It was an unseasonably cold night in October and Amber Shelton had had a bad feeling.

She would have them from time to time, the bad feelings. When she was a little girl she would call them her feels. They were relatively infrequent, and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for when they would occur. Most of the time, they never amounted to much, like being able to predict a happening or see the future.

Most of the time.

There was, however, one incident at Lake Leamore. Amber was ten. The family had taken a week-long camping trip to celebrate July Fourth at the nearby lake. They’d never been camping before. “It can’t be that hard,” her dad had said. “Set up a tent, cook on a fire, swim in the lake. What could possibly go wrong?”

It was the night of the fireworks display. A group of teenagers had slipped away to a restricted part of the lake, fenced off in all directions. The spot was a popular escape to do what teenagers do, away from adult supervision.

The next morning, the Sheltons emerged from their tent to the sights and sounds of police activity. One patrol car was marked, Search and Rescue. Amber overheard an officer telling her father about a sibling of one of the teens who had gone missing.

Must have followed the group. Parents thought he was asleep. A five-year-old boy named Samuel.

The entire campgrounds were scoured. Amber and her parents helped. She and her father hiked along the path the teens had taken which led to the fence. It was a good distance from the main campsite. Twisting and turning around three or four bends, overlooking a cove to one side and backing up to thickly wooded acreage on the other.

“If he wandered into those woods, Ams, who knows where he could be,” her dad mumbled to her somberly.

The howling bark of search hounds floated from the woods and would stick with Amber for years.

“Come on,” her dad said, “let’s head back. Not much we can do that those hounds can’t.” He turned and started back down the path.

Before joining him, Amber eyed the fence. It was ominous; lifeless in its cold, commanding stature. A dangling, rusted old sign, riddled with pellet holes, caught Amber’s attention:

PRIVATE PROPERTY KEEP OUT.

She reached to touch it.

The tip of her finger met the cold metal sign and every muscle in her body instantaneously locked as if she was being pumped full of high voltage. Her eyes rolled back and her breathing was suppressed. Rigid. Frozen.

“Amber! Let’s go!” her dad bellowed over his shoulder.

Her body released and she slumped back. Her lungs heaved in a gasp of air as if she had just surfaced from the bottom of the lake, submerged longer than she could comfortably hold her breath.

That night, in the tent, Amber had a dream. A night-terror. In it, she was submerged in the lake. It was dark and cold. Reaching out, she squirmed, struggling for the surface just beyond her fingertips. But, something at her ankle held her down.

A rippling glow of flashlights beamed into the water. Muffled cries of her name gurgled to her ears. She wanted to call out, but fear of choking stifled the scream.

Turning to look below, she tried and free her foot. There, in the icy-dark depths, staring back up at her was the pale-blue face of a boy; Sammy, embroidered on the breast of his windbreaker jacket.

Amber never shared that dream with anyone.

Two weeks later, back in the comfort of her own bed, she overheard her father in a low-voice through her bedroom wall. The boy’s body had been recovered. Washed up on the shore of the cove just below the fenced-off area. No foul play suspected.

Now, at twenty-five, she still got the feels. It became routine to run through a litany of possible causes, hoping something might spark. Hoping the feel would blossom into another vision. Hoping to see the boy before he drowned. But they still never amounted to much. Nevertheless, they haunted her.

On that unseasonably cold October night when her boyfriend, Patrick, called for a date, Amber Shelton had had a bad feeling.  

Maybe it was her roommate Cara and the way her dreams were becoming more vivid and consuming. Maybe it was an odd cluster of recent coincidences, deja vu-type. Or, maybe it was the thrashing storm that rolled in unexpectedly, throttling the small town with lightning strikes and earth-shaking thunder.

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but some part of Amber was forewarning her not to go out.

She went out anyway.

The heat from their naked bodies rose, warming the cramped space inside Patrick’s Volkswagen Vanagon. The smell of youthful lust slowly overpowered the stale trace of pot and cigarette smoke woven deep into the upholstery. Jazzy sounds of Mingus crackled softly from the aged dashboard speakers.

Outside, the air was crisp, sharp. The violent storm had passed. A silent mist trailed on its coattails to thickly settle upon the foothills of Huntington, Vermont; cascading like the chilled breath of a giant living in the hills.

