Chapter 1 — Shadows and Teeth

Ellen Carter

The rain fell in a relentless cascade, hammering against the cracked pavement and pooling in murky puddles that reflected the sinister glow of the city’s neon signs. Ellen Carter tightened her grip on the strap of her messenger bag, her boots splashing through the water as she approached the imposing shadow of Shadowspire Tower. The building loomed above her like a giant tombstone, its jagged silhouette cutting into the storm-heavy sky. Fires, disappearances, whispered rumors of strange shapes darting between the ruins—Shadowspire had an infamous reputation, even among locals who prided themselves on ignoring the city’s darker corners. And now she was here, chasing a lead that felt more like a dare than solid evidence.

Her hazel eyes darted to the crumpled notepad in her hand, the last line of her hastily scribbled notes standing out under the flickering light of a streetlamp: *“Attacks linked to Shadowspire—check basement.”* She stuffed the paper back into her bag, her fingers brushing the cold metal of her recorder.

“Nothing like a cursed basement to top off my evening,” she muttered, her voice dry and low, as if the storm might hear her sarcasm and retaliate.

The air carried a strange weight, a mingling of damp concrete, rust, and something more elusive—earthy, raw, and faintly metallic. It prickled at her senses, setting off alarms that she couldn’t quite articulate. She chalked it up to nerves and took a steadying breath. This wasn’t her first time walking into danger for a story, though her instincts screamed that tonight would be different.

Ellen’s journalist instincts flared as she pushed open the warped metal door, the groan of rusted hinges reverberating down the dark hallway. Inside, the temperature dropped noticeably. Broken drywall and shattered glass littered the floor, and graffiti scrawled in angry red and black covered the walls. The words twisted and overlapped in chaotic patterns, but one phrase stood out, stark and jagged: *“The wolves know.”*

She froze. That phrase had come up before—once, scrawled on the edge of a victim’s damaged notebook, and another time whispered by a source before he abruptly stopped returning her calls. She snapped a quick photo with her phone, her fingers lingering on the screen longer than necessary.

“The wolves know what?” she murmured, suspicion flickering in her mind. “And why the hell won’t they just tell the rest of us?”

Steeling herself, Ellen stepped further inside, her boots crunching against debris. The flashlight she carried cut through the darkness, illuminating a path through the desolation. Her heart thudded in her chest, the sound amplified by the oppressive silence of the tower.

“Just find the basement,” she whispered. “Get your evidence, and get out.”

The stairwell was easy enough to find, though it was concealed behind a heavy, rusted door that barely budged when she shoved against it. The metal shrieked in protest, and Ellen winced, half-expecting the noise to summon someone—or something. But nothing stirred.

Descending into the bowels of the building felt like stepping into another world, darker and more forbidding. The air grew heavier here, tinged with that peculiar scent she couldn’t quite place—something primal and unsettling, like the aftermath of a summer storm mingled with copper. Her flashlight flickered once, twice, before stabilizing, casting jagged shadows on the graffiti-streaked walls. The basement was a labyrinth of concrete pillars and broken machinery, with puddles of stagnant water reflecting the dim beam of her light.

Ellen crouched near an overturned filing cabinet, scanning the ground for anything noteworthy. Her fingers brushed against a torn scrap of paper, and she held it up to the light. It was damp and faded, but the words “Lunar Cycle” and “Experiment 42” were legible. Her stomach twisted as her mind raced over the implications. The phrase “Lunar Cycle” had shown up in connection with the victims’ disappearances, but “Experiment 42” was new—and chilling.

“This is it,” she murmured, pulling out her recorder. “This has to tie into the attacks. But how?”

She snapped photos of the scrap and the surrounding area, her investigative instincts tangling with a growing unease.

The sound of movement froze her in place. Her flashlight whipped toward the source of the noise, revealing only empty space. But the stillness that followed was suffocating, as if the air itself were holding its breath.

“Hello?” Ellen called out, her voice sharper than she intended. “You’re really gonna make me be that girl who dies first in the horror movie?”

The answer came in the form of a low, guttural growl. Her blood turned to ice. Slowly, she backed away, the beam of her flashlight trembling as it darted from shadow to shadow. The growl deepened, reverberating through the space like a warning.

Suddenly, the silence shattered. A shape burst from the darkness—a blur of fur, teeth, and glowing eyes. Ellen barely had time to react before the creature was on her, slamming her against a pillar with bone-jarring force. Her flashlight clattered to the ground, its beam spinning wildly.

Pain lanced through her side, and she struggled against the creature’s weight. Its claws raked against her jacket, tearing through the leather and slicing into the skin beneath. But it was the eyes that paralyzed her—bright, feral, and unnervingly intelligent, as if the creature were more than just an animal.

Adrenaline surged, and Ellen swung her bag with all her might, the heavy recorder inside connecting with the side of the creature’s head. It yelped and staggered back, giving her just enough time to scramble to her feet.

She grabbed her flashlight and bolted, weaving through the darkened maze of the basement with no clear direction. The sound of claws scraping against concrete echoed behind her, growing louder with every step.

“This is bad,” she panted, her breath hitching as she stumbled over debris. “This is really, really bad.”

The exit was nowhere in sight, and the creature was gaining. Desperate, Ellen turned and hurled the flashlight at it. The impact stopped it for only a moment, but that was all she needed to duck into a narrow alcove. She pressed herself against the cold wall, her chest heaving as she tried to control her breathing.

The growls grew closer, joined by the sound of sniffing. It was hunting her.

Ellen’s mind raced. She couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t fight it—not like this. Her only chance was to outthink it. She reached into her bag, fumbling for anything useful. Her hand closed around a can of pepper spray. Not much, but better than nothing.

The creature’s shadow stretched across the wall, its growls vibrating through her bones. Ellen swallowed hard, gripping the spray tighter.

“Come on, Carter,” she whispered to herself. “This is just another story. With teeth. And claws.”

The creature lunged into the alcove, its eyes blazing. Ellen raised the pepper spray and unleashed it directly into its face. The beast howled, clawing at its snout as it reeled back. Wasting no time, Ellen darted past it, her legs burning as she sprinted toward what she hoped was the exit.

But before she could reach the stairwell, pain exploded in her shoulder. The creature had recovered and leapt after her, its jaws clamping down on her arm. She screamed, the sound raw and primal, as they both tumbled to the ground.

The world blurred. Pain and fear mingled with something else—a searing heat that radiated from her chest and spread through her veins. Her vision dimmed, and for a moment, she thought she was dying.

But then, the heat sharpened, transforming into an energy that surged through her, overwhelming the pain. Her senses sharpened—smells, sounds, even the taste of the metallic air became vivid and overwhelming. The creature’s snarls were no longer terrifying but familiar, as if some part of her understood its rage.

With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Ellen shoved the creature off her, sending it skidding across the floor. It looked at her, startled, before retreating into the shadows, its growls fading into the distance.

Shaking, Ellen stumbled to her feet. Her arm throbbed, blood soaking through the torn fabric of her jacket. But worse than the physical wounds was the realization that something inside her had changed.

Her reflection in a broken shard of glass confirmed it. Her hazel eyes now glowed gold, bright and piercing in the dim light.

“What the hell?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Clutching her injured arm, Ellen forced herself to move. The stairs were a blur as she stumbled back into the night, the rain washing away the blood but not the dread. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t over.

And she had a feeling it was only the beginning.