In the quiet forest, a black bear was eating a dead bobcat. Blood stained its mouth, and the sound of ripping meat echoed softly through the trees.
Then the bear stopped.
It twitched.
A strange shiver ran through its body. The bear groaned, like it was in pain. Suddenly, it dropped to the ground and started shaking all over. Its skin began to split open, but instead of bleeding, the wounds healed just as fast.
The bear began to grow.
Its muscles got bigger. Its teeth became longer, sharper. Its claws turned into thick, curved blades. Patches of fur fell off, showing dark, rough skin underneath.
Then its eyes opened.
They were glowing red.
The bear—no, the monster—stood taller now, stronger, different. It let out one last roar, loud and broken.
Then it went still.
Breathing heavy.
Watching.
Oooo
"Damn, I look really good," I muttered to myself, striking a pose in front of the mirror. Shirt off, arms flexed—just enough. Not trying too hard. My hair was getting longer now, brushing past my shoulders in dark blond waves. Smooth, glossy, like I'd been bathing it in magic conditioner or something. My skin? Clearer than ever. Mana circulation was really paying off. Muscles? Leaner. More defined.
It had been a week since we moved to BlackDale. A whole week of pretending to be a normal teenager, while secretly rebuilding my mana reserve in the attic. But you know what? It wasn't all bad. I had friends now. Trevor was weird but decent. Nora was loud but… interesting.
Tonight, we were going to the movies. A break from spellwork and training in the woods. I figured I'd dress like someone who doesn't live in a borderline haunted mansion.
I threw on black jeans, a white t-shirt, and left my black button-up open. Finished the look with my boots. Easy, confident, like I hadn't practiced this outfit in the mirror twice already.
I came downstairs and there she was—Snow—leaning against the railing in what I'd describe as peak rebellious teenager energy. Short skirt, boots that screamed "Don't talk to me," dark lipstick, and a smirk that said she was definitely up to something.
"Wow," I said, looking her up and down. "Did you rob a goth princess or was this all in your closet?"
She gave me a slow look. "And you're what? The bad boy from a teen vampire novel?"
"Wrong. I'm the lead."
Mom popped out from the kitchen, still in her writing robe, hair tied in a messy bun, mug of coffee in hand like it was surgically attached.
"Well, don't you two look like a magazine ad for supernatural drama," she said. "Where are you going?"
"A movie with friends," I said at the same time Snow answered, "A party."
We turned to each other.
"You're going to a party?" I blinked. "Like, a real one?"
"Yes, Elijah. With music. And people. And fun. You should try it sometime."
"Pass. I've already been to one—back when I ruled a kingdom of hellfire and demons."
Mom sipped her coffee and gave us the look—that subtle mom stare that reminded you she brought you into this world and could take you out with a wooden spoon.
"Be back before ten," she said.
"Yup," I nodded.
"No promises," Snow smirked as she headed to the door, grabbing her jacket.
As we stepped out, we split at the driveway—her heading down the left sidewalk, me taking the right.
The theater was right across from a bakery that still had a glowing "Fresh Bread" sign even though it was well past dinnertime. I spotted Trevor first—standing awkwardly near the ticket booth, adjusting his glasses and looking like he'd rehearsed how to lean against a wall and gave up halfway through. Nora was with him, of course, in a dark denim jacket over a t-shirt with a cryptid on it—Bigfoot holding a milkshake.
"Elijah!" she called, waving like we were long-lost friends. "Nice shirt. You look like you're about to drop the hottest mixtape from inside a graveyard."
"Thanks," I said. "You look like you just got out of detention with a vampire cheer squad."
Trevor just nodded at both of us. "I, uh, like the boots. Practical. Stylish. Slightly intimidating."
"Exactly what I was going for," I grinned.
We got our tickets and walked inside. The place smelled like popcorn, neon sugar, and the faded disappointment of a thousand mediocre films. We were here to watch "Swamp Fiend: Curse of the Bog Beast"—a monster flick that, according to Nora, was "so bad it might actually loop back around and become amazing."
