I always knew I’d die alone in these mountains, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. Or this cold. And definitely not because I was too slow to catch up to my damn dog.
Buck, the half-wolf, half-mutant-ball-of-fur, and one hundred percent the only reason I hadn’t taken a dive off the nearest cliff after my wife passed, decided tonight was the night to go rogue. I should’ve known something was wrong when he didn’t finish his stew, the one thing on Earth he enjoyed more than chasing rabbits and growling at the wind. But no.
I figured he was just tired, like the rest of us poor souls trapped up here in these frozen wastes. The snowstorm had been building all day, coming in slow like it was playing with me, letting me think maybe I’d make it through another winter. A quiet evening with the fire crackling, maybe some whiskey to dull the edges.
Instead, the wind screamed like a banshee as soon as the sun dipped behind the ridge, and Buck's ears pricked up. That’s when I should’ve grabbed him, tied him down, but I didn’t. He gave me one of those looks—half bored, half restless—and wandered toward the door.
“You got nowhere to be, old man,” I muttered, already feeling the draft sneak in through the cracks in the cabin walls. The door had barely creaked open when Buck bolted like a lunatic, disappearing into the swirling mess of white. One second he was there, the next, nothing.
I swore loudly—louder than usual—and reached for my jacket. “Damn it, Buck! ” I yelled into the storm, as if the wind cared.
“Get back here, you idiot! ” No answer, of course. The storm swallowed my words, just like it had swallowed my dog.
I limped over to the hook by the door, fingers fumbling with my boots, the stiff leather fighting me more than the blizzard outside. My knee was aching like hell, the way it always did when a storm rolled in. One too many bad falls while tracking elk or trying to keep up with Buck’s insanity.
I wasn’t built for speed anymore, not since I shattered my kneecap ten years ago on a hunting trip gone wrong. One wrong step, and now I had a permanent hitch in my gait, like the world’s worst cowboy. But there wasn’t time to dwell on that.
Not if I wanted to drag that mangy beast back before he got himself killed chasing God knows what out there. I grabbed the old lantern, my rifle, and a hat I found on some hunter’s corpse years back. He sure as hell wasn’t using it, and it’s served me better than anything else.
The lantern’s flame flickered pathetically against the storm, barely giving enough light to see my hand in front of my face, but it was better than stumbling around blind. Stepping outside, the cold slapped me. The wind howled, throwing snow into my face like it had a personal vendetta.
I gritted my teeth, pulled my coat tighter, and started hobbling in the direction Buck had disappeared. The blizzard was so thick I could barely see the outline of the trees, and I hadn’t made it more than fifty feet when I lost sight of the cabin altogether. Great.
Just what I needed. I whistled, hoping Buck was within earshot, though I doubted it. He never listened unless he felt like it, but I still held out a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd turn around and come back.
No such luck. “You better not be chasing a rabbit again, Buck, or I swear I’ll skin you myself,” I muttered, though my voice was swallowed by the wind. As I trudged through the snow, the world felt smaller, like it was closing in.
The trees loomed overhead, their branches weighed down with snow, cracking occasionally under the pressure. Everything was silent except for the wind, the kind of silence that sinks into your bones and makes you wonder if maybe you’re the only living thing left. I followed Buck’s tracks, though the wind was doing its best to erase them as fast as it could.
His paw prints were already half-buried in some places, and in others, they disappeared entirely. Still, I kept moving. My knee protested with every step, but I was too stubborn to care.
Buck wasn’t just a dog. He was all I had left. After Marla passed, he’d stuck with me like some oversized, four-legged reminder that maybe there was still a reason to keep going.
He didn’t ask for much—just food, the occasional belly rub, and to be left alone when he wanted it. He gave me space, more than any person would. And that’s what I liked about him.
“Buck! ” I called again, louder this time, though my voice cracked in the cold air. Still nothing.
Just the wind, howling like it wanted to tear my face off. I stopped for a second, catching my breath, lantern light flickering weakly. I’d been walking for what felt like an hour, though it was probably only fifteen minutes.
The cold messes with time like that. It drags everything out, slows you down, makes every step feel like a mile. Suddenly, I heard it.
