The horses in the stable were wild with fear. Their hooves struck the wooden walls with an unrelenting force, sending sharp cracks into the air. Finn, my most dependable mare, backed into the corner of her stall, trembling. Her nostrils flared, her breath came in frantic bursts, and her dark eyes darted to every shadow. The others were no better—pacing, snorting, tossing their heads, their fear contagious. The air felt thick and suffocating, charged with a tension I couldn’t explain. The lantern light flickered as I stepped inside. “Easy, girl,” I whispered, reaching a hand toward Finn. Her ears flicked back and forth, and she jerked her head away as though my presence only made things worse. “Come on now,” I muttered, though my voice lacked conviction. I’d never seen her like this—not even during the worst storms. She was a steady creature, the one I trusted to keep calm when all the others panicked. But tonight, her terror was palpable, radiating off her in waves. The others whinnied, their calls sharp and urgent, like a warning I didn’t understand. The stable smelled of sweat and hay, but beneath it, something sour lingered. Outside, the wind was eerily still. The quiet pressed against my ears, too heavy, too complete. Even the crickets had gone silent. Back in the house, Liam was waiting at the kitchen table. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the wood, his face drawn. “They’re still at it?” “Yeah,” I said, sinking into the chair across from him. “I’ve never seen them like this.” He tapped his fingers against the table, a nervous habit I’d never seen in him before. “Could be wolves,” he offered, though his tone was uncertain. “Wolves don’t do this.” I shook my head. “They don’t just… linger around and spook the horses without attacking. Something’s wrong.” Liam’s gaze shifted to the window, where the sky was an odd, murky gray despite the late hour. “You think it’s a storm?” “Maybe,” I said, though I didn’t believe it. The air didn’t feel like it did before a storm. It felt… alive. The dog barked outside, a sharp, angry sound that broke the stillness. We both turned toward the sound. The dog was at the fence line, his body rigid, his tail straight as he stared into the woods. He growled, deep and low, the sound carrying into the house. “He hasn’t come in all night,” Liam murmured. “He won’t,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t until just before midnight that the storm announced itself. Or, at least, that’s what I thought it was at first. I had gone back to the stable, unable to sleep while the horses were in such a state. The lantern light bobbed in my hand as I approached, illuminating the path. The wind had picked up now, carrying with it a faint hum, almost like music. Inside, the horses were even worse. Finn had broken through her stall door and was pacing the aisle, her hooves striking sparks off the stone floor. Her ears were pinned back, her muscles taut as if she were ready to bolt at any second. Then I saw it: a faint green glow spreading across the sky. It wasn’t lightning. It wasn’t natural. The light pulsated, flickering like a heartbeat, casting strange shadows on the ground. The horses screamed, their voices cutting through the night like a blade. Finn reared up, her body silhouetted against the glow, and I stumbled back in shock. “Liam!” I shouted, my voice cracking. He came running moments later, skidding to a halt beside me. “What the hell is that?” he breathed, staring up at the sky. The green light shimmered, almost beautiful in its strangeness, but it brought with it a sound—a low, resonant groan that seemed to come from deep within the earth. The ground trembled beneath us, the stable doors rattling on their hinges. Finn bolted, her hooves striking the ground in a desperate rhythm as she fled toward the forest. The other horses followed, their dark shapes disappearing into the trees. “Finn!” I shouted, chasing after her. Liam grabbed my arm, but I shook him off. “We have to stop them!” “They’re running toward the woods,” he said, his voice laced with fear. “Not away from it.” I stopped in my tracks. He was right. The treeline loomed ahead, the green glow casting long, warped shadows across the ground. The forest seemed alive, its branches swaying as though caught in a wind I couldn’t feel. Liam caught up to me, panting. “Don’t go any farther,” he said, grabbing my arm again. “Something’s not right.” I didn’t respond. My eyes were fixed on the shadows moving in the forest—shadows that didn’t belong to the trees. They flickered and stretched, their edges too fluid, too unnatural. The groaning sound grew louder, resonating in my chest like a second heartbeat. “Do you see that?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Liam nodded, his face pale. “We need to go back.” But I couldn’t move. Something in the shadows called to me—not with words, but with a pull I couldn’t explain. Then the light flickered, and everything went dark. For a moment, there was nothing—no wind, no sound, no light. Just the pounding of my own heart in the silence. And then, from deep within the forest, I heard it: a voice. Low and familiar, it called my name.