In the forgotten hollow of Kine Valley, where winter brings death and summer brings flies. The Blackwood family has kept to themselves for eight generations. Their farmhouse stands crooked against the treeine windows like jaundest eyes watching for trespasses. The locals know to stay away. They’ve heard the howling that comes not from the woods, but from within those walls.
They’ve glimpsed figures moving on all fours across the property at dusk. Some say it started with old Eli Blackwood, who brought three wild dogs into his bed during the blizzard of said they saved his life with their warmth. Now his descendants carry on the tradition, though something has changed in their eyes, in their smiles, in the way their jaws seem to unhinge when they laugh.
The ancient pickup truck groaned against the rough mountain roads as Dr. Morgan Hayes squinted at the weathered map spread across her lap. Beside her, Leo Chen adjusted his camera bag, protecting his equipment from the vehicle’s violent shuddering. “You sure about this place?” Leo asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“K9 Valley doesn’t even appear on Google Maps.” Morgan traced her finger along a faded line on the paper. “That’s exactly why we’re here. Eight generations of genetic isolation in a single community. It’s anthropological gold.” The truck rounded a bend, revealing a small cluster of buildings that constituted the town of Milbrook.
The last outpost of civilization before Canine Valley. The driver, a silent man who’d agreed to take them this far for twice the going rate, pulled to a stop outside the town’s only diner. “This is as far as I go,” he said, his first words since they’d left the bus station. “Nobody from Milbrook drive to the valley after dark.
Morgan paid him and climbed out, inhaling the sharp autumn air. We<unk>ll find someone else to take us the rest of the way. Inside the diner, conversations died as they entered. Eyes followed them, not with hostility, but with something closer to concern. The waitress, a woman in her 60s with hair dyed an improbable shade of red, approached with coffee without being asked.
“You folks lost?” she asked, pouring steaming liquid into thick ceramic mugs. Actually, we’re researchers, Morgan said, pulling out her university ID. I’m Dr. Morgan Hayes, and this is my colleague, Leo Chen. We’re documenting isolated rural communities for a study on cultural evolution. The waitress, Darlene, according to her name tag, frowned slightly.
And you’re headed to Canine Valley. It wasn’t a question. Leo nodded, sipping his coffee. We’ve heard the Blackwood family has lived there for generations without much outside contact. A man at the counter turned at this. You don’t want to go bothering those folks, he said. His beard was stre with gray, his eyes watery but sharp. They keep to themselves for good reason.
What reason is that? Morgan asked. Her researcher’s curiosity peaked. The man exchanged glances with Darlene before answering. They’re different is all. Been in breeding up there since before my granddaddy’s time. They come to town for supplies twice a year, Darlene added. Always the same two men. Never speak much, pay in cash, leave before sundown. Morgan pulled out her notebook.
Have you noticed anything unusual about their appearance or behavior? The diner had gone completely silent now. The man at the counter, Earl, Darlene called him, cleared his throat. They walk funny, kind of hunched, and their teeth, he trailed off, seemingly reconsidering his words.
“Listen, I ain’t one for superstition, but my daddy told me stories about the Blackwoods that would curl your toes.” “What kind of stories?” Leo pressed. Earl shook his head. “Just old tales, not worth repeating.” Morgan tried another approach. Is there someone who might drive us up there? We’re prepared to pay well.
Darlene laughed, but there was no humor in it. Honey, there ain’t enough money in the world to get someone from Milbrook to drive up to the Blackwood place after September. Winter comes early up there and the roads get treacherous. We have our own vehicle. Leo lied smoothly. Just need directions.
A younger man in the corner booth stood up. He was tall with the lean build of someone who worked outdoors. “I’ll take you,” he said. “Not all the way, but to wear the road forks.” “You can walk the last mile,” Darlene looked at him sharply. “Jason Collins, your mama would have a fit.” “$200,” Jason said, ignoring her. “And we leave now. Get back before dark.
” Morgan nodded, relief washing over her. Deal. As they prepared to leave, Earl grabbed Morgan’s arm. “If they invite you in,” he said quietly. “Don’t stay after sundown. And whatever you do, don’t sleep there.” Jason’s truck was newer than their previous ride, but just as suited to the terrain. As they climbed higher into the mountains, the trees grew denser, blocking much of the afternoon light.
“So, what’s the real story with the Blackwoods?” Morgan askedas they bounced along. Jason kept his eyes on the narrow road. Folks around here are superstitious. The Blackwoods are just private people who’ve been isolated too long. He paused. But even I won’t go near their property at night. Something about the sounds that come from there. Sounds.
Leo perked up like dogs, but not quite. Jason’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. My brother and I went hunting near their land once. heard things I can’t explain. They rounded a final bend and Jason stopped the truck ahead. The road forked with the right path disappearing into thick forest. That way, he said, pointing about a mile, you’ll see the house. I’ll wait here 1 hour. No longer.
Morgan and Leo gathered their equipment and set off down the path. The forest seemed to close in around them, watchful and ancient. What do you think we’ll find? Leo asked, his camera already in hand, Morgan adjusted her backpack. The map safely tucked inside. Eight generations of isolation does strange things to a gene pool, she said.
But I suspect the legends are exaggerated as they walked. The feeling of being watched intensified twice. Leo spun around, certain he’d heard footsteps behind them. The third time they both heard it. a soft padding sound like an animal keeping pace through the underbrush. Just a deer, Morgan said, but her voice lacked conviction.
The trees thinned suddenly, revealing a clearing, and within it the Blackwood Farmhouse. It stood three stories tall, its architecture a patchwork of additions built over generations, smoke curled from two chimneys, and several outbuildings dotted the property. Everything looked worn but meticulously maintained.
“My god,” Leo whispered, raising his camera. “It’s like stepping back in time.” As he took the first photograph, the front door of the house opened. A figure emerged. A tall man with broad shoulders and a gate that seemed slightly off, as if his joints didn’t bend quite right. He stopped at the edge of the porch, his face in shadow, and watched them approach.
That’ll be Abraham Blackwood, Morgan murmured. The current patriarch. According to my research, Leo lowered his camera slightly. Is it just me or does his face look strange? Before Morgan could answer, Abraham called out to them. His voice was deep and rough with an accent that seemed to belong to no particular region.
“You’re trespassing on private property,” he said. State your business or be on your way. Morgan stepped forward. Professional smile in place. Mr. Blackwood, I’m Dr. Morgan Hayes from Eastern State University. This is my colleague Leo Chen. We’re researching isolated communities for an anthropological study.
We’d be honored if you’d consider participating. Abraham moved down the steps into the light, and both researchers fought to keep their expressions neutral. His face was long, almost elongated, with a heavy brow and a jaw that seemed slightly too large for the rest of his features. But it was his eyes that held their attention, amber colored and reflecting the light in a way that seemed almost animallike.
Anthropologists, he said, the word awkward in his mouth. Studying us like specimens. Not at all, Morgan assured him. We’re interested in your family’s history, your traditions, how you’ve maintained your way of life for so many generations. Abraham studied them for a long moment. Behind him, curtains twitched in windows as other family members observed unseen.
Eight generations, he finally said. Eight generations we’ve kept to ourselves, and now you come asking questions. Leo raised his camera slightly. May her arm’s gaze snapped to the camera. his expression darkening. Then, surprisingly, he nodded. “You may photograph the property, not the family, not without permission from each.
” He seemed to come to a decision, his unnaturally wide mouth, settling into what might have been meant as a smile. “You’ve come a long way. Night will fall soon. Perhaps you should come inside. Meet the family. We can discuss your study.” Morgan remembered Earl’s warning about not staying after sundown, but the opportunity to document this isolated community was too valuable to pass up.
“We’d be delighted,” she said, ignoring Leo<unk>’s concerned glance. “Thank you for your hospitality.” As Abraham turned to lead them inside, his movements fluid yet somehow wrong. Morgan couldn’t shake the feeling they were walking into the wolf’s den of their own free will. Abraham’s shadow stretched long across the dirt path as he led them toward the house.
Leo quietly adjusted his camera settings, capturing the strange silhouette how the man’s profile seemed to have an elongated snoutlike quality in the late afternoon light. The property’s been in our family since 1872,” Abraham said, his words coming out with an unusual cadence as if his tongue was too large for his mouth. Lei Blackwood, my great great greatgrandfather, settled here after the war.
Morgan noted how he counted the generations withprecision. That would make you the eighth generation. Abraham paused, turning slightly. The eighth, yes, the most advanced. Leo and Morgan exchanged glances at his odd choice of words. As they approached the main house, movement caught their attention. figures watching from windows, darting between outbuildings.
Some moved with Abraham’s same peculiar gate, while others seemed to travel almost on all fours before disappearing from view. “My family is shy around outsiders,” Abraham explained, noticing their wandering eyes. “We don’t get many visitors. How many family members live here?” Morgan asked, counting at least three different faces at windows. 22 Abraham answered.
Four generations under one roof. The front porch steps creaked under their weight. Leo raised his camera again, capturing the handcarved door with its strange markings. What appeared to be a family crest featuring intertwined human and canine figures. Inside the house smelled of wood, smoke, cooking meat, and something musky.
Morgan couldn’t identify. The entryway opened to a large common room with a massive stone fireplace. Hand-crafted furniture, worn but sturdy, filled the space. Everything spoke of a family that provided for itself, isolated from modern conveniences. Martha, Abraham called, his voice carrying a strange inflection that almost sounded like a bark.
We have guests. A woman appeared from what must have been the kitchen. Her movements were fluid yet unsettling. Shoulders hunched slightly forward, hands hanging longer than seemed natural. Her face shared Abraham’s elongated features, though her jaw appeared less pronounced. Her eyes, like his, reflected the light with an amber glow.
researchers, Abraham explained to her, studying our ways. Martha’s nostrils flared slightly as she approached, and Morgan had the distinct impression she was being scented rather than observed. “Welcome,” Martha said, her voice higher than expected from her frame. “We’ve prepared supper. You’ll join us.
” Before Morgan could respond, a child darted into the room on all fours before standing upright. The girl, perhaps seven or eight, had less pronounced features than the adults. Her face almost entirely human except for unusually sharp in sizes visible when she smiled. Sarah, Martha scolded, though the sound came out as a low growl.
What have I told you about running in the house? The child ducked her head submissively. Sorry, mother. Leo had raised his camera instinctively but lowered it when Abraham cleared his throat meaningful. May I take some photographs of the house interior? Leo asked, “Not the family as you requested?” Abraham considered this. The common areas only.
Some rooms are private. As Leo began documenting the space, Morgan engaged Martha in conversation about family traditions and history. The woman answered cautiously, revealing little beyond basic information about their self-sufficient lifestyle, how they grew their own food, raised livestock, and only traveled to town when absolutely necessary.
Throughout their conversation, more family members appeared briefly before retreating, adolescents with gangly limbs and pronounced overbites, elders who moved with a hunched, loping gate that seemed almost painful. Morgan noticed a pattern. Younger the family member, the more human they appeared. Your daughter Sarah, Morgan said carefully.
She seems different from you and Abraham. Martha’s expression tightened. The family traits develop with age. She’s still young. From another room came a series of sounds, not quite words, not quite barks, followed by laughter that raised the hair on Morgan’s neck. The men are preparing for tonight’s hunt, Martha explained. Noticing Morgan’s reaction.
We keep to old ways here. Leo rejoined them, his expression troubled as he reviewed the images on his camera, he caught Morgan’s eye, giving a subtle nod toward the door. We should return to town before dark. Leo said, “Our driver will be waiting.” Abraham emerged from a hallway, somehow moving silently despite his size. “Nonsense.
