammer beat of her delicate heart. Between the thinned foliage of a mid-autumn tree, the moon cast its glow through the white sheets which draped her window. She figured about three-quarters of the night had passed during her sleep.

There were some nights when her mother ransacked the kitchen for snacks. Cravings are what her ma called them. They ranged from the most obscure of concoctions which couldn't be classified as a meal to endless binges of cheese and anything sweet her mother could find. Annie would enter the kitchen late some nights and find her surrounded by a mess of food, scraps, and crumbs scattered across the table as she ravenously consumed bites of this and nibbles of that. But her term was 8 months along and Dr. Vienhart said it was normal behaviour for a woman with child, even if her ritual was a little bit extreme.

Annie held her breath and listened for any signs of rummaging in the pantry. The wind howled in long gales against the loose siding and broken shingles of the house. Shadows of branches moved up the bottom of her linen sheets, across the undulating landscape which was her legs and to her chest. They swiped back down to the bottom of her bed as if they wished to pull her sheets away. An aching began to form in her chest, but she had yet to hear another noise from inside the house. Annie let her breath out slowly then greedily inhaled again.

Still only silence.

Her mind worked to reassure her that it was only their cat, up and hungry at this hour of the night. He was moody when not fed, and there were times when he would knock things over in the early morning as a form of passive-aggressive protest. It was better than his usual mischief though, some nights Annie would awaken to her feline companion gnawing away at her fingers.

Annie's muscles began to relax as her mind held on to this idea. It wasn't until now that she noticed her hands had been shaking, her palms sweaty, and felt clammed up under the heavy sheets.

Her quilt was needed for the past few early-October nights, and tonight was the coldest one yet. Annie's mother insisted it might be a little early to retire those summer linens with their faded blue colour she loved, but the cold was one thing that Annie could simply not stand. Even a light breeze sent deep chills through her body, like ghostly fingers that pierced her skin and ran through her veins.

With a newly found bravery, she tossed her blanket off to the side. The fabric bounced back as if it was loaded with springs, it refused to fold in on its own air-filled, bulky form. The sudden change in temperature made her breathe in so sharply through a tightened throat, as the air warmed itself on her sweat-slicked skin. Goosebumps pricked their way quickly across her body, they made the way for the inevitable muscle spasms which ran like lightning strikes through Annie's arms and legs. She took a few seconds to let her body equalize, to still muscles which threatened to shake and tense up.

With the silent movement seemingly reserved for children who didn't wish to wake their parents, Annie's soft-padded feet slipped onto the floor with barely more than a whisper of a sound. Each step was methodical and careful, each stress point of the floor already noted and avoided with the deft skill of a seasoned hunter avoiding dry leaves and twigs.

She opened the blinds and investigated the dimly lit side yard. A long silhouette of the swing swung like an irregularly balanced pendulum under the shadowy cast of the tree. The battered wooden seat twirled and jumped as it came close to striking the large trunk of the willow. There was nothing that stirred outside, besides the long sway of branches, leaves which rustled about, and a few fireflies that danced against the wind.

Annie looked towards the dark skyline above the treetops, her sight snared by the dazzling display. The stars shone brighter than any night she could remember, dots of light surrounded by pitch-black ink. There were nights when her father showed her the many constellations which formed in the sky, each bright dot connected to form a celestial image. But Annie noticed something off about the sky. The moon was only a quarter crescent when it was full earlier tonight.

Soft fur brushed by her barefoot. She jumped in surprise. Tibbers had his tail stiff in the air as he purred softly at her feet. He walked in two quick circles and let out a soft meow.

"Where were you hiding?" Annie whispered into the air.

Her feline friend stopped and sat on the floor. He looked up at her with glowing yellow eyes and let out another quick meow. There was an open book on the floor beside him. Tim and Ted's Twin Adventures. It was her favourite nighttime story. Her mother read all the words how she liked it, putting emphasis on the alliteration in each sentence.

She picked both the book and her cat up then crawled back under her sheets. Tibbers curled into a ball when she finally settled. Small, soft fingers slid across the smooth pages as she read about Tim and Ted and their new teal coloured tow truck. Ted was the team player and Tim always got them in trouble. She wished they would come and be her friends, and get her into trouble with her. It was lonely out here on the farm.