The cool air clawed to get inside. It clung to the windows of the van in a milky-white shade as if a silver veil had been draped over to cover the vehicle. A full moon—the largest in thirteen years—played peek-a-boo behind a passing string of finger-like clouds, offering a glowing iridescence.

Amber pressed her head back into the seat cushions of the bench along the rear of the van. Her toned legs spread, eyes closed. Patrick dragged his tongue the length of her slit. Her chest heaved. A mix of saliva and pussy juice coated his stubbled chin.

This was exactly what she needed to take her mind off of things. A juvenile-style romp, like stoned youth cutting out of the movies to go up to the point and fuck.

With a soft moan, she slid her hands and intertwined her slender fingers into the waves of Patrick’s flaxen, surfer-boy hair. As he flicked his tongue over her clit, she yanked him in tight. The moans grew louder. His tongue moved faster. Her body slid, forcing more of her need to his accepting mouth.

“I’m so close baby,” she whimpered.

A primal growl, his only riposte.

In the distance, a wolf’s howl shrilled, loudly. It pierced the night air like the ghostly toll of a bell beckoning for all spirits within earshot to awaken. The surrounding hills came to life with a chorus of biting yips, howls and barks to echo the call.

“Did you hear that?” Amber whispered. The little hairs on her arm stood at attention in a sea of goosebumps.

“It’s nothing, just some dogs,” Patrick answered. “Come on baby.” He kissed her inner thigh. “Concentrate. I want you to cum for me.”

She smirked. “You’re probably right, it’s nothing… just some dogs.” She tightened her grip and pulled him back into her wetness, bucking her hips against his face.

Her labia were swollen, engorged from a combination of her arousal and delicate nibbles as Patrick took her to an orgasmic precipice. She felt her insides tightening. Her walls thickened and pulsated. The sounds inside the van faded to a muffled static as her climax built.

She squeezed her legs tight, clinching to either side of his head as her hands entwined further into his hair. Vibrations from his cries tickled her clit. Patrick’s fingers curled over the top of her thighs. All oxygen was being cut from entering his lungs and he clawed frantically at her flesh to release. Amber had an iron-like grip, locked. She was not letting go.

The dark behind her eyelids strobed with images. She was no longer in the van, not mentally. Amber was in a room, a dark room that she had never been in before. Her heart raced from the unfamiliarity.

She heard sobs and moans. They sounded like pleasure mixed with the distinct laments of pain. She saw a gaunt cloaked figure, a woman standing in front of a girl who was kneeling. Worshiping. The girl’s face turned. It was that of her roommate, Cara.

In a last effort to break free, Patrick bit down on Ambers's swollen clit. The searing sting rolled her eyes forward and pulled her from the reverie, snapping her back to the van.

“Jesus FUCKING Christ, Patrick!” She screamed and released.

His body fell limp to the floor and pulled in as much air as his lungs would allow. He gasped and got to all fours.

“What…” he crawled backward, “the motherfuck… was that?” he panted, pushing to get away from her.

His face was pale. A look of sheer terror in his eyes. He heaved in another deep breath, then leaned his naked back against the front seat, coughing.

“I don’t know, Pat. Why don’t you tell me why you just tried to bite my fucking clit off?” She brought her feet up and hugged her knees.

He sat and stared at her, still fighting to gain his breath. Her eyes were empty.

“You wouldn’t let go, Ams,” he said. “You just… you wouldn’t let go.”

“I don’t feel good.” A sudden wave of panic washed over her. “I think we should go.”

“Yeah, no shit we should go.” He didn’t even bother to search for his boxers, just pulled on his jeans.

Amber laid down and curled on the bench seat, still naked. She was staring trance-like into the space in front of her, eyes focused on an imaginary dot hovering inches from her face.

“I…” her voice was barely above a whisper. “I think I just saw Cara…” The whisper faded.

“You’re not making any sense right now.” Patrick pulled on his t-shirt, still shaken.

“Cara, my roommate. I think I just saw her,” she repeated softly.

Still seated on the floor of the van, he twisted his head to either side as if Cara was behind him.

“Amber, I am so confused right now.” His body stiffened against the back of the seat. “ And you are really starting to scare the shit out of me.” He raised a brow. “You think Cara is in here with us?”

“No... No,” Amber’s voice trailed. She chewed at the end of her thumbnail as her hands tucked under her chin. “I don’t know.”