You’ll stay for supper. Meet the family proper.” His tone left no room for argument. Besides, the weather’s turning, not safe on mountain roads after dark. As if on Q, rain began pattering against the windows, and in the distance, thunder rumbled, Morgan felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realized their polite exit had just disappeared.
“We insist,” Martha added, her smile revealing teeth too sharp, too numerous to be fully human. We’d be honored, Morgan replied. Professional mask firmly in place despite her growing unease and grateful for any knowledge you’re willing to share about your family’s history. Abraham’s mouth stretched into what might have been a smile.
Oh, we have much to share, Dr. Hayes. By morning, you’ll understand our family quite intimately. The dining room of the Blackwood House, stretched longer than Morgan expected, dominated by a massive oak table that could seat the antiquesilverware, tarnished but elegant, lay beside chipped china plates that had clearly been in the family for generations.
Upon closer inspection, Morgan noticed distinct tooth marks on several of the silver forks and spoons. Abraham sat at the head of the table with Martha to his right. Morgan and Leo were positioned halfway down, surrounded by family members of varying ages. The seating arrangement wasn’t random, Morgan realized it appeared hierarchical, with the most human-looking members placed nearest to the guests.
“We hunt our own meat,” Abraham announced as Martha and two adolescent girls brought out platters of roasted venison. Tonight’s catch was particularly lively. The meat came barely cooked, blood pooling on the platters. The Blackwoods served themselves generous portions, barely using their silverware. Several older family members tore at the meat with elongated incizers, making wet, smacking sounds that echoed in the high ceiling room.
Leo pushed his food around his plate while Morgan took small, careful bites. Determined to observe every aspect of the family’s behavior. The venison was gy and almost sweet, unlike any she’d tasted before. “How long have your people studied others?” asked an elderly man seated across from them. His face was the most transformed of anyone present, jaw protruding, nose and mouth nearly fused into what could only be described as a muzzle.
“Anthropology has existed as a formal discipline since the late 19th century,” Morgan replied. Though humans have always been curious about different cultures, the old man made a sound between a laugh and a growl. Curious, yes, like pups sniffing at something new, but understanding that’s rarer. A teenage boy further down the table spoke up, his voice cracking between pitches.
“Do you study animals, too, or just people?” My focus is human communities, Morgan answered, noticing how the boy’s fingers seem slightly elongated, nails thicker than normal, though the boundary between human and animal behaviors is often blurriier than people realize. This comment elicited knowing glances among the family members.
Very true, Abraham said, tearing a chunk of meat with his teeth. Humans like to forget their animals, too. We blackwoods never forgot. Sarah, the young girl they’d met earlier, piped up from down the table. “We sleep with the dogs just like great great great great grandpa Eli did.” “Sarah,” Martha hissed, silencing the child.
“That’s enough,” Leo cleared his throat. “You keep dogs. I haven’t seen any around the property.” An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Abraham dabbed his mouth with a napkin, hiding what might have been amusement. The relationship between the Blackwoods and canines is complex, he finally said.
Perhaps tomorrow we can show you the kennels. Morgan noticed how several family members flinched at this suggestion. Martha’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for her water glass. Your family has lived in isolation for generations, Morgan said, changing the subject. Were there ever attempts to integrate more with nearby communities? An older woman who hadn’t spoken yet laughed.
A sound that started human but ended in something like a howl. They called us mongrels, she said bitterly, even before the changes became visible. Enough, Aunt Judith Abraham commanded. The woman immediately lowered her gaze, shoulders hunching in submission. Morgan noted the interaction with fascination. The family’s social dynamics increasingly resembled pack behavior with Abraham as the clear alpha.
“We keep to ourselves because others wouldn’t understand our ways,” Martha explained more diplomatically. “Our traditions are sacred to us, like sleeping with dogs,” Leo asked, unable to resist following up on Sarah’s comment. Abraham’s amber eyes fixed on Leo with sudden intensity. Our ancestors discovered that sharing warmth and space with canines created a bond that transcended the usual master pet relationship.
Over generations, this bond has deepened. The implications hung heavy in the air. Morgan Anguch around the table seeing the evidence of that deepening in every elongated jaw, every amber eye, every hunched posture. Genetic mutation, Morgan said quietly. the scientist in her momentarily overriding her growing unease. Fascinating.
We prefer to call it evolution, Abraham replied, his unnaturally wide mouth stretching into a smile. Now, who would like to hear the story of Eli Blackwood and how our family’s transformation began? As Abraham began his tale, Morgan noticed Sarah slipping away from the table. The child caught her eye before disappearing through a door.
Her small hand beckoning once before she vanished. Morgan touched Leo’s leg under the table, a silent signal they’ developed during field research. Something wasn’t right here, and the child might be their best chance to discover what was really happening in the Blackwood house. After dinner, Abraham led them to a sitting room wherea fire crackled in an ancient stone hearth.
The walls were lined with bookshelves holding leather-bound volumes, their spines cracked and faded with age. “My family has always valued documentation,” Abraham said, gesturing to the shelves. “Every Blackwood generation has kept records.” While Leo engaged Abraham in conversation about the family’s self-sufficient lifestyle, Morgan browsed the shelves.
Most books were handwritten journals, each labeled with a generation number and name. Her fingers paused over one marked Eli Blackwood. First generation. May I? She asked, glancing at Abraham. He hesitated, then nodded. Our history belongs to us, but I suppose scholars should appreciate it. The journal was heavier than expected, bound in what looked like animal hide rather than conventional leather.
The pages were brittle, yellowed with age, but the handwriting remained clear, tight, disciplined script that spoke of military training. Morgan carefully opened to the first entry, dated November 1872. Blizzard came early this year. Caught me returning from town. Would have perished if not for the wild dogs.
Three of them seeking shelter in the same cave. We shared warmth through the n strange beasts. larger than wolves, but not quite like any dog I’ve seen. When the storm broke, they followed me home. I’ve named them Shadow, Ghost, and Hunt. Morgan turned the page, finding entries documenting Eli’s growing attachment to the dogs. December 1872.
The animals sleep in my bed now. My wife thinks it unsemly, but their warmth keeps the chill from my bones. Something about their presence soothed the war memories that plagued me. January 1873. Found myself growling at a peddler today. The sound came unbidden from my throat. The dogs seemed to approve standing beside me until the stranger left.
Later caught myself watching the woods with newfound awareness, smelling things I never noticed before. She skipped forward several months. August 1873. My wife claims my face is changing. Says my jaw protrudes more than before. Nonsense, of course. Though I’ve noticed my eyesight is sharper at night, and sounds carry differently to my ears.
Morgan flipped ahead several years, stopping at an entry from 1880. My son shows the changes, too. His mother fears him, though I see only strength. The dogs accept him as their own. We sleep together now, man. Boy and Beasts, a pack of our own making. I’ve sent my wife to her sisters. She doesn’t understand what we’re becoming.
Her breath caught at an entry from 1885. The original dogs have passed, but their offspring remain. My son has taken a wife from town. She fears our ways, but will adapt. Our bloodline must continue. I’ve noticed our saliva carries the change. My son’s wife shows early signs after only months here.
Our pack grows stronger. Abraham’s voice broke her concentration. You found Eli’s account of the beginning. Morgan looked up start. He stood closer than she’d realized, moving with that unnerving silence. It’s remarkable, she said. Professional curiosity overriding her unease. He documents physiological changes that suggest some form of genetic mutation.
Did he ever seek medical attention? Abraham’s laugh held a growling undertone. Doctors would have called it madness or disease. Eli understood it was evolution. Evolution doesn’t typically occur within a single generation. Morgan countered. Conventional evolution. No. Abraham took the journal from her hands, replacing it on the shelf.
But what if something passed from those original dogs to Eli? Something that rewrote what it meant to be human? Leo had drifted to the window, photographing the family property in the fading light. “Those original dogs,” he said without turning. “What were they exactly?” “Not entirely wolf. Not entirely dog.
” Abraham ran a finger along the spines of the journals. something in between like we’ve become Morgan’s scientific mind raced through possibilities parasites viruses prians that could alter DNA expression may I see the later journals to trace the progression Abraham’s expression darkened some records are private family matters a howl sounded from somewhere in the house too human to be a dog too anim animalistic to be human’s head turned sharply ly toward the sound.
“You must be tired from your journey,” he said abruptly. “Martha will show you to your room.” “Room singular,” Leo questioned, rejoining them. “We have limited guest accommodations,” Abraham replied, already moving toward the door. “The storm continues. You’ll stay the night.
” As if summoned, Martha appeared in the doorway. “This way, please.” Before following, Morgan glanced back at the shelf of journals. One book lay a skew where Abraham had hastily replaced Eli’s journal. “She would return later,” she decided. The answers to the Blackwood family’s transformation lay in those pages.
“Cunning,” she said, noting how Martha’s nostrils flared as she passed, scenting her like prey. The guest room sat at the end of a longhallway on the second floor. A single ironframed bed dominated the space alongside a wash basin and wooden chair. The wallpaper faded floral patterns peeled at the corners revealing layers beneath like geological strata of the home’s history.
One bed, Leo muttered after Martha left. Cozy. You can have it, Morgan replied already unpacking her recording equipment. I’ll be up documenting. Leo tested the mattress, which sagged alarmingly. “Think they’re trying to tell us something with the accommodations.” “They’re isolated, not hostile,” Morgan said, though her voice lacked conviction.
She placed a small digital recorder near the door. “Though I’m recording tonight, just in case.” “In case of what?” The family that growls together ms together. Morgan shot him a look. in case they discuss us when we’re not around. Standard ethnographic practice. The wind outside had picked up, rattling the single window.
Rain lashed against the glass in sheets, eliminating any possibility of leaving before morning. Leo secured the window latch, then checked the door. “No lock,” he noted. “We’re guests, not prisoners,” Morgan reminded him, though she wedged the wooden chair under the doororknob. Anyway, Leo unpacked his camera equipment, reviewing the day’s photos.
“Some of these images,” he murmured, turning the display toward Morgan. She leaned closer, studying a shot of Abraham in profile. The elongation of his jaw was more pronounced than she’d realized. Another shot showed an elderly family member whose ears came to distinct points. Genetic mutation presenting asistic features, she mused.
But the progression through generations is not how genetics typically works. Leo finished. And did you notice the kids look mostly normal, but the adults show more pronounced features. It’s like the changes manifest with age. Morgan thought of Sarah, the child who’d signaled to her at dinner. Or perhaps with sexual maturity that would suggest some form of triggered expression.
A sudden sound from beyond their door silence them. nails clicking on hardwood like a large dog passing in the hallway. But the footsteps were accompanied by a heavier bipedal gate, someone walking alongside a dog or something in between. Leo reached for his camera, but Morgan shook her head in warning.
The footsteps paused outside their door. Shadows moved in the gap beneath, accompanied by sniffing sounds. Morgan held her breath. After what seemed an eternity, the presence moved on. Jesus,” Leo whispered. “What was that?” “I don’t know,” Morgan admitted. “But I’m starting to think the legends about this family might have a basis in reality.
” As the night deepened, the sounds from within the house grew stranger. Somewhere below, a chorus of howls rose. Not quite human, not quite animal, somewhere else, scraping noises, suggested claws on wood. Occasionally, voices murmured in the hallway outside their room, speaking in what sounded like a hybrid language of English and canine vocalizations.
Leo had fallen into a restless sleep when Morgan shook him awake around 2:00 in the morning. “Listen,” she whisp. A rhythmic thumping came from somewhere in the house, followed by what could only be described as barking laughter. “That’s it,” Leo said, reaching for his phone. “We need to call someone.” No signal, Morgan reminded him, and the storm still raging. Then we need to leave.
