Page 22 of The Secret Mate Society

However, I didn’t notice the other fist until it smashed through my driver’s side window, spraying broken glass through the vehicle.I threw up my arms to shield my face, but not before I felt those claws on my neck.Pain erupted through my body as he tore through my skin.I let out a strangled cry, the sound of my own horror filling my ears.

* * *

I awoke with a start, my voice still echoing in my small bedroom as I sat straight up, eye wide with terror.My T-shirt clung to my sweat-soaked body, and my heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my temples.The sheets were tangled around my legs like restraints, evidence of my struggle against the nightmare that had plagued me for the third night in a row.

"Shit," I whispered, rubbing my neck where I could still feel phantom claws.My fingers found only smooth, unbroken skin.

I fumbled for the lamp on my nightstand, needing light to chase away the lingering shadows of my dream.The sudden brightness made me squint, but I welcomed the pain.It grounded me in reality.

The bedside clock showed 3:17 AM.Great.Another night of interrupted sleep.I had a meeting with the editor at nine, and I'd be lucky if I could string two coherent sentences together.Despite the exhaustion though, I knew there was no way I was getting back to sleep anytime soon.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and padded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.The man in the mirror looked haunted—dark circles under bloodshot eyes, stubble that had crossed from fashionable to unkempt, and a pallor that spoke of too many nights like this one.

"Get it together, Ethan,” I grumbled, grabbing the small towel to dry myself off.

It had been a while since I’d had a nightmare about the monster.The most common version was me reliving the day my father was killed.Those always left me too terrified to sleep.But I hadn’t had a nightmare in a while.My therapist called in progress.I called it a relief.So why had it decided to come back now?And why did the dream seem so familiar?I knew I’d never had it before, but while I was dreaming it, I almost felt like Iknewwhat was going to happen.

Leaving the bathroom, I headed back to my bed, flopping down on the edge.I racked my brain trying to remember why that story seemed so familiar.

A chill ran down my spine as realization struck.It wasn't just a nightmare—it was a story I’d read before.And I knew just where to find it.

Hopping off the bed, I leaned down and reached underneath, grabbing the edge of a banker’s box I had tucked far beneath my mattress.

With a grunt, I pulled the box out from its hiding place, my fingers trembling slightly as I removed the dusty lid with a fading pair of fingerprints from the last time I’d slipped a clipping into it.Inside lay the collection I'd promised myself I wouldn't touch again—newspaper clippings, police reports I'd obtained through less-than-legal means, witness testimonies, hastily copied forensic drawings, and my own scribbled notes spanning years of research.

The box smelled of old paper and an obsession that would consume me once more if I let it.

I rifled through the disorganized contents until I found what I was looking for.It was a local newspaper clipping from The Portland Herald, dated just two years ago.The headline read: "LOCAL MAN CLAIMS WOLF ATTACK, AUTHORITIES SKEPTICAL."I'd clipped it because it fit the pattern—the description of an unnaturally large wolf, the location a rural road north of Portland, far beyond the city lights.

But it was the victim's account that had made my blood run cold when I first read it.He described driving down a country road at night, getting lost, and then encountering what he called "a wolf the size of a bear" that attacked his vehicle before disappearing into the darkness.

Just like my dream.

However, I had a lot more information than that.By some stroke of luck I’d managed to get a copy of the police report from the victim after I’d called him up.Of course, I promised him that I’d spread his story, being a reporter it was my job to inform people.However, my editor had other plans and never allowed me to publish the article.Why would he?At the time I was still living in New York and nobody cared about small town superstition a state away.

And yet, the police report arrived in the mail anyway, stuffed in a manila envelope with a letter from the victim himself.That wasn’t the part that caught my attention though.The letter and the report were quickly forgotten when I pulled out a photocopied drawing from the forensic artist at the police station.That was what I was looking for in the box.

My hands were shaking as I lifted the manila envelope from the box.I opened it slowly, drawing out the police report and the letter, putting them aside.My heart raced as I pulled the drawing out, my eyes going wide with fear.The paper had yellowed slightly around the edges, but the image remained as clear and terrifying as the day I first saw it.The forensic artist had captured every detail the victim described—the massive shoulders, the elongated snout, the unnaturally human-like eyes.But what made my stomach twist wasn't just the creature itself, but how perfectly it matched the monster from my dream.

How could I dream so vividly about something I hadn't looked at in over a year?What had brought that up?Was it the recent animal mutilations?No… it wasn’t that.It was the look in Marcus Greer’s eyes when he told his story and the sheer relief he felt when I told him I believed him.

I wanted to go back, to talk to him again and get more details.But two voices nagged at me from the back of my mind.One was my therapist, telling me not to get lost in this again.I’d worked so hard for so long to just be normal.Now that I was finally on my own, the last thing I needed to do was throw it away on some dream.

The other voice was Jake, telling me to keep my distance.Warning me that people who got close, like his old partner Daniel Rowe, went missing and didn’t come back.After all those years of chasing monsters, it never once crossed my mind that I might be the victim some day.I always saw myself as the hunter, the seeker of truth.But Jake was right.If I pushed too hard, I might end up as no more than a body lost and rotting in the woods.

With a concentrated sigh, I dropped the documents back into the box, closed the lid, and pushed it back under my bed.That obsession needed to remain off limits.I was stronger than that and I wanted a normal life too.After my afternoon riding on the back of Calder’s motorcycle, I realized how much I was missing, howbadlyI wanted to just be a normal twenty-six year old man going on dates, living life, and maybe even learning to be happy without the past hanging over my shoulder.

Was that really too much to ask for?Couldn’t I just be like a normal guy my age more worried about getting laid than anything else?I wanted that, I really did.And maybe, if I could get Calder to be honest with himself, he could be the one to give it to me.That thought, more than anything, pushed the box and its contents from my mind.

Calderhad looked so handsome on that motorcycle.And the way his body tensed and moved beneath my grasp as he drove… Well, it was enough to drive a guy crazy.I wasn’t sure if he wasthe one, but right now, I really didn’t care.He was attractive, gruff, and a little grumpy if I was being honest.Despite my best efforts, that kind of persona was what got my gears turning.I liked guys who were a little rough around the edges, who were still figuring themselves out.And Calder checked all of those boxes.At the very least, he might be able to help me get my mind back on things that Ishouldbe focusing on.Not dredging up pain from the past.

Pushing myself to my feet, I clambered back into bed, thoughts of Calder filling my mind instead of images from my nightmare.I grabbed my phone off the bedside table and flipped it open, wincing at the bright light of the screen.With a few taps I started to type a text out to Calder.

Thanks for the ride, handsome.:-) So… when’s our next date?

Letter from and Eyewitness: October 29, 2007

Mr.Murphy,