Suddenly, the music cut out. A muted hush filled the air around them, the kind you could almost feel.

Before they had time to assess what was happening, the silence was mangled by an explosion of banging. Loud, thunderous banging; fists against the hood of the van. The pounding shook the entire vehicle.

Amber sat up and screamed. Patrick scrambled to get away from the front, pushing next to her on the bench.

The van rocked.

She continued to shriek and covered her ears trying to block it all out. It didn’t help to stop the melee.

Patrick sat in fear, gripping the seat cushion, frozen. Waiting for whatever was outside to burst through the windshield.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, it just... stopped.

Amber’s sobs rolled through the silence.

“Get your fucking clothes on, NOW!” Patrick yelled as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys.

The drive back to Amber’s apartment was silent. She half-expected to see demons circling the van when Patrick turned on the headlights, but the beams only illuminated the foggy mist. A fog that, in some kind of wicked pun, clouded her mind. Words just did not seem appropriate.

Patrick was the first to speak. He pulled the van into a parking spot and killed the engine. His head rested back against the driver’s seat and an exaggerated sigh left his lips.

“Should we go to Sheriff Thomas?” he asked the windshield.

“And tell him what, exactly?” Amber replied. “That we experienced some kind of haunting? That I almost killed you in the process? No. He will just laugh and ask us what kind of shit we were smoking, then slough it off to a bunch of kids trying to fuck with us. Quite honestly, maybe that’s all it really was.” Her voice softened.

She was covering. Patrick did not know the details about the vision. About Cara and the hooded figure. The raucous of the earlier disturbance had interrupted, deflecting attention away from her telling him. She was not in the mood to start the discussion over.

“Maybe... Kids... Dogs,” he paused. “If you think about it, maybe we are making a big deal out of nothing.”  

Amber looked at him. She didn’t need her feels to know that he was covering too.

“I’m going to go inside, check on Cara. I’ll call you in the morning and maybe we will all have a good laugh at how silly this whole night was.” She stepped out of the van. The damp, cold air chilled her. It was colder than she remembered it being when she left.

“Cara?” she called out as she scampered into the house.

All lights inside were off, except the constant glow of a night light coming from the upstairs hallway. Amber ascended the stairs quickly and headed straight to Cara’s bedroom. The door was closed. She checked the knob. Not locked.

Inside, the room was dark. Window shades were drawn blacking out any radiance from the moon. A red iridescent glow from Cara’s bedside clock shadowed across an empty bed. 1:34 AM.

Amber’s mind wanted to fill with thoughts of Cara out at a bar, drunk, laughing and falling all over some stud who was pumping her full of cheap drinks. She wanted to think about Cara finally getting laid and having fun. But all she could see in her head was that image; Cara kneeling, confused. Scared.

‘Fuck.’  

She tried calling her cellphone. “Come on Cara, please pick up,” she mouthed.

“Hi! You’ve reached my voicem—” Amber cut the call, and sent a text:

Hey girl… Where are you? Something weird happened tonight. Call me. Now.

Leaning across the bed, she flicked on a lamp. Cara’s laptop rested on top of the comforter. She grabbed it.

“Please tell me you haven’t added that password like I told you to.”

Flipping open the computer, she watched, relieved as the screen lit directly to the desktop.

“Thank you, Jesus,” she said to the ceiling.

Scrolling the arrow over to Google Chrome she clicked Search History. The last page Cara visited: Dr. Gail Hathaway, Psychologist, Specializing in dreams and mental awareness. The website looked rudimentary and old. Like it was made when the internet first rolled out.

‘Could she have gone to see someone?’ The thought teetered on the fringe of panic. Amber stood to pace the room.

“Where did you go, Cara?” Her left arm tucked across her chest as the balled fist of her right hand hovered over her lips. Questions continued to plague her mind. She once again unconsciously chewed at her cuticles.

“Why are you not home by now?” Amber scooped up the laptop and scrolled further down the website’s page. She needed answers.

No office hours, just a note about staying open late and an address. ‘Fuck.’

“Were the dreams really that bad you'd just venture out alone?” Amber clapped the computer shut and flopped onto the bed, not tired, flustered.

Things weren’t adding up. The bad feel she had earlier was getting worse. She stared at the ceiling and contemplated her next move. ‘Do I wait?’ She sighed. ‘What if I really did see that boy at the bottom of Lake Leamor? What if I really did just see Cara? What if she really is in trouble?’