First thing in the morning, Leo ran a hand through his hair. These people, or whatever they are, are the anthropological discovery of the century. Morgan finished. A family that’s actually evolved canine traits. We need more evidence before we go. Leo stared at her in disbelief. Evidence? Did you miss the part where Abraham basically admitted they’ve been breeding with dogs for eight generations not breeding with Morgan corrected living alongside something in their saliva perhaps a virus or pryan that alters gene expressions it’s unprecedented a
sudden scratching at their door silenced their argument not the sound of nails this time but smaller more deliberate a child’s fingernails Morgan approached cautiously removing the chair from under the knob. She opened the door a crack to find Sarah crouched in the hallway, her eyes reflecting the dim light.
You shouldn’t be here,” the child whispered. They hunt on full moon nights. “Who hunts?” Morgan asked gently. “The elders, the ones who’ve completed the chain.” Sarah glanced nervously down the hall. “I’m not supposed to talk to outsiders, but you seem nice. I don’t want you to end up like the others.” “What others?” Leo asked, joining Morgan at the door.
the ones who came before to study us. Sarah’s voice dropped even lower. They never left. A door opened somewhere down the hall. Sarah’s head jerked up, nostrils flaring. I have to go. Lock your door. Don’t come out until morning. No matter what you hear. Before they could question her further, she was gone, moving with uncanny speed on all fours into the shadows.
Morgan closedthe door, replacing the chair under the knob. We need to find those earlier research records, she said. Tomorrow, while they’re occupied, as they settled back into an uneasy vigilance, a new sound rose from outside, a long mournful howl, answered by voices from within the house. The Blackwoods were calling to each other across the night, and something in the sound raised goose flesh on Morgan’s arm.
Scientific discovery of the century, Leo echoed sarcastically. If we live to document it. Leo had slipped away from the main house during the morning commotion. Camera in hand, the fog clung to the ground in patches, creating an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere, perfect for documenting the isolated property. He photographed the outuildings first, a barn, woodshed, smokehouse, and what appeared to be a kennel, though he saw no dogs inside.
Something about the kennel structure troubled him. The doors were reinforced with heavy iron bands, and the small windows had bars. It looked more like a prison than a place for animals. As he raised his camera to capture this detail, a sound from inside froze him. A low wine, distinctly human in its misery. Before he could investigate further, movement near the tray line caught his attention.
A hunched figure disappeared into the woods, moving with that distinctive Blackwood gate. Curiosity overriding caution. Leo followed at a distance. The trees thinned after about 50 yards, revealing a small clearing. Within it stood dozens of weathered gravestones, some so old they’d sunk partially into the earth.
The Blackwood family cemetery. Leo approached cautiously. Camera ready. The oldest stones dated back to the 1870s. Eli Blackwood’s time. The patriarch’s grave was marked with an elaborate headstone, larger than the others. As Leo knelt to examine it, he noticed something odd about the engraved. Beneath Eli’s name and dates was a carving, half human face, half canine.
The features blending together in a way that sent a chill down Leo’s spine. Moving through the generations, Leo documented the progression of strange imagery on the stones. Second generation graves showed subtle canine motifs, paw prints alongside human handprints. By the fourth generation, the headstones depicted human figures with elongated features.
The most recent graves dating just a few years back showed creatures that were barely recognizable as human hunched forms with muzzles and pointed ears. The family transformation recorded in stone, Leo murmured, photographing each era. At the edge of the cemetery lay what appeared to be a mass grave marked only with a crude stone reading outsiders.
The earth here seemed more recently disturbed. As Leo zoomed in to photograph this disturbing discovery, the sound of a twig snapping made him whirl around. A young man stood watching him. one of the Blackwood sons he’d seen at dinner, perhaps 17 or 18. The boy’s jaw had already begun to elongate, and his posture held that distinctive forward hunch.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the young man said, his words slightly distorted by his misshapen mouth. “This is private,” Leo lowered his camera slightly, but didn’t turn it off. “I’m documenting your family’s history. Your father gave permission to photograph the property. The cemetery is different, the young man, Caleb, Leo recalled from dinner introductions, moved closer with that unnerving fluid grace.
The stones tell our story too plainly. They tell a remarkable story of genetic mutation, Leo said, falling back on scientific language to mask his unease. Your ancestor Eli began a transformation that’s progressed through generations. Caleb’s amber eyes narrowed. Transformation, yes, but you misunderstand its nature. Enlighten me.
It’s not a disease or mutation. It’s an evolution. Caleb’s voice carried the same conviction Leo had heard from Abraham. We’re becoming something better than human. Better how? Leo asked, subtly, adjusting his position to put the largest headstone between them. Stronger, more aware, connected. Caleb inhaled deeply.
I can smell your fear from here. Can track your footprints across the entire property. Can hear your heart racing in your chest. Leo’s hand tightened on his camera. And at outsiders, he asked, nodding toward the unmarked grave. Were they becoming better, too? Caleb’s expression darkened. Some tried to help us. Others wanted to expose us.
Study us like specimens. his lip curled, revealing teeth too sharp for comfort. None understood what we are becoming. And what’s that exactly? The young man’s stance shifted subtly, becoming more predatory, the next stage of predator. Neither human nor wolf, but something greater than both. Leo raised his camera, not to photograph, but as a pitiful barrier between them.
Your father mentioned kennels. Are there others like you elsewhere? Caleb laughed. The sound carrying canine overtones. The kennels are for family who resist the change, who fight what they’re becoming. His head tilted.Studying, Leo. You’re considering running, aren’t you? I can smell the adrenaline.
Just continuing my documentation, Leo said, forcing steadiness into his voice. Morgan, Dr. Hayes will be looking for me soon. Your colleague is having her own education with my father. Caleb took another step forward. I could show you the kennels. If you’re so curious, show you what happens to those who deny their nature. Before Leo could respond, a figure emerged from the trees behind Caleb.
Morgan appeared slightly breathless with Abraham close behind her. Leo, she called, her voice deliberately casual, though her eyes signaled urgency. There you are, Abraham’s offered to show us the main barn before we head back to town. Abraham placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, fingers curling in what looked like a warning grip.
Caleb was just explaining our family history, I trust. Io nodded, lowering his camera. Fascinating genealogy. The headstones tell quite a story. A private story, Abraham said, his smile not reaching his eyes. One that doesn’t translate well in photographs. You’ll delete these images before departing. It wasn’t a request. Leo glanced at Morgan, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
Of course, he lied. Just pressing an interest. As they walked back toward the house, Leo noticed how Abraham and Caleb positioned themselves, one before, one behind, hurting them like prey. Back at the main house, Morgan pulled Leo into a corner of the sitting room while Abraham spoke with Martha in hushed tones near the kitchen.
“We need to leave,” she whispered urgently. “I found Sarah’s drawings. The transformation gets worse with each generation.” And she told me about a doctor who came to study them. “They killed him, Leo.” Leo nodded grimly. “I found a mass grave marked outsiders, and their cemetery tells the whole story. The headstones show the progression of their condition.
He reached for his camera, turning it on to show her the evidence. His brow furrowed as he stared at the display. “What the hell?” He rapidly scrolled through the images. “They’re gone. All the cemetery photos. Everything from this morning.” Morgan checked her phone. Mine, too. The pictures of Sarah’s drawings deleted.
That’s not possible. I never let the camera out of my sight. Abraham’s voice made them both start. Technology can be so unreliable in these mountains. He stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the exit. Something about the soil, the air. Things don’t work as they should. Leo clutched his camera tightly.
Did you do something to our equipment? Abraham’s smile stretched his elongated features. How could I? I’ve been with Dr. Hayes and you’ve kept your camera close. He stepped into the room. Perhaps you imagined taking those photos. The Blackwood property has that effect on visitors.
They see things, think they’ve documented things, their minds play tricks. Our minds are fine, Morgan said firmly. And we have what we came for. Thank you for your hospitality, but we should be heading back to town now. Of course. Abraham’s tone was pleasant, but his amber eyes remained cold. though I fear your vehicle might not be cooperative. Leo frowned.
What do you mean? I had Caleb check your car this morning. Appears there’s an issue with the engine. My sons are good with mechanical things, but parts are hard to come by. Might take a day or two to fix. Morgan and Leo exchanged glances. They hadn’t come in their own vehicle. They’d been dropped off by Jason from town.
Abraham was lying, which meant he knew they had no transportation. “We can walk to the main road,” Leo suggested. “Call for help. Sell service is spotty at best,” Abraham replied smoothly, and the road washed out in places during last night’s storm. “Dangerous walking.” “No, you’re better off staying another night.” “We insist.
” The last two words carried unmistakable threat beneath their polite veneer. We have colleagues expecting us, Morgan bluffed. They’ll come looking if we don’t return. Abraham tilted his head, an unnervingly canine gesture. Do they know exactly where you are? Most visitors have trouble finding our property without a guide.
The truth hung heavy between them. No one knew precisely where they were. Jason from town had dropped them near the property, but not at it. He hadn’t seen the house. No one had. We’d like to check the car ourselves,” Leo said firmly. Abraham shrugged massive shoulders. “By all means, Caleb will show you,” he called for his son, who appeared with unsettling promptness, as if he’d been waiting just out of sight.
Abraham gave instructions in that strange hybrid language, part English, part guttural sounds. Caleb nodded and gestured for them to follow. Outside, the day had grown overcast again. the forest around the property dark and forbidding. Caleb led them to the spot where they’d left their bags, the place a car would have been parked if they’d had one.
“No vehicle here,” Caleb said, his tone mocking. “Perhaps you walked furtherthan you remember.” Leo stepped forward confrontationally. “Your father said our car had engine trouble.” “Now you’re saying there is no car. Which lie we supposed to believe?” Caleb’s amber eyes gleamed.
Outsiders often become confused on Blackwood land. Memory plays tricks. Our memories are fine, Morgan insisted. And we need to leave today. Impossible, Caleb replied. The road is washed out, as father said. And night comes early in these mountains. His nostrils flared as he scented the air. Another storm approaches.
You’ll stay until morning at least. As if on Q, thunder rumbled in the distance. This is ridiculous, Leo muttered, pulling out his phone. No service, he confirmed after a moment. I told you, Caleb said, smirking. Nothing works quite right here. They followed him back to the house in defeated silence. As they approached, Morgan noticed more family members had emerged from various outbuildings.
They moved about the property with purpose, securing livestock, reinforcing shutters, preparing for something. Tonight is special, Caleb explained, noticing her observation. The storm brings the change closer to the surface. You’ll want to remain in your room after dark. Inside, Abraham waited with Martha in the front hall. “You see,” he said.
“No vehicle. Memory is such a fragile thing. Stop gaslighting us,” Leo snapped. “We know what’s happening here. We’ve seen the cemetery, the kennels. We know about the doctor you killed.” Abraham’s expression didn’t change, but the atmosphere in the hall grew instantly colder. “You’ve been speaking with young Sarah,” he said softly.
“Children have vivid imaginations. Children tell truths, adults try to hide, Morgan countered.” Martha stepped forward, her movements jerky with tension. “Abraham, they know too much. They’ll bring others. They’ll stay the night, Abraham decided, his voice, leaving no room for argument. We<unk>ll discuss their departure in the morning.
After they’ve experienced a Blackwood family gathering, the look that passed between Abraham and Martha sent ice through Morgan’s veins. Whatever gathering they had planned, she knew with bone deep certainty that she and Leo couldn’t be present for it. Martha will bring your dinner to your room,” Abraham continued pleasantly.