It did not.
The monster looked like someone glued lettuce and mud to a mannequin and filmed it through a foggy fish tank. The acting was... charitable at best. Half the cast screamed like they were in a bad soap opera. The other half died dramatically while holding flashlights and making terrible decisions.
Halfway through, I leaned toward Trevor. "Why are they running toward the sound?"
"They always do that," he whispered, clutching his soda like it was a safety blanket. "It's movie law."
Nora was already stifling her laughter. "This is cinematic brilliance. I hope the lettuce beast wins."
By the end of the film, we were all walking out of the theater like survivors of a strange war.
Trevor shook his head. "I think I lost brain cells."
"No, it was a social experiment," I said. "To test our tolerance for idiocy."
"I'm pretty sure the bog monster was just a guy in a wetsuit wrapped in salad," Nora added. "You could see the zipper. The zipper, Elijah!"
I laughed. "And the part where he swam through concrete? Iconic. Truly. Oscar-worthy."
Trevor pulled out his phone. "GQCA says it had a budget of $7 million."
"Lies," I muttered. "That money definitely went into pizza and fog machines."
Nora snorted. "It's fine. It brought us closer. Through shared suffering."
We stood outside the theater for a while, the streetlights buzzing overhead. The sky was cloudy, cool breeze brushing past. It wasn't just about the movie. It was the company.
And weirdly, I didn't mind it at all.
"Next time," I said, "we pick a film that doesn't try to offend science and logic at the same time."
"Next time," Trevor said, "you're picking the movie."
Nora shrugged. "Next time, I bring popcorn from home. Movie popcorn's like ten bucks and tastes like regret."
I laughed, shook my head, and we started walking.
We were just a few steps away from the theater when Nora suddenly turned to me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. The kind of look people get right before doing something stupid… or legendary.
"Hey, Elijah," she said, tone casual but clearly plotting something. "Wanna see a real spooky place?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Define 'real.' Is this going to be another 'Swamp Fiend' situation?"
"Nope. No lettuce monsters this time, I promise." She pointed east, toward the stretch of dark forest that bordered the town. "There's a cabin in the woods, way out in the eastern forest. Real run-down. People say if you go there at night, you can hear the cries of the folks who died in the forest. Old miners, missing hikers, some say even witches."
Trevor groaned behind us. "Oh great, here we go again."
I turned to him. "Again?"
"She's been obsessed with that creepy cabin since sixth grade," Trevor muttered, clearly exasperated. "I've been dragged halfway there twice before pretending I had shin splints."
"I don't drag you," Nora shot back. "I just invite you. Repeatedly. Loudly."
"I like my bones exactly where they are," Trevor said, folding his arms. "Attached to my body and not being gnawed on by ghost miners."
I looked between them, then back at the forest in the distance. The air was cooler now. Crisp. The wind had a whisper to it.
"Well…" I stretched my arms behind my back, grinning, "I'm in."
Trevor's head snapped toward me like I'd just betrayed his deepest trust. "Seriously? You too?!"
"Come on," I said, smirking. "You just survived a monster made of salad. What's the worst a haunted shack can do?"
"Umm, curse us? Possess us? Drag us into the upside-down? Murder us?"
Nora clapped her hands. "That's two votes for spooky adventure, one terrified nerd. Democracy wins."
Trevor looked utterly betrayed. "This is not how democracy works!"
"Oh, it is tonight," I said, patting him on the back. "Besides, if there's really something out there, I can handle it."
"You can handle ghosts?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Let's just say I've dealt with weirder," I replied. Not a lie. Definitely not a full truth, either.
Nora was already pulling out her phone, flashlight on, grinning ear to ear. "Come on, boys. Let's go do something stupid."
Trevor whimpered, but followed.
I couldn't help but smile as we headed toward the dark woods on the edge of town.
I could already feel something is going to happen.