‘Fuck, fuck…’ She checked her phone again. No reply.

“FUCK!”

She stared at the little icon picture next to Cara’s name. Her and Cara, heads pressed together, smiling for the camera. She was the closest thing to a best friend that Amber had ever had.

Amber was self-proclaimed to be socially awkward. A lone wolf. Somehow Cara worked her way past the barricade, past Amber’s defenses. Some nights they would stay up building sofa forts and watching movies like adolescent besties. Amber missed out on that as a child and Cara seemed happy to fill the void.

Her mind went back to icon, the day they met.

Cara had just relocated to Huntington and was staying in a nearby motel. Amber was looking to take on a roommate.

The condo wasn’t very big, but unexpected car repairs were stretching her paychecks thin. Sharing the rent seemed like a viable way to get her head above water. She placed the ad on a Friday and Cara replied to it almost immediately.

They had agreed to meet the next day at the diner where Amber worked. Huntington was small, population less than twenty-five thousand, so roommate options were few-and-far-between. She couldn’t really be picky, but Amber still wanted to make sure this girl ticked all the boxes in the non-psycho category.

“Tell me, Cara, what brings you to this little corner of the world? I mean, it’s not every day that a gorgeous, twenty-four-year-old girl like yourself relocates to Huntington. Throw a dart at the map?” Amber asked lightheartedly.

“Haha. No, not exactly,” she answered quickly. “Well, sort of. Wait... no, there was no dart throwing. Ok. Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.” Cara was all over the place.

Amber smiled. “Relax. I just want to know a little bit about you. If I’m honest,” her voice lowered and she leaned across the booth, “this roomie slot is between you and some eighty-year-old dude, so I’m pretty sure you are a shoo-in.” She winked.

“Oh... okay,” Cara smiled, still visibly nervous. “Well, I am a photographer,” she continued. “Actually, I want to be a photographer and this place seems like it has so many hidden gems.”

She looked up noting a twinge of concern in Amber’s face. “But don’t worry, I have money. Enough for the first month anyway,” Cara assured.

“Photographer? Interesting. That still doesn’t explain how you found Huntington?”

“Oh. Yes. How I got here. Happenstance, really. I was searching through rustic New England towns. For some reason, Huntington kept popping up in every search. So I guess, maybe your dart analogy wasn’t very far fetched.” Cara cocked her head and smiled her cutest hopeful smile.

“Put the dimples away, cutie. I like you. There is something about you, like an energy. Plus, I’m not sure the eighty-year-old will like all the stairs.”

“So, I’m in?”

“You’re in,” Amber replied. “But, only having a month’s worth of rent kinda scares me. So, until you reach Ansel Adams’ status, I think you should work here, with me. Reggie needs the extra help, and the tips are pretty decent.”

“Deal!” Cara squealed.

“Reggie,” Amber called over her shoulder, “come meet your new waitress and grab my phone to take our picture, she’s also my new roomie.”

Amber was still sprawled on Cara’s bed holding the phone over her head, repeatedly refreshing her texts. Nothing. Her stomach was in knots. She knew deep down Cara was not at a bar, that she was in fact in trouble, and that she had to go find her. Gail Hathaway’s office was her only lead.

“I’m coming to get you, Cara.”

The engine of Amber’s small, metallic-blue Toyota squealed as it raced through the dark, empty streets. She wasn’t sure what she was speeding to get to, she just knew she had to get there fast. If Sheriff Thomas was patrolling the streets, she planned to lead him on a chase to the psychologist’s office. It would be the easiest way to get his help without him thinking she was on the wrong side of crazy.

The little dot on the phone’s GPS highlighted her destination. She was close, probably less than a half-mile. A stretch of road opened and Amber pressed the accelerator to the floor. The engine skipped… then choked... and spluttered.

“No. No. Don’t you do this.” Amber pumped the gas, offering CPR to the dying engine, but to no avail. ”Not now you stupid fucking car!”

The motor went silent and coasted to a stop. She pounded the steering wheel with the butt of her palm then repeatedly cranked the ignition in desperate frustration. Nothing. Just, lifeless clicks.

“Fuck you, car.” She looked at her phone. It was close enough to walk.