“I suggest you rest. Tonight will be illuminating.” “Back in their room,” Morgan paced while Leo checked the window. It was now secured from the outside with wooden shutters. “We’re prisoners,” Leo muttered. “They’re not even pretending anymore,” Morgan nodded grimly. “We need to find a way out before nightfall.” Before this gathering, Abraham mentioned, “Sarah might help us.
She seems scared of what’s happening to her family if we can find her.” Morgan paused, considering what time is sunset today. Leo checked his rock. Around 6:30, we have about 3 hours. A soft knock interrupted them. Martha entered carrying a tray of food, more barely cooked meat and hard bread. Her eyes darted nervously around the room, never meeting theirs directly.
Abraham says to eat, “Keep up your strength.” Her voice was tight, controlled. “For what?” Leo challenged. Martha set down the tray. “The gathering is special, sacred to our family. What happens at these gatherings?” Morgan asked, her anthropologist instincts still firing despite their situation. Martha’s hand trembled slightly.
The change comes forward. We honor our true nature. And what role do we play in this ritual, Leo pressed? Martha’s eyes finally met his, and the fear in them was unmistakable. Not fear of them, but for them. I’ve said too much. Eat. Rest. She hurried from the room, locking the door behind her.
“Well, that was comforting,” Leo muttered. Morgan ignored the food and moved to the door, pressing her ear against it. No sound of footsteps retreating. Martha was waiting, perhaps listening. After a moment, Morgan heard the woman move away. “We need to search the house,” Morgan whispered. “Find another exit.” Leo nodded toward the locked door.
“Slight problem with that plan.” Morgan pulled a hairpin from her bun. I didn’t spend 3 years doing field work in questionable areas without learning a few skills. She worked at the lock with practiced movement. After several tense minutes, it clicked open. “Remind me never to underestimate you,” Leo said with genuine admiration.
“Save it for when we’re safely back in civilization,” Morgan replied, easing the door open a crack. The hallway was empty. They moved silently through the house, avoiding the main areas where family members might be gathered. The old structure was a maze of narrow corridors and unexpected staircases. As they descended to the first floor, Morgan spotted a heavy wooden door beneath the main staircase.
“Sellar access,” she whispered, pointing. “The door was secured with an antique iron padlock. As they examined it, a small voice from behind nearly made them jump out of their skins. You need the key.” Sarah stood in the shadows, clutching something in her small hand. Morganapproached her cautiously. Sarah, we need to leave tonight.
Can you help us? The child nodded solemnly. That’s why I brought this. She held out a large iron key. The cellar connects to tunnels. Old ones from when the first Blackwoods needed to hide. Hide from what? Leo asked towns people. They tried to burn the house once. When they first noticed the changes, Sarah pressed the key into Morgan’s hand.
The tunnels lead to the woods, past the cemetery. Morgan knelt to the child’s level. Come with us, Sarah, before the changes take you, too. Sarah’s eyes welled with tears. I want to, but Papa would track me. His nose is strongest in the family. She touched her own nose. Mine is getting stronger, too. I smelled you both from upstairs.
We could protect you, Leo insisted. Not from them. Not when they’re changed. Sarah glanced nervously over her shoulder. They’re preparing for tonight. You have to go now while they’re busy. Morgan squeezed the child’s hand. Thank you, Sarah. The doctor said the same thing. Sarah whispered before they caught him trying to leave.
The implications hung heavy in the air. Morgan hugged the child briefly, then turned to the cellar door. The key fit perfectly, the lock opening with a loud click that made them all freeze in alarm. No one came. Leo eased the door open, revealing stone steps descending into darkness. The smell that rose from below was dank and animal musk and urine and something worse. Hurry, Sarah urged.
And be quiet. Some of them are already down there. Some of who? Leo asked. The ones who fought hardest. the ones who aren’t family anymore. Just pack. Morgan took out her phone, using its flashlight to illuminate the steps. Thank you, Sarah. If we get out, we’ll send help for you and the others.
Sarah’s smile was heartbreakingly adult. No one can help us, but save yourselves, she melted back into the shadows with that unnatural quickness, leaving them at the threshold of the cellar. Ready? Morgan whispered, Leo nodded grimly. into the wolves den. They descended slowly, each step creaking beneath their weight.
The cellar opened into a large space with stone walls and a packed earth floor. Morgan’s light revealed rows of preserved food, tools, and farming equipment, but it was the far wall that drew their attention. A row of iron cages built directly into the stone. My god, Leo breathed. Three of the cages were occupied.
Within each crouched a figure that was neither fully human nor fully animal. They had the basic structure of humans but moved on all fours. Their limbs reconfigured in ways that defied normal anatomy. Their faces had elongated into partial muzzles, eyes gleaming in the darkness. As Morgan’s light fell on them, they retreated to the backs of their cages, making soft whining sounds.
The ones who fought the change, Morgan whispered. Horror and scientific fascination warring within her. They’ve locked them up. A crude wooden sign hung above the cages. The resistant ones. Over here, Leo called softly from the far corner. I think I found the tunnel entrance. A section of wall had been constructed to swing outward, revealing a narrow passageway beyond.
As they moved toward it, one of the caged figures suddenly lunged forward, gripping the bars with hands that were halfway to becoming paws. “Run!” It growled, the word barely comprehensible through its transformed mouth. “They come!” From above! A howl sounded. The gathering was beginning. Morgan and Leo froze at the sound of the howl, which was answered by others throughout the house.
A chorus of voices hovering in that uncanny valley between human and animal. “They’ve started,” Leah whispered, pulling at the hidden door. “It refused to budge.” Morgan joined him, adding her strength. The ancient wood groaned, but slowly gave way, revealing a low tunnel carved through the earth and reinforced with timber supports.
The musty smell of decades, perhaps centuries, wafted from its depth. Before they could enter, footsteps sounded on the cellar stairs. They doused their light and pressed into the shadows behind a stack of preserved food barrels. Abraham descended first, followed by three older family members, the ones whose transformations were most advanced.
in the dim light filtering from above. Their silhouettes were nightmarish hunched postures, elongated limbs that seemed to bend in unal ways, heads that had stretched into partial muzzles. They moved with an unsettling grace despite their deformities. The group carried something heavy between them, a wooden trough filled with dark liquid.
They placed it ceremoniously in the center of the cellar floor. The blood of the hunt strengthens the pack. Abraham in toned, his voice deepened to a growl. Tonight we gather to welcome the change to honor our evolution. The others responded with guttural sounds of affirmation. Abraham approached the cages, his massive frame casting long shadows.
You resist what we have become, he said to the captives. But tonight youwill drink. Tonight you will remember what it means to be pack. One of the caged figures pressed against the bars. Please, father, it whimpered in a voice Morgan recognized as Caleb’s brother, Jacob. Don’t make me. It hurts. Growth always hurts.
Abraham replied without sympathy. But after you will be stronger, you will understand. He nodded to his companions, who unlocked the cages and dragged the reluctant occupants toward the trough. From their hiding place, Morgan and Leo watched in horror as the captives were forced to their knees. “Drink,” Abraham commanded. “Embrace your nature.
” Jacob tried to resist, turning his face away. Abraham gripped the back of his neck, forcing his head down until his face nearly touched the dark liquid. “You were born to this bloodline,” Abraham growled. “Eight generations of change flow through your veins. You cannot deny what you are becoming. Morgan shifted slightly for a better view.
Her foot scraping against the stone floor. The sound was small, but in the tense silence, it carried. Abraham’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Intruders, he snarled. Find them. Leo grabbed Morgan’s arm, pulling her toward the tunnel entrance. They abandoned stealth for speed, scrambling into the dark passage as sounds of pursuit erupted behind them.
The tunnel was barely 5 ft high, forcing them to move in a hunched run that slowed their progress. Leo’s phone provided meager light, revealing a passage that twisted and branched like a warren. “Which way?” he gasped at a fork. Morgan pointed right toward what she hoped was the direction of the woods. Sarah said past the cemetery.
They took the right branch. The sounds of pursuit growing louder behind them. Not footsteps, but the padding of creatures moving on all fours faster than humans could run. Their gaining, Leo panted. The tunnel suddenly widened into a small chamber where several passages converged. Crude markings on the walls indicated different destinations.
Morgan squinted at them in the dim light. there woods. She pointed to one passage. As they started toward it, a figure emerged from another tunnel, blocking their path. It was Martha, her transformation further advanced than it had been at breakfast. Her shoulders hunched forward, arms elongated, fingers curled into claw-like appendages.
Her face had stretched into a partial muzzle, amber eyes gleaming in Leo’s phone light. You shouldn’t be here,” she growled, the words distorted by her changed mouth. “The tunnels are for family only. We’re leaving,” Morgan said firmly, backing away. “We want no part of your gathering.” Martha advanced slowly, her movements fluid and predatory.
Abraham says, “You’ve seen too much. No, too much.” She tilted her head, sniffing the air. “You’ve spoken with Sarah. She told you things. She’s just a child, Leo said. She’s scared of what’s happening to her family. She’s young. Doesn’t understand our heritage. Martha’s voice softened slightly. I was afraid too when the changes began, but after the first gathering, I understood the power, the connection.
More sounds of pursuit echoed from the tunnel behind them. They were being surrounded. “What will happen to us?” Morgan asked, stalling for time as she scanned the chamber for another exit. Abraham hasn’t decided, Martha replied. Some think you should join us. Others think you should feed us.
Her transformed mouth attempted a smile that came out as a snull. The pack must vote. It’s our way. Leo spotted a narrow passage partially hidden behind a support beam. He nudged Morgan, directing her gaze with a subtle head movement. And what do you think, Martha? Morgan asked, edging sideways toward the hidden passage. Martha’s eyes tracked their movement.
I think outsiders bring trouble. Always have. She took another step forward. But my daughter likes you and she needs to learn our ways from someone gentler than Abraham. The implications hung in the air. A terrible choice being offered. We just want to leave. Leo insisted. We won’t tell anyone what we’ve seen. Martha laughed.
A sound that was more bark than human. Lei, I smell the deception on you. Your scientists discovering us is your great achievement. The sounds of pursuit grew louder. Abraham and the others were close now. Martha, Morgan said urgently. Sarah doesn’t want this life. Help us help her. Something flickered in Martha’s inhuman eyes.
Doubt perhaps or maternal concern. But before she could respond, Abraham’s voice boomed from the tunnel entrance. Found you, he growled. The gathering awaits its guests of honor. Martha stepped aside, lowering her head submissively as Abraham entered the chamber, flanked by others in various stages of transformation.
In the confined space, their twisted form seemed even more nightmarish. R Leo hoped at grabbing Morgan’s hand and pulling her toward the hidden passage. Abraham lunged forward with inhuman speed, but Martha perhaps moved by Morgan’s words about Sarah, shiftedslightly, blocking his path just long enough for them to slip into the narrow tunnel.
The hidden tunnel narrowed quickly, forcing Morgan and Leo to crawl on hands and knees. Behind them, sounds of pursuit faded. The transformed blackwoods were too large to follow through this smaller passage. “Where does this lead?” Leo whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. Sarah mentioned children’s tunnels, Morgan replied.
Places they hide from punishment. The passage eventually opened into a small chamber barely 5 ft high. Childish drawings covered the walls. Stick figures with progressively more canine feature. In one corner lay a pile of blankets and several toys, evidence that this was indeed a children’s hideaway. Look, Leo pointed to a crude map scratched into the wall. Escape routes.
Before they could decipher it, a sound at the tunnel entrance made them spin around. Sarah crawled into the chamber, her small face stre with tears and dirt. You found it, she said, relief evident in her voice. I was afraid they’d catch you. Sarah Morgan moved toward the child. Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Sarah shook her head. Bpar’s angry.
