Page 48 of Finding His Fox

Owen mentioned the lost hiker was human. That meant he probably didn’t know about Fox Haven’s supernatural residents.

The last thing I wanted to do was scare him off in my fox form.

I quickly set out on the trail, scanning the dense forest for any sign of the hiker. As I ventured further into the woods, I heard a faint cry for help in the distance.

Turning, I sprinted towards the source of the sound. A growl echoed through the woods. No, I wouldn’t exactly call it a growl. It was more of a thin, piercing cry that sounded vaguely human.

It struck me that it was the same eerie noise I heard the night Nate spent at my place. Owen said the hiker suspected a bear was after him, but my inner fox told me this was a larger, more lethal predator.

Finally, I spotted the brown-haired hiker up ahead. He stumbled over an upraised tree root, pale-faced and sweaty. I could smell his fear.

I raced up to him and grabbed his arm. He gave me a panicked look.

“My name is Cal. The sheriff sent me,” I said.

A low growl came from behind me. I placed myself in front of the hiker, raising my rifle. I didn’t know what made me look above instead of ahead of me.

A shadowy figure leapt across from one tree to the next. I caught a glimpse of fur, rangy muscle, sharp teeth and claws.

Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger once, twice. Two more times until I heard a distinct thud.

My shots found their mark. I momentarily debated sticking around to check if it was truly dead or simply wounded. Then I remembered Owen had charged me with a task.

“Let’s go, before it gets up and goes after us again,” I told the hiker.

The human nodded, still sheet white. He hurried after me as I led the way back to my cabin.

“What was that thing that attacked us?” John asked me. “Whatever it was, it moved more like a gorilla than a bear.”

“Don’t know,” I lied through my teeth. John started to lag, and I adjusted my pace. I looked over my shoulder, expecting that thing to be on our heels. Nothing came at us. My bullets must’ve dissuaded it from pursuing us.

Visible relief appeared on John’s face as my cabin appeared in the distance.

The sheriff’s car and Owen’s presence probably didn’t hurt, either. John was practically crying by then. I couldn’t blame him.

Being attacked by something unexplainable was terrifying. Owen traded a few reassuring words with John before ushering him in the back of the cruiser.

Owen also gave him a blanket, which John accepted gratefully. While they conversed, my mind replayed over what had just happened.

I hadn’t told Owen about that night when I couldn’t sleep and decided to pay an enemy’s old hunting grounds a visit.

It just seemed foolish to tell Owen about my paranoid suspicions without any evidence.

I let out a heavy breath, because I now had proof and I was pretty certain my eyes weren’t fooling me.

Owen took me to one side. “Did you get the bear?”

“It wasn’t a bear,” I told Owen.

He widened his eyes slightly when I shared with him my version of events. I searched his eyes, wanting to see if he believed me or not.

Then Owen swore softly, and I knew he didn’t doubt me one bit.

“The office has been receiving more and more calls about roadkill and animal attacks,” Owen said. “No one was genuinely hurt, but I did wonder if something had crept into our woods without us knowing.”

“So you suspect this is the same wendigo that attacked Nate, Shawn, and you when you were kids?” Owen asked.

“I’m certain of it,” I answered.