Inside, the air is stagnant. Nameplates mark empty stalls where prized horses once lived. A splintered ladder ascends to a hayloft. In the back, something hides beneath a tarp. I pull it away with a flourish and a cloud of dust to find a carriage underneath. In the wooden panel of the door, someone has carved a heart around a pair of initials.
“DG + DB,” I whisper.
I snap a picture with my phone and send it to Twig, imagining a stablehand enamored with a chambermaid. Star-crossed lovers who died tragically and now haunt this very stable. We could make it into a Valentine’s Day special onAccounts of the Uncanny.
Stretching out my muscles, my attention wanders to the hayloft, where dust motes float in the sunlight. And perhaps, a lovelorn specter or two?DG + DB. Maybe I could dig up their identities on the second floor of Evermore Books, where my boss, Maggie Henshaw, runs the town’s historical society.
I resume my jog, following the dirt path to the back of the estate, where a service gate opens to a road I didn’t know existed. By now, my legs are fatigued, and I’m so removed from everything, itfeels like I’m the only person in the world. Two paths stretch before me. The dirt road that goes all the way around the estate, which would equate to the longest run of my life. And a trail that cuts through the woods toward the back of the manor.
The path is dark.
The trees, dense.
The fog, stubborn.
A chill races down my spine.
I can’t help but think of Episode 8,Cryptid Craze, the only one that has ever kept me up at night. If I had to choose between a ghost and cryptid, I’d take the ghost every time. My thoughts drift to theNachtdier, otherwise known as the Night Beast, rumored to have slaughtered two girls in these very woods back in 1832. The story gave me nightmares for days.
For a moment, I consider option three—turning around and going back the way I came. But then, how can I call myself an expert on all things supernatural if I can’t handle jogging through the woods in the morning?
I set my hands on my hips.
Muted light glistens off dew drops, which have gathered on leaves and spiderwebs. It’s a beautiful scene, not a scary one.
“C’mon, Selah,” I say to the trees. “Do it for the pod.”
With that, I take off, hopping over fallen branches and jutting tree roots. Not until I’m properly winded, do I reach something worth stoppingfor. A murky pond with statues of nymphs half-submerged in the mossy waters, and a rotting rowboat tied to a wooden post. I imagine DG + DB taking a moonlit boat ride, kissing under the stars. I take some more pictures, then continue around a bend.
An old well comes into view—cracked stone creeping with ivy, the rope and bucket long gone. Maybe DG + DB tossed in coins and made wishes. I set my hands on the rim and lean over to look into its depths when something flies at my face with such velocity, I lurch backward, stumble over a rock, and land flat on my bottom.
The terrifying something flaps its wings with a shrill screech and lands on a low branch hanging over the well’s mouth. I glare at it, my heart pounding, my breath ragged. It peers at me over its sharp beak, like it knows about the other bird from last night, like I’m to blame for the slow, agonizing death of its brother.
I scramble to my feet and wave my hands.
With a loud caw, it flies off, along with a flock of others I hadn’t noticed before. They cry at the sky in high-pitched unison, and when they’re gone, there’s nothing but quiet.
I tilt my head.
No, not quiet.
The complete lack of sound.
Alarmingly unnatural, because nature is never silent. Nature always has at least something to say,something to whisper. The only sound right now is my own panting.
A gust of wind tears up the path. So strong, the branches groan and sway. It rips leaves from limbs. Strands of hair from my ponytail. It roars through the trees like an angry beast coming. Coming for me.
I pivot on my heel and run.
I sprint like the wind is chasing me. Like it’s going to grab me. Like it has matted fur and massive claws and gruesome fangs and it’s going to get me. I stumble into a clearing and whirl around, expecting to see it.
TheNachtdier.
The Night Beast.
But there’s nothing.
Just the trees, standing straight and still.