I helped you, but he won’t punish me until after the gathering. She winced suddenly, doubling over. “What’s wrong?” Leo asked, reaching for her. “It hurts,” Sarah whimpered. “More than usual tonight,” Morgan knelt beside her, noting with alarm how the child’s fingers seemed to spasm, nails digging into the dirt floor. “What hurts, Sarah? Everything.
” She looked up, eyes glistening with tears. The change comes faster during gatherings. Papa says the blood ritual speeds it up. Morgan exchanged a worried glance with Leo. You’re too young for puberty. The changes shouldn’t start yet. Papa says I’m special, advanced for my age.
Sarah’s voice carried a bitter note beyond her years. He makes me drink a little each gathering to prepare me. As they watched, Sarah’s shoulders hunched forward in a spasm of pain. Her facial features seemed to shift subtly, jaw extending forward by fractions of an inch before their eyes. “My God,” Leo whispered. “It’s happening now.
” Morgan touched the child’s forehead, finding it burning with fever. “Sarah, listen to me. We need to get you out of here, away from the gathering. Maybe that will slow the process.” Sarah shook her head, tears flowing freely now. can’t stop it once it starts. Papa says it’s in our blood.
There must be something, Morgan insisted. The scientist in her refusing to accept defeat. The progression clearly accelerates during these rituals. If we disrupt the pattern, the doctor thought the same. Sarah interrupted, her voice distorting slightly as her mouth began to change. He took samples, made medicines. Some of the younger ones got better for a while.
Leo perked up. The doctor’s research. Where is it? Hidden. Sarah grimaced through another wave of pain. Papa burned most of it, but I saved some. In my special place, she crawled to the wall, pushing aside a loose stone to reveal a small cavity. From it, she withdrew a battered notebook and a small vial of cloudy liquid.
He said, “This might help the children slow the change.” Sarah handed the items to Morgan. Too late for the adults. Their bones have already set. Morgan examined the notebook, pages of medical observations, chemical formulas, and anatomical drawings. The doctor had been thorough in documenting the Blackwood condition.
This is incredible, she murmured. He identified it as a pron disease similar to kuru or crozfelt yakub, but with genetic transmission components. Leo glanced nervously toward the tunnel entrance. Save the scientific fascination for when we’re safe. We need to move. Sarah doubled over again, a low wine escaping her throat.
When she looked up, her eyes had begun to change, irises expanding to consume the whites, color shifting toward amber. “It’s getting worse,” she whimpered. “The moon is rising. The gathering is at full strength.” Morgan uncapped the vial, sniffing cautiously. Is this what the doctor gave the children? Sarah nodded. Made some of us better for a while.
Made Jacob worse. Worse how? Leo asked. More animal, less human. Sarah’s hands clutched at the dirt. Nails lengthening visibly. Different for everyone. Morgan hesitated, the vial hovering between them. We don’t know if this is safe. Nothing is safe here, Sarah replied. Wisdom beyond her years in her transforming eyes.
But I don’t want to become like them. The dosage, Morgan searched the notebook. There’s nothing here about dosage for a child your size. Please, Sarah begged. Another spasm racking her small frame. before I change too much to want it. The ethal dilemma tore at Morgan. Administering an unknown substance to a child versus watching her transform into something inhuman.
Science versus compassion. I can’t, Morgan finally decided, recapping the vial. Not without knowing more. But we’ll take you with us. Find real doctors. Study the formula properly.Sarah’s eyes flashed with momentary anger, a growl rising from her throat that shocked them all, including her. She clapped her hands over her mouth.
“See,” she cried. “It’s happening, please.” Leo touched Morgan’s shoulder. “We have to try something, and we need to move now.” From the main tunnel outside their hiding place came sounds of activity. The Blackwoods had organized a systematic search of all passages. They’re coming, Sarah whispered, overshadowing her pain.
They’ll find us soon. Morgan made a quick decision, searching the doctor’s notes for any clue about dosage. Finding a marginal notation, she uncapped the vial again. A small amount, she said. Just enough to perhaps slow the process until we can get help. She helped Sarah take a tiny sip of the cloudy liquid.
The child grimaced at the bitter taste, but swallowed it down. Now we wait, Morgan said, recapping and pocketing the vial. And we keep moving. Sarah, is there a way out through these smaller tunnels? Sarah nodded, already looking less pained, though whether from the medication or simply the passing of a spasm was unclear.
This way it comes out in the woods beyond the family’s hunting grounds. As they prepared to leave, a howl echoed through the tunnels closer than before. Abraham’s voice, though barely recognizable as human. “Sarah,” he called, the name distorted by his transformed mouth. “Bring them to the gathering. It’s time.” Sarah trembled, her body caught between the competing pulls of the family’s call and her own desire for freedom.
For a moment, Morgan feared the child would answer, would betray them to her pack. Instead, Sarah pointed to the smallest tunnel at the back of the chamber. Hurry,” she whispered, while I can still help you. The children’s tunnel twisted upward through the earth, so narrow in places that Leo’s shoulders scraped both sides. Sarah led the way, moving with the natural agility of both youth and her partial transformation.
Morgan followed, clutching the doctor’s notebook and vial, with Leo bringing up the rear. “How much further?” Leo whispered, his voice tight with claustrophobia. Not far, Sarah replied. The exit is hidden in a hollow tree. They crawled in silence for several minutes. The only sounds their labored breathing, and the occasional distant howl from the blackwood gathering.
Morgan noted that Sarah’s movement seemed less pained. Now, her small body no longer racked with transformation spasm. The doctor’s formula appeared to be working, at least temporarily. Finally, Sarah stopped. Above them, moonlight filtered through a rough opening, partially concealed by roots and vegetation.
“We’re here,” she whispered. “But we need to be careful. They’ll be hunting by now.” Leo checked his watch. “Just past midnight. How far are we from the road?” “2 miles through the woods,” Sarah replied. “But we can’t take the direct path.” “They’ll expect that.” Morgan helped Sarah through the opening, then followed, emerging into the hollow base of an ancient oak tree.
Leo squeezed through last, relieved to stand upright again. Around them, the forest was eerily silent. No insects chirping, no nightbirds calling, as if all woodland creatures knew to be still when the blackwoods hunted. Sarah tilted her head, listening with enhanced senses. This way, she pointed, not toward the road, but deeper into the forest. There’s a stream we can follow.
It will mask our scent. They moved as quietly as possible. The full moon providing enough light to navigate between the trees. Sarah walked upright, but with the slightly hunched posture that characterized her family, occasionally dropping to all fours to move faster over rough terrain. The medicine,” Morgan whispered as they paused for breath behind a fallen log.
“How do you feel?” Sarah touched her face, feeling the slight elongation of her jaw that had begun before they administered the dose. “Carer, the pain is less, but I can still feel it waiting. We’ll get you proper help,” Leo promised. Real doctors. Sarah’s expression was skeptical beyond her years.
The last doctor tried before they made us eat him. The brutal reminder of what they were fleeing silenced them all momentarily. Listen, Sarah suddenly hissed, dropping into a crouch hunting party. From the direction of the house came sounds of pursuit, not clumsy human movement through underbrush, but the swift coordinated progress of predators.
Occasionally a short bark or howl carried through the night air. communication signals between pack members. They’re tracking us, Sarah whispered fearfully. Papa’s at the lead. I can smell him. The stream Leo urged. We need to reach water. They abandoned stealth for speed. Running through the forest as branches whipped their faces and roots threatened to trip them.
Sarah moved with surprising agility, sometimes on two legs, sometimes on four. her body finding the most efficient way forward as the partial transformation gave her advantages in the wilderness. Behindthem, the sounds of pursuit grew louder. The hunting party was gaining there. Morgan pointed ahead where moonlight reflected off moving water.
The stream they splashed into the shallow water cold enough to make them gasp. Sarah led them downstream, moving from rock to rock to avoid leaving Prince in the muddy banks. “We need to split up,” Leo suggested after they’d followed the stream for several hundred yards. “Confuse them!” Sarah shook her head vigorously.
“No, they’ll pick you off individually.” The pack hunts by isolating prey. A howl sounded much closer than expected, followed by an answering call from further downstream. Morgan realized with a sinking feeling that the Blackwoods had anticipated their strategy. “There<unk> ahead of us,” she said quietly. “And Sarah’s eyes widened, reflecting the moonlight with an animal glow, despite the medicine’s effects. We’re surrounded.
” Leo looked frantically for an escape route. The stream continued through a small ravine ahead with steep banks on either side, a natural funnel perfect for an ambush. Back the way we came, he decided. We<unk>ll try to break through their line. Too late, Sarah whispered. Her enhanced senses detecting what the humans could not yet perceive.
They’re here from the darkness of the trees emerged. Abraham, his transformation now nearly complete. His massive frame moved on all fours with disturbing ease, clothes torn and hanging in tatters from his elongated body. Behind him came others Martha, Caleb, and several elders, all in advanced stages of transformation.
Their faces had stretched into muzzles, bodies reconfigured into a horrifying hybrid of human and canine anatomy. Abraham approached the stream’s edge, amber eyes fixed on them. When he spoke, his voice was a guttural growl that barely formed words. “Family stays with Pack,” he snarled, gaze locked on Sarah. Outsiders become prey or become pack. Choose.
Morgan stepped in front of Sarah protectively. She’s just a child. This transformation is killing her. Abraham’s massive head swung toward Morgan. Not killing, changing, improve. His transformed mouth attempted what might have been a smile, revealing rows of elongated teeth. Eight generations of evolution. Perfect adaptation.
It’s a disease, Leo countered, slowly reaching for a heavy branch half submerged in the stream. A genetic mutation that can be treated, Abraham growled, a sound that raised the hair on the back of their necks. Not disease, ascension. He took a step into the water, clawed hands digging into the muddy stream bed.
The others followed, forming a semicircle around the three fugitives. Martha’s gaze fixed on her daughter, a wine of recognition escaping her transformed throat. “Sarah,” she managed, the word mangled by her muzzle. “Come.” Sarah pressed against Morgan’s side, trembling. “No, mother, I don’t want to change.
” Abraham snarled at this defiance. The blood calls cannot deny. He lunged suddenly, faster than seemed possible for his bulk. Leo swung the branch, catching him across the face with a solid impact that would have failed a normal man. Abraham barely flinched, powerful jaws, snapping the wood like kindling. “Run!” Leo shouted, shoving Morgan and Sarah toward a gap in the Blackwood line.
They bolted as Leo swung the splintered branch again, buying them precious seconds. Morgan pulled Sarah along. The child moving with surprising speed despite her fear. Behind them came sounds of struggle. Then Leo’s cry of pain. “Keep going!” he shouted. “I’ll catch up,” Morgan hesitated, torn between helping her colleague and protecting the child.
“Sarah made the decision for her, pulling her forward with unexpected strength. “We can’t help him,” the girl insisted. “Not against the whole pack.” They ran through the darkness, the sounds of pursuit fading temporarily. The doctor’s notebook bounced in Morgan’s pocket, their only hope of understanding and perhaps reversing the Blackwood transformation.
Where now? Morgan gasped as they paused to catch their breath. Sarah pointed toward a ridge silhouetted against the moonlit sky. “The road is just beyond, but we need to hurry.” Her eyes reflected moonlight as she glanced back. They’re regrouping and Papa never loses a hunt. Leo struggled against his captives as they dragged him back toward the Blackwood property.
His right arm hung useless at his side, dislocated during the brief one-sided fight. Around him, family members moved in their disturbing hybrid gate, some fully on all fours, others in a hunched bipedal stance that seemed painful yet efficient. Abraham led the procession, his massive transformed body clearing a path through the underbrush.
