Chapter 4: The Shadow Between
The storm had not loosened its grip by morning. Ashwood Hollow looked less like a town and more like a snow globe shaken too hard, the streets swallowed in drifts and the sky still churning with flurries. Clara woke late, her head throbbing from a night spent pacing, listening, waiting. She hadn't slept after Elias's warning. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the scratching again—or worse, the echo of that mournful howl.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
Bundled in her sweater and boots, she trudged down to the shop, flipping on the dim yellow lights. The space smelled of old paper and dust, oddly comforting in the midst of her rattled nerves. She busied herself with the mundane: stoking the fire, stacking books, telling herself that today she'd act normal, meet the neighbors properly, and not leap at every shadow.
But when she opened the back door to dump the ashes, she froze.
The claw marks were deeper.
Four new gouges sliced into the wood, fresh enough that the wood curled outward like splinters of bone. Clara's breath misted in front of her. She looked down at the snow: more prints, large and wolf-like, circling the shop. They hadn't been there last night.
Someone—or something—had come back.
---
The front bell jingled, startling her. Jonah Briggs stood in the doorway, brushing snow off his ranger's jacket. He looked half-frozen, his cheeks red, his nose dripping, but his grin was intact.
"Mornin', Miss Winters! Still alive, I see. That's a good start."
Clara tried to hide her nerves. "Barely. I didn't sleep."
"Yeah, storms'll do that. Or wolves. Or ghosts. Or your radiator. Honestly, it could be anything." Jonah stomped his boots, then leaned against the counter, studying her face. "You look like you've seen a ghost, though."
"More like claw marks."
His grin faltered. "Excuse me?"
Clara hesitated, then led him to the back door. Jonah crouched, running his gloved fingers along the gouges, his brows knitting.
"That's… not normal."
"You think?" she snapped, fear making her voice sharp.
Jonah straightened, unusually serious. "Tracks are big. Too big. Could be a bear, but… no, not with claws like this. Looks like…" He trailed off.
"Like what?" Clara pressed.
He glanced at her, then forced a chuckle. "Like the stories old folks tell to scare kids. Which means it's probably just some big dog. Don't worry—I'll keep an eye out."
But his forced brightness didn't fool her.
---
By midday, the snow had eased enough that townsfolk began trickling out. Clara kept busy at the shop, selling coffee and letting locals browse the shelves she'd half-organized. Harvey Pike returned, accordion case slung over one shoulder, declaring he'd "play a tune to chase away the curse." Marjorie came too, just to glare at Clara as though she'd personally invited evil into town.
It was almost easy to forget the night's terror—until the door opened, and Elias stepped inside.
The shop seemed to quiet around him. Snow clung to his dark coat, and his eyes flicked toward Clara like steel catching light. He didn't smile. He didn't need to. His presence filled the room, drawing her gaze like gravity.
"You're open," he said simply.
Clara swallowed, nodding. "Trying to be."
Marjorie sniffed loudly from the corner. "Don't see why you'd welcome that one in here."
Elias's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, striding past to the shelves. Clara's pulse quickened. She wanted to ask him everything—what he meant last night, why he'd shown up, what he was hiding—but the shop was too full of ears.
When he finally approached the counter, he set a book down: Legends of the Northern Wilds.
Clara raised a brow. "Light reading?"
His gaze met hers, steady, unreadable. "Consider it research."
"For what?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Survival."
She couldn't breathe for a second. Something about his words wasn't playful; it was grave, like a man bracing himself for a storm no one else could see. Before she could press him, Jonah burst in, shaking off snow like a golden retriever.
"Clara! You wouldn't believe it—I found tracks in the woods, same as at your door. Huge. Like—like a wolf the size of a horse."
Elias's expression darkened. "Where?"
Jonah blinked at him, then back at Clara. "North ridge. Couple miles out." He lowered his voice, dramatic. "Whatever's out there, it's not natural."
Clara's stomach sank. She thought of the howl outside her window.
Harvey, who'd been listening, let out a nervous laugh. "Oh, come on. We've got enough trouble with pipes freezing. Now you two want to start werewolf rumors?"
But the word stuck in the air: werewolf.
And though everyone laughed it off, Clara noticed Elias's face harden.
---
The storm returned by nightfall, fiercer than before. Clara closed the shop early, triple-checking the locks. She lit every candle she could find, their flickering glow pushing back the darkness.
But darkness has a way of seeping in anyway.
She was reading in the armchair when the scratching came again. Louder this time. Closer. Not at the back door, but at the window beside her.
Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned her head.
A shadow loomed just beyond the glass. Massive shoulders, a hunched form, glowing eyes like embers in the snow.
The candle flame flickered. Clara dropped the book, heart hammering. The thing didn't move. It just stood there, watching.
She forced herself to her feet, backing toward the stairs. But before she could climb, a heavy knock rattled the door. Three booming raps, just like the night before.
Clara froze, torn between terror and the desperate hope that it might be Elias again.
"Clara!" Jonah's voice called, muffled by the storm. "Open up! It's me!"
She ran to the door, fumbling with the locks, yanking it open. Jonah stumbled inside, snow plastered to his coat.
"Something's out there," he gasped. "I saw it—huge, fast. I swear it was following me back from the ridge."
Clara's eyes darted to the window, but the shadow was gone. Only the storm howled outside.
Jonah slammed the door shut, bracing it with his back. His breath came in ragged clouds. "You believe me now, right? It's real. Whatever it is—it's real."
Clara nodded shakily. "I saw it too."
For a moment, the two of them stood there in silence, listening to the storm batter the walls. Then Jonah's eyes softened, his voice dropping.
"You shouldn't be alone here. Not with this going on. Let me stay tonight. Just… in case."
Clara hesitated, torn. Jonah's concern was genuine, almost sweet—but her thoughts drifted to Elias, to the way he'd looked at her, to the warning in his voice. And she couldn't ignore the strange thrill that came with it.
"Just tonight," she whispered.
Jonah smiled, relieved. "Don't worry, Miss Winters. I'll keep watch. Nothing's getting past me."
But even as he said it, another howl split the night—closer than ever, so close it shook the windows.
And Clara knew, deep in her bones, that the real danger wasn't just outside. It was in the secrets people carried, the ones written in claw marks and hidden in gray eyes.