The lids of her eyes grew heavy as sleep quickly took her away. Delicate hands that traced the pages grew limp and still. She didn't have time to wonder about the noise, to have that vein constricting thought of what could have made that thump, as her companion laid like a shadow between her feet. Annie's last thought was a wish that she would have two baby brothers, much like the ones in her favourite book.

It really is lonely out here.

******

A loud crash rang out into the night. The floor shook from whatever had been knocked over. Annie let in a quick gasp of air before covering her mouth. Floral sheets fell loosely from her form as Tibbers bounded off the bed in fright. It sounded as if it came from the dining room, next to the bottom of the stairs. The door across the hall creaked open. Her father's voice came as a whisper.

"Wait here," he said with the commanding voice she only heard when she was in a lot of trouble.

Each board let out a long moan as her father crept his way to the top of the staircase. A bump resonated through the hall, it sounded as if he was carrying a solid stick of wood with him. Her father had never shown her the rifle which he kept in a box under his bed.

"Who's there?"

Normally the sound of her father's voice could produce a sense of soothing and assurance, but the air felt oddly heavy. Something was off. This wasn't a hissy fit thrown by a cat, nor drives to eat whatever was in the cupboards. Malice stirred in the air and made each breath feel almost suffocating, it felt like Annie was breathing through a straw.

What responded was a low growl, at first it sounded human then grew deeper and deeper in pitch. Near the end, it had the gruff of a large wolf to it.

Her room had grown darker. She looked out of her multi-pained window. The moon was just a sliver in the sky. It appeared to be disappearing still.

Footsteps started down the staircase, they were slow and cautious which was unlike her father. Her chest felt heavy and each breath became more difficult. Dread weighed down on her soul. Her body became rigid and she could not pull her stare from the window.

Like a boulder being rolled in front of a tomb, the small slice of light through the darkness grew thinner with each creak down the staircase. It felt as if a large force was crushing her chest. The moon was almost gone, her father near the bottom of the stairs and whatever was down there. The world felt like a dream. Goosebumps ran up from the tips of her toes and fingers. They crashed like waves when they met at her core and churned her stomach.

The moon was gone from the sky. Her father had reached the hallway at the bottom. The door across the hall creaked once more as her mother moved to the top of the stairs.

"Rick?" Her voice was soft and barely audible. There was a slight tremble, a product of worry and fear in it.

"Go check on Annie."

Annie still could not move as she heard her mother on the other side of her door. She was transfixed on the empty spot in the sky. The knob turned and her door opened slightly.

"Ann-?"

Her mother was cut off by a screeching howl which released Annie from her petrification. The sky burst with a red light. She was blinded for a second. It felt like her eardrums were going to burst. Two gunshots ran in quick succession, but all Annie could hear were two muffled pops. She screamed but the sound was drowned out.

When Annie could finally see again, her world was bathed in a dark red light. The moon had reappeared in the sky, it bled like a bullet wound. Her ears rang, she couldn't hear much but felt vibrations from underneath as something banged against the walls and ceiling. The ringing subsided slowly.

She could hear her mother as she screamed. It sounded far away. The crashing moved up the staircase. It quickly gained on the footsteps sprinting down the hall. In front of Annie's door they met. There was another quick scream but it was cut short.

Through the partially opened doorway, Annie could see black fur with a red sheen. It ran all the way to the ceiling. She heard a sick ripping sound which gave way to what sounded like a wash bucket being spilled. A large pool of liquid seeped in from beneath the door. Annie hid under her blankets.

She tried to keep quiet as tears streamed down her face. The door swung open and lightly bumped against the wall. Whatever was outside squeezed its way into her room. It shook the floor with each step and stopped in front of her window.

From under the blankets her world turned from slightly red to pitch black. The beast gnawed on something that leaked a steady stream of liquid, which pattered on the wooden floor. She didn't want to picture it, she knew what it was.

The gnawing stopped. The beast snorted as it sniffed the air. She held her breath. Two objects splattered on the floor as footsteps led to her bedside. Hot air blew on her covers, the beast sniffed her sheets. Drops of blood blotched and seeped through her blanket. She heard tendrils of saliva pull apart as the beast opened its maw.

Annie tried to scream but only air came out.