Despite his almost complete metamorphosis into something canine, his eyes retained a terrible human intelligence. The woman and child, he growled to one of the younger family members who’ just returned from scouting. Heading east, the youth reported his transformation less advanced. Words clearer toward the road.
Abraham made a sound between a laugh and a bark. No escape that way. Caleb’s group will intercept. Leo tested his bonds rough rope binding his wrists behind his back, but found no give. “What are you going to do to me?” he demanded, forcing strength into his voice. Abraham turned his elongated head, amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You join gathering.
Witness our ascension. They emerged from the forest into the clearing where the Blackwood house stood. The scene before them froze Leo’s blood. In the center of the yard, a massive bonfire blazed, illuminating dozens of family members in various stages of transformation. Some still looked mostly human, just beginning to show the telltale elongated feature.
Others had progressed further, bodies reconfigured into disturbing halfhuman, half canine forms. They circled the fire in a shuffling dance, moving to the rhythm of a primal chant that seemed to emerge from all throats at once, a sound neither human nor animal, but something ancient and terrible that predated both. At the center near the fire stood a large stone altar stool.
A top it sat a ceremonial bowl filled with dark liquid. Blood ritual. Abraham explained noticing Leo’s horrified gaze accelerates the change strengthens the pack bond. Leo was dragged to a post near the ritual space and secured there positioned to witness everything. The gathered family members paused in their movements, turning to observe the captive with hungry eyes.
Where is Sarah? demanded Martha, approaching on all fours, her transformation nearly as complete as Abrahams. Where is my daughter? Safe from you, Leo spat, anger overriding fear. Far from this madness, Martha snarled, lunging forward until Abraham’s growl stopped her. The family hierarchy was clear even in their transformed state.
Abraham remained the alpha his authority absolute. She belongs with pack Martha whed submitting to Abraham’s dominance but still agitated. She is blood and she will return Abraham assured his transformed mouth working awkwardly around the words. The call of blood is stronger than fear. He approached the stone altar, raising his elongated arms toward the moon.
The family fell silent, all eyes fixed on their patriarch. Eight generations, he inoned, voice deepening to a growl that nonetheless carried across the clearing. Eight generations since Eli Blackwood first welcomed the gift of the wild dogs into his blood. Eight generations of becoming something greater than human.
A murmur of approval rose from the assembled family. Tonight we celebrate our ascension, Abraham continued. Tonight we strengthen the pack bond. Tonight we welcome new blood. His gaze shifted meaningfully to Leo who struggled against his restraints with renewed desperation. An elder approached the altar carrying a struggling rabbit.
With practice deficiency, the elder slit the animals throat, draining its blood into the ceremonial bowl. Abraham mixed it with the dark liquid already present, using clawed fingers to stir. First blood to awaken the change, he inedoned. Pack blood to guide the way. One by one, family members approached the altar, taking a drink from the bowl.
After each swallow, the recipient shuddered, some dropping to all fours as the transformation visibly accelerated. Faces elongated further, limbs reconfigured, voices transformed from human speech to canine vocalizations. Leo watched in horrified fascination as science and superstition merged before his eye.
Whatever pan or virus had infected the Blackwood line, the ritual clearly triggered an acceleration of symptoms. Whether through genuine biochemical interaction or psychossematic response, the effect was undeniable. As the last family member partook, Abraham turned to Leah. Now you, he growled, approaching with the bowl.
I’ll die before I drink that, Leo declared, straining against the ropes. Abraham’s transformed mouth attempted a smile. Not asking you to drink, he set the bowl down, reaching instead for a knife. You provide next blood. Fresh outsider blood strengthens ritual. Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs as Abraham raised the blade. Morgan will expose you, he warned desperately.
She has evidenced the doctor’s notes. The world will know what you’ve become. Abraham paused, knife hovering. What do the one you killed? Leo said he left records, treatment protocols, ways to reverse the transformation in children. This revelation sent a ripple of disqu through the gathered family. Several of the younger members exchanged glances, and Martha stepped forward, challenging Abraham’s authority for the first time.
“Riverse?” she asked, hope momentarily overriding her transformation. “Sarah could be normal?” Abraham snarled, silencing her. No reversal, no cure. We are not sick, he addressed the gathered family. We are evolved, superior. The next stage of predator. Most of the fully transformed members growled their agreement.
But doubt showed in some of the younger faces, those still humanenough to fear what they were becoming. Abraham sensed this wavering loyalty and made a swift decision. Find the woman, he commanded. Find the child. Bring them to gathering, his amber eyes fixed on Leo. After we taste outside a blood. As the knife descended toward Leo<unk>s bound form, a commotion erupted at the edge of the clearing.
Two transformed family members dragged a struggling figure into the firelight. Found him in the tunnels. One announced proudly trying to reach the outsiders. The captive was Jacob, Caleb’s brother, who had been locked in the cellar cages. Despite his partial transformation, his eyes remained defiant as he was thrown at Abraham<unk>s feet.
“Tiator!” Abraham growled. “You would betray your blood. This isn’t what we’re meant to be,” Jacob insisted, his transformed mouth struggling with the words. “The doctor was helping us. His medicine was working. Abraham’s massive hand closed around Jacob’s throat. You choose human weakness over pack strength. As Jacob gasped for air, a distant howl pierced the night, the signal from Caleb’s hunting party.
Abraham released Jacob, head turning toward the sound. They’ve found them, he announced satisfaction in his growl. The gathering will be complete. Morgan and Sarah crested the ridge, pausing to catch their breath. Below them, the dirt road cut through the forest, empty and dark, but representing their best hope for escape. We need to follow it toward town.
Morgan said, checking her phone again. Still no signal. Someone might drive by. Sarah shook her head, her enhanced senses more attuned to the night. Caleb’s group is coming from that direction. They’ll have blocked the road. Then we keep to the woods parallel to the road. Morgan decided, “Move as quickly and quietly as we can.
” As they started down the ridge, a distant howl echoed through the trees, immediately answered by another, “Much closer.” Sarah froze, her small body tensing. “That’s Caleb,” she whispered. “They’re coordinating, surrounding us.” Morgan pulled the child close. “Stay calm. I studied predator behavior in graduate school.
They’re trying to panic us, make us run blindly. Sarah nodded, her eyes reflecting moonlight. Papa taught us hunting tactics. Drive prey toward the waiting pack. Then we won’t do what they expect, Morgan said, thinking quickly. Which direction would they least expect us to go? Sarah pointed back toward the Blackwood property. No one runs toward the alpha.
It was counterintuitive, dangerous, and possibly their only chance. Morgan nodded. We circle wide, avoid the main house and try to reach the road from another direction. They moved carefully down the slope, staying low and using the shadows for cover. Sarah led the way, her transformation enhanced senses proving invaluable as she identified game trails through the underbrush.
Twice they froze as hunting parties passed nearby. the transformed blackwoods communicating with short barks and growls as they coordinated their search. They’re spreading out. Sarah whispered after the second group passed, forming a net. Morgan checked the doctor’s notebook by moonlight, searching for anything that might help them.
Most pages contained dense notes on the physiological aspects of the Blackwood condition, but one diagram caught her attention. A map of the property with tunnels and escape routes. Mark. Sarah, look at this, she whispered, showing the child. The doctor mapped the tunnels. Is this accurate? Sarah studied it, nodding slowly. Yes, these are the main passages.
She pointed to a section near the old cemetery. This one comes out behind the groundskeeper shed. No one uses it anymore. Morgan traced the route with her finger. If we can reach it, we might be able to circle back to the road without them tracking us. A howl sounded in the distance. Abraham’s distinctive call.
“Sarah’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring.” “They’ve caught Leo,” she whispered, distress evident in her voice. “The gathering has begun.” Morgan felt a pang of guilt for her colleague, but forced herself to focus on their survival. We’ll get help. Come back for him.” They continued their careful progress, working their way around the western edge of the Blackwood property.
The sounds of the gathering carried through the night, rhythmic chanting punctuated by howls that seemed less human with each passing minute. As they neared the old cemetery, Sarah suddenly pulled Morgan down behind a fallen log. Seconds later, Caleb and two younger Blackwoods passed by, moving on all fours with disturbing speed and grace.
Their transformation had progressed significantly since dinner. Faces elongated into partial muzzles, limbs reconfigured for quadripedal movement, clothes hanging in tatters from their altered bodies. They’re patrolling the perimeter. Sarah breathed once they’d pass. The entrance is just beyond those stones. The cemetery loomed ahead.
Gravestones casting long shadows in the moonlight. They would have to cross openground to reach the tunnel entrance. a dangerous exposure. “We<unk>ll go one at a time,” Morgan decided. “You first, since you’re smaller and faster. I’ll follow once you’re safe,” Sarah hesitated. “The medicine is wearing off.
I can feel the change coming back.” Morgan touched the child’s face gently, noting the slight elongation of her jaw. Not as pronounced as before, but definitely progressive. “We<unk>ll get you more once we’re safe.” The vial isn’t empty. The child nodded, stealing herself. On Morgan’s signal, she darted from cover, moving with uncanny speed across the open ground between gravestones.
She reached the far side safely, disappearing into the shadows by an old mausoleum. Morgan prepared to follow when a sound behind her froze her blood. The soft padding of approaching footsteps. Martha emerged from the trees, her transformation nearly complete. In the moonlight, she appeared more wolf than human, only her eyes retaining a mother’s desperation.
“Where is she?” Martha growled, the words barely comprehensible through her transformed mouth. “Where is my daughter?” Morgan stood slowly, placing herself between Martha and Sarah’s hiding place. “She doesn’t want this, Martha. The transformation is hurting. Pain passes.” Martha insisted, circling slowly. “Family remains.
She’s just a child, Morgan argued, backing away. The changes are happening too early. You must see that. Something flickered in Martha’s inhuman eyes. Doubt, maternal concern, or perhaps a remnant of her human reasoning. The doctor said, “Same before Abraham silenced him.” “The doctor was trying to help,” Morgan said, carefully retrieving the vial from her pocket.
This medicine can delay the transformation. Give Sarah a normal childhood before she has to face these changes. Martha’s gaze fixed on the vial. Recognition sparking. Jacob improved with medicine. For a time, Sarah can too. Morgan pressed. Let us go, Martha. For your daughter’s sake. For a moment it seemed the mother might yield.
Then a hunting horn sounded from the main house. A signal that sent Martha’s head jerking up. Her briefly human thoughts submerged beneath pack instinct. “Abraham calls,” she growled, dropping fully to all fours. “All must answer.” She lunged forward with frightening speed. Morgan dove aside, rolling between gravestones as Martha’s clawed hands grasped at empty air.
The transformed woman recovered quickly, turning with predatory grace for another attack. “Sarah, run!” Morgan shouted, abandoning stealth. “Get to the tunnel!” Martha’s head swiveled toward the mausoleum where Sarah had hidden. With a maternal howl that contained equal parts threat and desperation, she changed direction, bounding toward her daughter.
Morgan scrambled to her feet, searching frantically for a weapon. She grabbed a fallen branch, swinging it as Martha passed. The blow connected but barely slowed the transformed woman, who continued toward the mausoleum with single-minded purpose. Sarah emerged from hiding, her own features showing signs of accelerating transformation as fear and stress triggered the changes.
She moved with the jerky motion of someone fighting their own body, trying to reach the tunnel entrance as her mother closed the distance between them. Sarah Martha called the name distorted but recognizable. Come to pack, Morgan raced after them, desperation lending her speed. She reached the tunnel entrance just as Martha cornered Sarah against the mausoleum wall.