Any remnants of clouds had long moved on. The moon shone bright, but this deep in the woods, its silvery rays only trickled in, dimly.

Amber stepped out of the car and shivered with a chill. The road ahead seemed to fade into an abyss. She took the cold air into her lungs and felt the weight of the dark pressing in on her from all sides. A hesitation. Her feels, once again, screamed.

She wanted to get back in the car, turn and go home where it was safe and wait for the light of day. But, some small part of those feels was telling Amber Shelton that the answers lie ahead. Somewhere in that abyss was Cara. Her feet pressed forward. Slowly at first, then speeding to a brisk jog.

As she rounded the final turn onto the street, an unusual change to the darkness slowed her pace. The wooded canopy had opened, yet the landscape seemed preternaturally black as if a majority of the ambient light was somehow being absorbed.

The road pitched at a slight incline and only one house was visible, framed in a black-velvet backdrop. She gazed up to it as it sat atop a small hill, then back to the address on her phone. ‘What the fuck?’ she thought. Heart racing.

A dilapidated chain-link fence surrounded the property. The house was dark and boarded up. The landscape was swallowed with weeds and overgrown bushes like it hadn’t been tended to for some time. It was forgotten, abandoned for years. Left to rot.

Amber felt defeated. This was her only lead. It seemed there was no possible way for Cara to be inside that decrepit, dark mansion. A cutting breeze sliced through her coat and chilled her once again.

She had a sudden uncomfortable feeling like she was not alone.

The fence stretched down the street in either direction, completely guarding the vast property, keeping onlookers out, safe from the possible perils inside. Amber’s mind drifted, making a somewhat strange and unwelcomed connection to the past. To the lake.

A rustling in the bushes, just a few feet off to her left, pulled her attention to the front corner of the property. The metal clanged like it was hit by something.

“Who’s there?” Amber called out. “I have a fucking gun, asshole!” She didn’t have a gun.

She took a step back, eyes focused on the bush. In the low light it looked like tentacles reaching through the fence; another step back. This time the fence rattled. Amber took off running, her head swiveled back to see who or what might jump out and give chase. Nothing. Maybe the gun tactic worked. For now.

She sprinted through the darkness and down the street, heading back the way she came. Her arms pumped in perfect unison with her feet, propelling her at an accelerated pace.

Rounding the corner at full speed, she saw it too late and only had time to jerk her hands up across her chest to brace for impact. The force of the collision knocked her backward, stumbling and falling down onto her bottom.

She looked up, dazed. In the darkness, she could make out the shape of a person standing in front of her. ‘Was it that noise from the fence?’ She was frozen, staring up. Petrified.

“Are you hurt?” It was only three words, but the soothing-rich flavor to his deep voice seemed to float commandingly.

“I… I don’t think so,” she replied. “Who are you?”

“My name is Cain. Cain Kingsley.” He extended his hand to help Amber to her feet. “I saw your car down the street.”

“How do you know that’s my car?” She asked, still cautious, brushing the dust off her backside.

He looked around. “Who else would be in these woods at almost three AM?” He replied confidently.

Only a few feet separated them. She stood poised, ready to take off at the slightest move. But, there was an air about him. She didn’t feel threatened. Regardless, her guard stayed vigilant.

“I might ask the same of you?” She flicked the flashlight button on her phone and shined it toward him. “Just out for a leisurely three-AM stroll?”

The dark swallowed most of the weak light from her phone, but she was able to make out some features. He was tall and waif-thin, pale, but strikingly handsome. Dark hair was meticulously pushed back. He looked like he could have been a model at some point. She guessed his age to be mid-thirties.

“I felt the disturbance, same as you,” he replied in a low tone.

She looked at him intently. Her legs suddenly felt weak.

“Who the fuck are you?” She said once more with a raised voice, starting to back away.

She wanted to run, but he was blocking her path to the car, and the opposite direction would only lead her back to the house, to the fence and whatever lurked beyond.

“Listen,” he seemed to sense her trepidation, “I know you’re scared, confused. There is a lot I need to tell you.” Cain was calm. His hands never pulled from the pockets of his blue jeans. “Some of it will help make sense of what has been happening to you, as well as your roommate.”

She felt her fingertips go numb, ‘How the fuck did he know about Cara?’

“Some of what I need to tell you will most likely lead to more questions. Believe me, I have plenty of my own.” He continued. “All you need to know at this point is we are connected. What you experienced tonight was not a coincidence, and it was most certainly not an accident.”