Faint at first, almost like a hallucination, but there. A bark. I turned in the direction of the sound, heart not thudding—let’s not get melodramatic—but kicking up its pace just a bit.
Buck was still out there, and he wasn’t dead yet. That was something. I followed the sound, limping faster now, cursing every rock and root under the snow.
Buck barked again, louder this time, and I could just make out his dark shape moving through the whiteout ahead. I called his name again, but he wasn’t stopping. He was chasing something, that much was clear.
I cursed under my breath and pushed forward. Whatever Buck had seen, he was determined to catch it. And judging by the way he was acting, it wasn’t just some rabbit.
This was different. He was acting like he’d found something important, something worth running into a storm for. The terrain was getting rougher, steeper, the snow getting deeper around my boots.
The wind picked up, tearing at my coat, biting through the layers like they weren’t even there. My knee screamed with every step, but I wasn’t about to let Buck get too far ahead. If I lost sight of him now, he’d be gone for good.
Finally, I reached a clearing, the wind howling even louder now that there were no trees to block it. Buck stood at the far edge, barking madly at something I couldn’t quite make out. A shape, dark and low to the ground, moving just beyond the reach of my lantern.
“What the hell is that? ” I muttered, squinting into the storm. It wasn’t an animal.
Not one I recognized, anyway. Too big to be a fox, too low to the ground to be a bear. And it was fast, darting between the trees like it was playing some kind of sick game.
Buck lunged forward, teeth bared, growling like I hadn’t heard him growl since that time a mountain lion got too close for comfort. “Buck! ” I called, but he wasn’t listening.
He was locked onto whatever that thing was, chasing it like his life depended on it. I limped forward, trying to get a better look, but the snow was coming down so hard now that I could barely see more than a few feet in front of me. The lantern flickered again, threatening to go out entirely, and I cursed under my breath.
Suddenly, Buck let out a yelp—a sound I’d never heard from him before. Fear. Real fear.
“Buck! ” I shouted, panic rising in my throat. I stumbled forward, nearly falling face-first into the snow, but I caught myself at the last second.
My knee was burning now, every step a new kind of torture, but I didn’t care. I reached the spot where Buck had been, my heart—yeah, fine, maybe it was thudding a little bit now—hammering in my chest. The wind howled around me, and I could barely hear anything over the storm, but I knew something was wrong.
Buck was gone. Not just gone, but vanished. No tracks, no sound, nothing.
It was like he’d been swallowed by the storm itself. I stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of it, but my brain wasn’t cooperating. One second he was there, barking his damn head off, and the next… nothing.
“Buck! ” I yelled again, voice cracking, desperation creeping in. I waited, listening, hoping for any sign that he was still out there.
But there was nothing. Just the wind. The endless, unforgiving wind.
I turned in circles, lantern raised high, scanning the clearing for any sign of him. No tracks. No blood.
Nothing. Just snow, falling heavier now, covering everything in a thick, suffocating blanket of white. And then I saw it.
A flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. A shape, dark and fast, darting between the trees. The same thing Buck had been chasing.
I turned to follow it, but my knee buckled, sending me sprawling into the snow. The lantern flew out of my hand, landing a few feet away, the flame sputtering dangerously low. I cursed, pushing myself up, pain shooting through my leg as I grabbed the lantern and held it high again.
The shape was gone, but I knew it was still out there. Whatever it was, it had taken Buck. And now it was watching me.
I’m not much for running, especially not now with the way my knee was screaming at me, but I had no choice. I limped forward through the snow, trying to follow that thing—or whatever the hell it was—that had stolen my dog. Every time I thought I caught up to it, the damn thing would disappear again, like a twisted game of hide-and-seek.
The snow was getting heavier, the wind colder, biting at my face and cutting through the layers of my coat. But none of that mattered. Buck was out here somewhere, and I wasn’t about to let him die alone in this storm.
“Buck! ” I called again, even though it felt like screaming into the void. My voice was already hoarse from shouting, and my breath was coming in ragged gasps.
Each step sent a fresh wave of pain through my leg, but I kept moving. I didn’t have a choice. Then I saw it again—movement just at the edge of the clearing.