The child cowered, torn between family instinct and fear of what she was becoming. “Stay back!” Morgan shouted, brandishing the branch. Martha turned, snarling caught between maternal instinct and pack loyalty. In that moment of hesitation, Sarah darted past her, reaching Morgan’s side. the tunnel. The child gasped, pointing to a half-hidden opening behind a tilted gravestone. Hurry.
As they scrambled toward it, more howls sounded from the forest, the hunting parties converging on their position. Martha hesitated, visibly torn, then made her choice. She lunged not at them, but at the approaching pack members, buying precious seconds with her interference. Mother, Sarah cried, witnessing the sacrifice.
Go!” Martha growled, holding the others at bay. Ron Morgan pulled Sarah into the tunnel entrance as the night erupted with snarss and fighting behind them. The last thing they saw before darkness enveloped them was Martha standing her ground against her own family. A mother’s love momentarily stronger than the pack bond. The cemetery tunnel was older than the others, its walls reinforced with ancient timbers that groaned under the weight of earth above.
Morgan and Sarah moved as quickly as they dared, using the phone’s flashlight to navigate the narrow passage. “Where does this lead?” Morgan asked, her voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “The doctor’s place,” Sarah replied, her speech increasingly slurred as her jaw continued its gradual elongation. “Old groundskeeper’s shed. He lived therewhile studying us.
” The tunnel descended sharply before leveling out. Above them, muffled howls and barks suggested the Blackwoods were searching for the entrance. Sarah winced at each sound, her enhanced hearing making the pursuit seem closer than it was. “Your mother,” Morgan said gently. “She helped her,” Sarah nodded, tears glistening in her increasingly amber eyes.
“She loves me, even through the change.” After what seemed an eternity of crawling through darkness, the tunnel widened into a small chamber. Unlike the children’s hideaway, this space was clearly designed for research. Metal shelving lined the walls holding dusty equipment and specimen jars. A folding table stood in the center, its surface cluttered with notebooks, microscope slides, and medical instruments.
The doctor’s lab, Sarah whispered, or in her voice. Peppa said he destroyed everything. Morgan approached the table, examining the materials by flashlight. Abraham missed this place. These are original research records. She quickly sorted through the papers, finding detailed notes on the Blackwood condition, blood work, genetic analyses, treatment protocols.
The doctor had been thorough documenting the progression of the transformation across different age groups and generations. Listen to this, Morgan said, reading from a journal. The Blackwood condition presents as a pron-based disease with unique properties. Unlike traditional pron diseases, this variant creates stable genetic mutations that pass to offspring.
Each generation shows more pronounced symptoms with transformation accelerating during adolescence due to hormonal triggers. Sarah touched her face self-consciously. He said I was changing too early, that something was wrong. Morgan found another page. Youngest subject Sarah, age seven, shows early onset symptoms, possibly due to ritual exposure.
Blood work reveals elevated pron levels consistent with advanced cases despite minimal physical transformation. Time is critical. Once skeletal reconfiguration begins, reversal becomes impossible. She looked up at Sarah, whose small frame stood hunched in the growing posture of her family, yet whose eyes remained desperately human.
He was working on a treatment for you specifically. Further exploration of the chamber revealed a small refrigeration unit still functioning via a juryrigged power connection. Inside, several vials similar to the one Sarah had given them were carefully labeled with dates and dosages. Experimental antipan treatment. Morgan read from the attached notes.
Shows promising results in early stage subjects. Reverses protein misfolding and halts progression of symptoms. Ineffective in subjects with advanced transformation. May cause psychological distress in advanced cases as human cognition returns to partially transformed bodies. Sarah approached hesitantly.
Is there more medicine for me? Morgan examined the vials, finding one labeled specifically with Sarah’s name and a date just months earlier. This might be a more refined version of what you took earlier. Before she could retrieve it, sounds echoed from the tunnel behind them, scratching, sniffing the unmistakable sounds of pursuit.
The Blackwoods had found the entrance. “They’re coming,” Sarah whimpered, her body trembling with both fear and the returning symptoms of transformation. Morgan worked quickly, gathering the most critical research materials into a bag she found hanging on a hook. She added the labeled vials from the refrigerator, the doctor’s primary journal, and a USB drive containing what appeared to be microscope images and test results.
There’s another exit, Sarah said urgently, pointing to a narrow door partially hidden behind shelving. It leads to the woods behind the shed. As they moved toward it, Morgan spotted a medical file labeled Jacob failed reversal case. She hesitated, then grabbed it, suspecting it might contain crucial information about treatment risks.
The door opened with difficulty, its hinges rusty from disuse. Beyond lay a short tunnel that emerged in a small clearing dominated by a dilapidated wooden structure, the groundskeeper’s shed, where the doctor had lived during his research. We need to get inside, Morgan said, eyeing the shed. There might be more research materials.
The shed’s door hung partially open, swinging slightly in the night breeze. Inside, moonlight filtering through broken windows revealed a Spartan living space caught. Desk. Small kitchenet papers were strewn everywhere. Evidence of a hasty departure or violent struggle. Morgan moved quickly to the desk, searching for anything useful.
Most drawers had been emptied, their contents likely confiscated by Abraham. But one drawer was locked, its wooden frame splintered from an attempt to force it open that had apparently been abandoned. Using a letter opener from the desk surface, Morgan managed to pry it open. Inside lay a satellite phone and a sealed envelope addressed to medicalauthorities.
This could be our way out, she breathed, checking the phone. It was off, conserving battery, but appeared intact. Sarah suddenly tensed, her enhanced senses detecting what Morgan could not yet perceive. “There close,” she whispered. Coming through the woods, Morgan powered on the satellite phone, relieved when it displayed a signal.
She dialed 911. But before the call connected, a massive form burst through the shed door. Abraham, his transformation now so complete he barely resembled anything human. Found you, he growled, amber eyes glowing in the darkness. Behind him, more transformed family members gathered surrounding the small building.
Morgan pushed Sarah behind her, clutching the phone as it finally connected. 911. What’s your emergency? a tiny voice asked. Abraham lunged forward with frightening speed, knocking the phone from Morgan’s hand. It skittered across the floor, still active but out of reach. “No outsiders,” Abraham snarled, his transformed mouth, struggling with human speech.
“Family business.” As he advanced, Morgan spotted something on the doctor’s desk she’d missed initially. A medical journal opened to a page about silver’s antibacterial properties in treating pryan diseases. Beside it lay a silver letter opener, its blade gleaming in the moonlight. Sarah, Morgan whispered, never taking her eyes off Abraham.
When I move, run for the phone. The transformed patriarch stalked closer, saliva dripping from elongated jaws. No escape from pack, he growled. Tonight you join or tonight you feed. Morgan reached slowly behind her, fingers closing around the silver letter opener. There’s always another option, she said, bringing the makeshift weapon forward.
We make our own choices. Abraham’s eyes narrowed at the silver blade, recognition flashing in there in human depth. Behind him, several family members whed nervously, backing away slightly. Silver hurts the changed ones, Sarah whispered. The doctor discovered that. Morgan raised the blade higher, its surface catching moonlight.
Back off, Abraham. Let us leave with Sarah. The patriarch snarled, muscles tensing for attack. Sarah is blood. Blood stays with pack. Her choice, Morgan insisted. Not yours. Abraham’s massive form coiled like a spring. No choice, only blood. As he lunged, Morgan pushed Sarah aside and swung the silver blade in a desperate arc.
The silver blade caught Abraham across the muzzle, drawing a thin line of blood. He recoiled with a howl of pain disproportionate to the shallow wound, smoke rising from where the silver touched his transformed flesh. The reaction confirmed the doctor’s notes. “Sil had a chemical effect on the mutated pryion proteins.” “Sil burns!” Sarah cried, grabbing the fallen satellite phone as Abraham backed away, pouring at his injured snout.
The other transformed Blackwoods hesitated at the doorway, whining anxiously at their alpha zurs. Morgan seized the moment, snatching a handful of silver letter openers and lettering tools from the desk drawer. “Stay back,” she warned, brandishing the silver implements. “We’re leaving with Sarah and Leo.” Abraham recovered quickly.
Fury replacing pain in his amber eyes. Leo joins gathering now. He snaldled. Too late for him. Sarah had the phone to her ear. Speaking rapidly to the emergency dispatcher. Please help. K9 Valley the Blackwood property. People are hurt. Dr. Morgan Hayes and Leo Chen from Eastern State University.
Abraham lunged again more cautiously this time trying to circle around Morgan’s silver armed defense. She jabbed forward, keeping him at bay while looking for an escape route. The shed’s windows were too small for a quick exit, and the transformed family blocked the only door. “The back wall,” Sarah whispered urgently. “It’s rotten.” The doctor showed me once.
Morgan backed toward it, keeping the silver blade pointed at Abraham. Behind her, she felt the weathered boards. Finding a section where the wood gave slightly under pressure, she pushed harder and a board cracked, Abraham barked to command, and two younger family members circled to cut off their escape.
Morgan flung a silver letter knife at the nearest one, catching him in the shoulder. He yelped, retreating with the same burning reaction Abraham had shown. Silver hurts them all, she realized, gathering the remaining implements. Sarah, when I break through, run as fast as you can toward the road. Not without Leo, the child insisted, still clutching the phone.
Morgan hesitated, torn between escape and loyalty to her colleague. Where would they keep him? The gathering, Sarah replied. By the fire pit, Morgan made a swift decision. We<unk>ll circle back, try to free him. She rammed her shoulder against the weakened wall and boards splintered outward. creating a rough opening.
Now, Sarah, they burst through the broken wall as Abraham howled in rage behind them. The transformed family members gave chase, but moved more cautiously now, wary of the silverweapons Morgan brandished behind her as they ran. This way, Sarah gasped, leading them through the trees. We can see the gathering from the ridge. They clambered up a steep slope, the sounds of pursuit momentarily fading as the Blackwoods regrouped.
At the crest, they dropped to their stomachs, peering down at the horrific scene below. The Blackwood gathering had reached its frenzied peak. Transformed family members circled the massive bonfire, moving in a ritualistic dance that seemed less human with each passing moment. At the center, Leo was tied to a post, bloodied but conscious, watching with scientific detachment, even in his dire situation.
Near him, Martha was also restrained. Her earlier defiance clearly punished by the pack. Despite her advanced transformation, her eyes still held human awareness as she strained against her bonds, gaze searching the darkness beyond the fire light, looking for her daughter. “They’ve hurt her,” Sarah whimpered, her small body trembling with emotion.
Because she helped us, we’ll help them both, Morgan promised, examining the silver implements she’d gathered, three letter openers, and a silver picture frame she’d grabbed from the desk. Not much against 20 transformed blackwoods. The satellite phone crackled in Sarah’s hand.
“Hello, are you still there?” The dispatcher’s voice sounded tiny but clear. “Yes,” Sarah answered. “Please hurry. Deputies are in route to K9 Valley. The dispatcher assured ET 20 minutes. Can you get to the main road? Morgan took the phone. We have people being held against their will. The situation is dangerous. Tell the deputies they need silver.
Silver? The dispatcher sounded confused. Yes, silver weapons or restraints. It’s crucial. Morgan knew how it sounded, but there was no time for lengthy explanations. The family is dangerous. They’ve undergone a mutation that makes them extremely volatile. A howl from below cut their conversation short. Abraham had returned to the gathering, sporting a burn-like wound across his muzzle.
He communicated to the others through barks and growls, and several transformed family members immediately broke away, heading toward the ridge. “They’ve spotted us,” Morgan said urgently. Sarah, which is the fastest way to the road. Before the child could answer, a figure burst from the underbrush beside them.