“The house,” he pointed in the direction she was running when she slammed into him, “it’s getting stronger with each… taking.”

“What do you mean? Taking?” Her tone was biting. None of it was making sense. “You’re throwing all this information at me like I know what you're talking about.”

“I know. It’s a lot.” He took a step toward her. She didn’t back away. There was a sincerity to him.

“Obviously, I don’t know who you are,” he continued softly. “But, I do know you. You have a gift. I know you are searching for your friend and she is most likely inside that house.” He paused. “I may know how we can get her out.”

“Get her out?” She shook her head in disbelief. “That house is abando—” She stopped herself. “How do you know this? ANY of this?” She snapped.

“My family used to be the caretakers of the property… before it all happened.”

A cold breeze swirled from behind Amber rustling the dying leaves that clung to the trees overhead. She had that feeling again, like they were being watched.

“Before all what happened?” she said slowly, softly, as if she didn’t want him to answer.

“There is a spirit in that house. An evil that feeds on us, you, me, your roommate, my father. I believe we are the gifted ones.”

“Your father? Your father is in that house?” There was cynicism in her tone.

“He went missing. We were all down at the lake. My little brother had followed us. He must’ve slipped and fell into the water. They recovered his body weeks later. But before that, while we were all searching, my father went back to the house, to see—”

She cut him off. “Wait!” She pointed behind her. “That house... up there... backs up to Lake Leamore?”

“Yes. The Hathaway estate owns over one hundred acres. Most of it just uninhabited woodlands. In the west corner though, near the lake, there is a burial ground. Dates back to before the civil war, colonial times. Back in the sixties, some hippies filed to have it deemed sacred, historical ground. The Hathaways fought the injunction, but the land was fenced-off, deemed federal property.” He paused.

“And your dad?”

“No one knows. Like I was saying we were all down at the lake searching. He had doubled back to the mansion. Said he had a feeling. He was never seen again.”

“Jesus, you lost a brother and a father in the same day?”

“My mother went crazy. She was committed to Shetfield institute a few months later. Gail Hathaway was her psychologist. She took me in until I was old enough to move out.”

The visage of Cain’s face changed. It was not soft anymore. It looked hard like a wheel of old cheese. His brow furled and there was pain, like a weight on his chest was taking his breath.

“You okay?” Amber asked, shining the light up to him.

“I saw things in that house. Gail always told me it was due to the trauma. My mind playing tricks. But, I know damn well what I experienced was not a result of trauma. What I saw... what haunted me in my dreams…” he looked up, directly at Amber, “was the face of pure evil.”

A twig snapped from the treeline in the darkness to Amber’s right. They both turned at the same time.

In the woods, Amber was able to see the faint pattern of tree-trunk shadows, greys and blacks, from where the moonlight was able to amble through. She squinted her eyes almost in disbelief.

There, in the pattern, was a void. A dark, pitch-black void like something was blocking the ambient light. The silhouette of what appeared to be a hooded figure stood not more than twenty yards from them.

“Do you see that too?” she whispered in terror.

“Yes... Run!”

Neither of them turned back as they sprinted to Amber’s Toyota. She frantically pressed the unlock button on her keyfob, snapping on the headlights, offering some glimmer of hope.

They both jumped in, slamming the doors shut and staring back up the street as the car’s lights illuminated the woods on either side. Amber fumbled to get the keys in the ignition.

“What the fuck was that?” she exclaimed.

Her shaky hands finally connected the metal key with the ignition slot. In one swift motion, she pushed in and turned. The engine wound, tired.

“Come on you piece of shit.”

“Start the car! Start the car...” he repeated.

“I’m fucking trying.”

Her eyes closed and she took in a deep breath. “Come on, girl,” she whispered calmly and turned the key one more time.

She held it in the start position, not letting go as the motor whined over and over until finally... it kicked.

Throwing the gear shift in drive, she cranked the steering wheel to the left and slammed on the gas pedal. The little engine spun the tires, hurling pine needles and a horseshoe-cloud of dust behind as they peeled off in the opposite direction.

Amber glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing.

“What the fuck was that?” she repeated, turning to look at him.

Cain was only able to muster a whisper. “It’s getting stronger...”  

* * * * * *
 

To be continued...