This time, though, it didn’t run. It just stood there, watching me. Its shape was hard to make out in the blizzard, but there was something off about it, something wrong.
And the eyes—red, glowing, cutting through the white like two hot coals. I stopped dead in my tracks, lantern trembling in my hand. My first instinct was to reach for my rifle, but I didn’t even bother.
This thing—whatever it was—wasn’t the kind of animal you could shoot and drag back home for stew. It stared at me, those red eyes boring into mine, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a shiver of real fear crawl up my spine. My hand twitched toward my rifle anyway, but I didn’t get a chance to pull it out.
Because it spoke. And the voice… the voice that came out of that thing wasn’t its own. It wasn’t even close.
It was Marla’s. “Jack…” The voice drifted through the storm, soft at first, almost tender. Like she used to call me on summer mornings, back when things were… good.
“Jack, you’re always so stubborn. ” I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and for a second, I wondered if I was finally losing my mind.
The grief, the isolation, the cold—all of it finally breaking me down. I hadn’t heard Marla’s voice in years, not since the cancer took her. Not since I buried her up on the ridge where we used to sit and watch the sunset.
But now, here it was, clear as day, cutting through the wind. I tried to speak, tried to say something, but all I managed was a croak. My throat was dry, my brain stuck between disbelief and sheer terror.
The shape in front of me took a step forward, and the blizzard seemed to part around it, just enough for me to get a good look. I wished I hadn’t. It was her.
Or, at least, it looked like her. Marla, standing there in the snow, just like she used to look before the sickness hollowed her out. Same brown hair, same soft eyes, the same way she’d tilt her head when she was annoyed but still amused by whatever dumb thing I’d said.
But those eyes… they weren’t hers. They were glowing, burning red like the embers of a dying fire. And the skin—up close, I could see it wasn’t right.
Too pale, too thin, like something stretched tight over bones. “Jack,” the thing said again, her voice sweet but wrong. So wrong.
It echoed in a way that made my skin crawl, like hearing your own voice played back in a nightmare. “Why didn’t you follow me? Why didn’t you come with me?
” I took a step back, my hand finally finding the grip of the rifle, though I wasn’t sure what good it would do against something like this. “That’s not you,” I rasped, barely able to get the words out. “You’re not my wife.
” The thing smiled, but it wasn’t her smile. It was too wide, the teeth too sharp. “What do you mean I’m not your wife?
” it said, stepping closer. “You miss me, don’t you? You miss us.
” I took another step back, almost stumbling in the snow. My mind was screaming at me to run, but my legs weren’t listening. This thing—it wasn’t just some wild animal.
It was worse. Much worse. And Buck—where the hell was Buck?
“I’m not falling for it,” I growled, finally managing to raise the rifle, though my hands were shaking so bad I wasn’t sure I could aim it properly. “You’re not her. You’re not real.
” The thing’s smile twisted into something darker, its red eyes narrowing. “Oh, but I am real, Jack. I’m as real as you are.
Maybe even more real. . ” That did it.
Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the way it used her voice, the way it twisted her words into something so… vile. Maybe it was the fact that I’d spent years trying to bury the pain of losing her, only for this thing to dig it up and shove it in my face.
I didn’t care if the rifle wouldn’t do anything. I fired. The shot cracked through the night, echoing off the trees and getting swallowed up by the storm almost immediately.
The thing didn’t even flinch. The bullet passed right through it, like shooting at smoke. “You think you can kill me, Jack?
” It asked. It stepped closer again, and now I could see it for what it really was. The illusion of Marla melted away, leaving behind something twisted and monstrous.
The face—whatever it was—wasn’t even human anymore. The red eyes glowed brighter, piercing through the snow. I took another step back, but my bad leg gave out, sending me sprawling into the snow.
The rifle slipped from my grip, landing a few feet away. The thing leaned over me, grinning like it had just won. “Aww you’re gonna die out here,” it said.
“And your dog? I’m gonna find him… and I’m gonna eat him. ” The wind howled louder as I tried to get up, and for a moment, I thought maybe this was it.
But then I heard it. Faint, but unmistakable. A bark.