Jacob, the partially transformed young man from the cages. His appearance was shocking, caught between human and canine, his transformation more asymmetrical and distorted than the others. This way, he gasped, the words mangled by his misshapen mouth. I know a path. Morgan raised the silver blade defensively. Why should we trust you? The doctor helped me, Jacob explained hurriedly before Abraham stopped him.
I want the cure to work. His amber eyes fixed on Sarah. For all the children, Sarah stepped forward, recognizing him despite his altered appearance. Cousin Jacob, you escaped the kennels. He nodded jerkily during the gathering. Most are too far gone to notice me now. He gestured urgently as howls sounded closer. Please, I can lead you to Leo.
Morgan made a swift assessment. Jacob’s transformation was severe but incomplete. His eyes still held human intelligence and desperation. Lead on, she decided. But know that this will hurt you. She raised the silver blade meaningfully. Jacob nodded. I understand. They followed him down a nearly invisible game trail that skirted the edge of the gathering.
Jacob moved with the awkward gate of someone fighting their own body’s new configuration, occasionally dropping to all fours when the transformation’s pull became too strong. “The doctor’s medicine worked for me for a while,” he explained as they moved. “But Abraham found out forced me to drink more blood ritual made it worse.
” He gestured to his asymmetrical features. caught between now. Neither human nor beast. They reached a position overlooking the fire pit, close enough to see Leo and Martha clearly. Most of the transformed family were engaged in the ritual, their attention focused inward. There are too many, Morgan whispered. We need a distraction.
Jacob’s distorted features formed what might have been a smile. The gathering has one weakness. When the change is strongest, human thoughts fade. Instincts take over. What kind of instincts? Morgan asked. Predator instincts, he replied. Chase, hunt, feed. Sarah understood first. Like when Papa hunts deer, if one runs, they all follow.
Morgan nodded slowly, a desperate plan forming. So we give them something to chase. Something that leads away from Leo. I’ll do it. Jacob volunteered. I’m already lost. But you can save Sarah. Save the others who aren’t too far gone. Morgan gripped his partially transformed shoulder. You’re not lost, Jacob. The doctor’s notes. There might be hope, even for advanced cases.
Hope flickered in his amber eyes, but he shook his head. Too late for me. Just promise you’ll come back for the children. Before Morgan could respond,Abraham’s howl cut through the night. He had picked up their scent. The hunting parties were closing in. “Now or never,” Jacob said, rising to his feet. “When you see them, follow me.
Run for Leo and Moth.” “Without waiting for agreement,” he burst from cover, racing along the ridge in plain sight of the gathering below. He howled, a sound of challenge that jerked every transformed head in his direction. Abraham’s response was immediate and predictable. With a roar of rage, he led the charge after the perceived challenger to his alpha status.
The majority of the transformed family followed. Pack instinct, overriding the ritual’s focus. Now, Morgan urged, pulling Sarah toward the fire pit. They raced down the slope as the pack pursued Jacob in the opposite direction, his lanky form disappearing into the trees with the family close behind. Only two transformed members remained guarding the prisoners.
Their attention divided between their captives and the unexpected chase. Morgan clutched the silver letter opener, approaching from the shadows as Sarah circled to reach her mother. The child moved with surprising stealth, using her own partially transformed senses to advantage. Leo spotted them first, his eyes widening in warning as one guard turned, catching their scent.
The transformed family member, one of the teenage boys from dinner, lunged toward Morgan with frightening speed. She met his charge with the silver blade extended, catching him across the chest. He recoiled with a howl of pain as the silver left a smoking wound, drawing the attention of the second guard.
“Morgan!” Leo shouted, “behind you!” She spun, barely avoiding the second guard’s attack, slashing with the letter opener as she dodged. The silver blade caught his arm, and he retreated with a yelp of pain. Sarah had reached Martha, working frantically at her bonds. The transformed woman whined with recognition, nuzzling her daughter despite her muzzle-like features.
Morgan used the moment’s advantage to reach Leo, cutting through his ropes with quick slashes. “Can you walk?” He nodded grimly, rubbing circulation back into his wrists. Run! More likely, Abraham won’t stay distracted for long. “From the forest came a human scream that transitioned into a canine yelp.” Jacob’s diversion had reached its violent conclusion.
“We need to go,” Morgan urged, helping Leo to his feet now. First light crept over the eastern ridge as Morgan, Leo, Sarah, and Martha fled through the forest. Behind them, how Sillil<unk>s pursuit had grown more distant, more scattered, as if the pack was losing cohesion with the approaching dawn.
They’re weaker in daylight, Martha explained, her speech slurred by her transformed mouth. The change retreats slightly. Human thoughts returned. She moved awkwardly on two legs, fighting against the quadripedal instincts of her transformation. Despite her monstrous appearance, her eyes remained a mother’s fixed protectively on her daughter as they navigated the rough terrain.
Leo limped beside Morgan, his face bruised, one arm cradled against his chest. The pack behavior became less coordinated as morning approached. He observed their hunting patterns disintegrated. The doctor’s notes mentioned circadian influences on the transformation. Morgan replied, checking the satellite phone.
No further contact with emergency services, but the call hadn’t disconnected either. The pron protein seemed more active during night hours. Sarah stumbled, a spasm of pain crossing her small face. The effects of the medication were wearing off. Her features once again beginning to shift subtly toward the family. pattern.
Martha whed with concern, nuzzling her daughter with her transformed muzzle. The gesture was both touching and disturbing. “Maternal love,” expressed through monstrous features. “We need to administer another dose,” Morgan said, reaching for the vial in her pocket. “And we need to reach the road before Abraham reorganizes the pack.
” The main road appeared ahead, a dirt track cutting through the forest. As they approached, the welcome sound of vehicles reached them. Multiple engines growing louder. “Help is coming,” Leo said, relief evident in his voice. “We made it,” Martha hesitated at the forest’s edge, her transformed body tensing. “I cannot go,” she said.
“The words coming with difficulty. Look at me. What I’ve become.” Sarah clutched her mother’s clawed hand. “The doctor’s medicine might help you, too.” Martha shook her head, her elongated features sorrowful. Too late for me, bones set, change complete. She looked toward the road with longing and regret. You go live human life.
Come with us, Sarah pleaded. They can help you. They would cage me, Martha replied with terrible clarity. Study me. And rightly so. She stroked her daughter’s hair with clawed fingers. Careful not to scratch, but you can still be saved. Vehicles appeared around the bend. Two sheriff’s department SUVs and an ambulance. Responding to their emergency call,Martha retreated further into the trees.
Shadows concealing her transformed shape. Martha, Morgan said urgently. The others like Jacob, the ones who fought the change. Can you help them escape? Martha’s amber eyes gleamed with purpose. The children, I will protect them. We’ll come back, Morgan promised. With proper medical help. The doctor’s research might lead to treatment, even for advanced cases.
Save my daughter first, Martha growled, already backing deeper into the forest. Abraham will not stop hunting. Not while any of his blood remains beyond his control. She bent to nuzzle Sarah one last time, then turned and loped into the forest on all fours, disappearing among the trees as the vehicles pulled to a stop on the road.
The scene that followed was one of controlled chaos. The deputies, initially skeptical of their story about transformed humans, became grimly focused when confronted with Sarah’s partial transformation, and the doctor’s detailed medical records. The satellite phone’s open line had recorded portions of the confrontation, providing evidence that something deeply abort was happening in Kine Valley.
As paramedics rated Leo’s injuries, Morgan administered another dose of the doctor’s formula to Sarah under the careful observation of the ambulance medical personnel. The child’s pain subsided almost immediately, the subtle elongation of her jaw pausing its progression. “It’s working,” Morgan told the lead deputy, a weathered man who introduced himself as Sheriff Holden.
“But it’s temporary. She needs proper medical care. We’ve contacted the CDC and FBI, Holden replied, watching as his deputies established a perimeter around their position. They’re flying in specialists. This goes way beyond our jurisdiction. Morgan handed him the doctor’s journal. Everything’s documented here.
Eight generations of genetic mutation accelerated by ritual practice. The Blackwood family has essentially been breeding a human cannine hybrid strain through controlled exposure to a mutated pron disease. Holden shook his head in disbelief. In all my years, I never gave credence to the old stories about the Blackwoods. Locals called them the dog people.
Thought it was just superstition. Sometimes legends have biological origins, Leo commented from the ambulance tailgate where a paramedic wrapped his ribs. Folk horror often begins with medical anomalies that communities can’t explain. As the eastern sky brightened to full dawn, a distant howl echoed from deep in the forest.
Abraham calling his scattered pack. Several deputies reached instinctively for their weapons. They won’t attack in daylight, Sarah said with the certainty of one who knew the family’s ways. Not with so many humans present. They’ll retreat to the tunnels. Wait for night. Sheriff Holden studied the child with a mixture of compassion and weariness.
We’ll have the whole property surrounded by then. State police are already setting up roadblock. They won’t leave their territory. Sarah said, “Eight generations of Blackwoods have lived and died on that land. It’s part of them now.” Morgan sat beside the child as the paramedics prepared to transport her to the nearest hospital.
“You’re going to be okay, Sarah.” The doctor’s notes give us a starting point for treatment. The changes can be reversed in early stages. Sarah leaned against her, suddenly seeming very small and very human despite the subtle signs of transformation. “What about the others?” The children like me. “We’ll go back for them,” Morgan promised.
“All of them?” As the ambulance doors closed, Morgan caught a final glimpse of the forest edge. For just a moment, she thought she saw Amber Eyes watching from the shadows. Martha ensuring her daughter’s safe departure. Leo joined her as the ambulance pulled away. Sarah’s small face pressed against the rear window.
“What happens now?” he asked quietly. Morgan clutched the doctor’s research materials, the culmination of their discovery and their responsibility. “Now we make sure Sarah gets treatment. Then we help the authorities understand what they’re dealing with and the Blackwoods.” Morgan thought of Abraham, eight generations of mutation culminating in his nearly complete transformation.
She thought of Martha caught between monstrous form and maternal love, she thought of Jacob, trying to reclaim his humanity even as his body betrayed him. Some may be beyond help, she admitted. But the children deserve a chance at normal lives. As they climbed into a deputy’s vehicle for transport to the hospital, Morgan glanced back at the forest one last time.
The Blackwood property lay hidden beyond the trees, its secrets now exposed to the light of day. Eight generations of progressive mutation of humans becoming something other than human through proximity and ritual. Science would study them now. Containment would replace concealment. The Blackwood legacy would become medical history rather than local legend.
In the hospital 3 days later,Sarah sat in a pediatric bed, monitors tracking her vital signs as doctors administered refined versions of the original treatment. Her features had already begun to return to normal human proportions, the subtle changes receding under proper medical care. “Will I be completely human again?” she asked as Morgan visited, bringing a stuffed animal as a gift.
The doctors think so, Morgan assured her, though the truth was more complicated. Some subtle genetic changes might remain dormant, past to future generations, despite treatment. As if reading her thoughts, Sarah’s eyes, still slightly amber in certain light, met Morgans’s with unsettling directness. Papa said we could never escape our blood, she said quietly.
that the change was our destiny. Morgan took the child’s hand, noting with relief that the nails had returned to normal human shape. “We make our own destiny, Sarah. Through science, through understanding, through choice,” Sarah nodded, seeming satis. But as Twilight approached outside the hospital window, her head tilted slightly, ears tracking sounds too faint for normal human hearing.
For just a moment, the ghost of a canine alertness passed across her features before fading back into ordinary childhood. Morgan pretended not to notice, but made a note in her research journal. Some aspects of transformation might be treatable, but not entirely erasable. The Blackwood bloodline carried eight generations of change within it.
Change that might sleep, might be suppressed, but perhaps never fully eliminated. Outside the hospital, a full moon rose over distant mountains.