Buck. The thing’s eyes flickered, just for a second, and in that moment, I knew it wasn’t as invincible as it pretended to be. It turned, just slightly, and that’s when I saw him—Buck, charging through the snow, teeth bared, eyes wild with anger.
He launched himself at the thing, jaws snapping onto one of its twisted limbs. The thing screeched, a sound so high-pitched it made my ears ring, and it flailed, trying to shake him off. But Buck wasn’t letting go.
Not this time. I used the distraction to drag myself up, ignoring the screaming pain in my leg. My hands fumbled for the lantern, and in a burst of desperate inspiration, I swung it at the creature.
The glass shattered, and the flame caught, sending a burst of fire onto the thing’s skin. It screeched again, louder this time, and stumbled back, releasing Buck. He darted away, circling the thing, growling low in his throat.
I limped toward him, rifle back in hand. The creature glared at us. The snow around it began to swirl, faster and faster, like the storm itself was bending to its will.
“I’ll take you, and I’ll take him too,” it snarled in a deeper voice now. But I wasn’t listening anymore. I took a step toward Buck, my hand resting on his head, and together we faced the thing.
“You’re not taking him,” I said, my voice steady now. “And you ain’t takin me either. ” I leveled the rifle, aimed straight at the thing’s heart—if it even had one.
It stared back at me, those glowing red eyes full of something that could’ve been amusement, could’ve been hunger…. But I think it was fear. I wasn’t going to let this thing walk away, and it sure as hell wasn’t taking Buck with it.
Buck circled it, low to the ground, his lips peeled back in a snarl. He was old, like me—slower than he used to be, a bit grayer around the muzzle. But there was something about an old wolf and an old man that made us dangerous in our own way.
We’d been through too much, seen too much, and we weren’t about to go down easy. The thing cocked its head, almost curious, like it was sizing me up. I could feel the storm tightening around us again, the wind picking up as if it was trying to drag me backward.
But I stood my ground, steadying the rifle with both hands. It let out a low, guttural sound—half a growl, half a laugh. Then it lunged.
I fired. The shot echoed through the night, loud enough to cut through even the storm. The creature jerked back as the bullet slammed into its chest, staggering like it hadn’t expected me to actually hit it.
The bullet didn’t kill it, though. It stumbled, clutching at the wound, but it wasn’t down. Not yet.
That’s when Buck made his move. With a snarl that sounded more wolf than dog, he launched himself at the thing’s leg, teeth sinking deep into the pale, stretched skin. The creature screeched again, the sound like nails on glass, and it toppled backward, crashing into the snow.
Buck didn’t let up. He latched onto its leg, shaking his head back and forth like he was trying to tear it clean off. The creature thrashed wildly, trying to dislodge him, but Buck held on like his life depended on it.
Maybe it did. I limped forward, ignoring the fire in my knee, rifle still in hand. The thing was on the ground now, writhing, but it wasn’t dead.
Not yet. “Stay down,” I muttered as I reached it, the barrel of the rifle pointed straight at its head. It stopped thrashing for a moment, its glowing red eyes locking onto mine.
I could hear it breathing, ragged and wet, the way dying things breathe when they know it’s the end. “You shouldn’t have come here,” I said, my voice low. “Not against us.
Not tonight. ” It opened its mouth, maybe to speak, maybe to scream, but I didn’t give it the chance. I pressed the barrel of the rifle against its forehead and pulled the trigger.
The shot was final. No echo this time—just a sharp crack, then silence. The creature’s body went still, the red glow in its eyes snuffing out like someone had flipped a switch.
Whatever it had been, whatever power it had, was gone now. Just a lifeless husk in the snow. I stood there for a moment, staring down at it, rifle still in hand.
Part of me expected it to get back up, to keep fighting, but it didn’t. It was over. Buck finally let go of the thing’s leg, panting heavily, his gray fur matted with snow and blood.
He looked up at me, his eyes tired but triumphant, like he knew we’d won. “Good boy,” I said, leaning down to ruffle his fur. He gave a low, tired bark, like he agreed, then licked my hand.
I dropped to one knee next to him, wincing as the pain shot through my leg again. Buck nuzzled my arm, his tongue swiping across my face in a sloppy, grateful kiss. He was hurt, just like I was, but he was alive.
“C’mon,” I said, pushing myself up with a grunt. “Let’s go home. ” Buck limped to his feet, his tail wagging weakly as he pressed against my side for support.
We were both moving slow now, our bodies tired, the adrenaline wearing off. But we were still standing. I reached down and rested my hand on his head, and together, we started the long, slow walk back through the snow.
The storm had quieted some, the wind less vicious now that the thing—whatever it had been—was gone. The snow still fell heavy, but it wasn’t trying to bury us alive anymore. Just cold, normal snow.
The kind I could handle. Buck stayed close as we walked, his nose nudging my leg every now and then, like he was making sure I was still with him. I kept one hand on his back, the rifle slung over my shoulder, and together we limped our way home.
There were no words between us. We didn’t need them. We understood each other in a way that went deeper than talking.
Both of us were old, scarred, worn down by life in these mountains. But tonight, we’d fought something ancient, something evil, and we’d survived. That was enough.
As we reached the edge of the woods, I glanced down at Buck. He was walking slow, just like me, his limp more pronounced now that the fight was over. But he wasn’t stopping.
Neither of us were. We had something to live for, even if it was just each other. We’d seen worse.
And we’d keep seeing worse, probably. But for now, we had a fire waiting back at the cabin. And maybe some whiskey.
Maybe I’d even give Buck a little, just this once. Buck looked up at me, He let out a low huff, like he was agreeing with me, and licked my hand again. I smiled, just a little, and together, we kept walking.
By the time we reached the cabin, the sky had gone pitch black, the wind howling around us like it was angry we’d made it through. I fumbled with the latch, my fingers numb and stiff, but finally managed to shove the door open. The warmth from the dying fire hit me like a blessing.
The cabin wasn’t much, but it was home. And right now, it was all I needed. Buck limped in ahead of me, shaking the snow from his fur in a shower of cold, wet clumps.
He sniffed around, making sure nothing had changed in the thirty minutes we’d been gone, before padding over to his usual spot near the fireplace. I closed the door behind us, bolting it shut, though I doubted anything would try to follow us after that encounter. Not tonight.
The storm was still raging outside, but inside, there was a calm. A safe kind of silence. “Sit,” I muttered to Buck, though he was already doing that, resting his tired legs by the fire.
I dropped the rifle by the door and limped over to the old wooden chest where I kept the first aid kit. Nothing fancy—just some bandages and antiseptic. My leg was screaming, but I ignored it, grabbing what I needed and kneeling down beside Buck.
He looked up at me with those tired, trusting eyes of his, knowing exactly what was coming next. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself this time,” I said, gently lifting one of his paws. He had a gash along his leg, not deep enough to be life-threatening, but bad enough that he’d be limping for a while.
I cleaned it as best I could, wrapping it up with some bandages. He sat still the whole time, only flinching once when the antiseptic stung. “Yeah, I know, I know.
Hurts like hell,” I muttered. “You’ll live. ” Once his leg was wrapped, I checked him over for any other wounds, but aside from a few scrapes and bruises, he was mostly fine.
Tough old bastard. “Good as new,” I said, giving him a pat on the head. Buck gave me one of those looks, like he was too tired to care about my half-hearted compliments.
He was more interested in the fire, his eyes fixated on the flickering flames as they cast long, warm light across the room. I stood up, my knee protesting the whole way, and grabbed one of the bones I kept in the cupboard. Buck’s favorite.
I tossed it to him, and he caught it between his jaws, immediately gnawing on it like he hadn’t just fought off a damn monster in the woods. I sat down in my old chair by the fire, groaning as I eased myself into it, and stretched my legs out in front of me. The rifle in arm’s reach, just in case, though I doubted I’d need it tonight.
Still, it was comforting, knowing it was there. I wasn’t about to take any more chances. Outside, the storm still raged, but it felt distant now, like it was just another thing trying to get in.
It couldn’t reach us here. Buck lay next to me, content with his bone, gnawing quietly as the firelight danced across his fur. His eyes flicked up to meet mine every now and then, as if checking to make sure I was still there.
I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me feel something. After all, we were all each other had left.
