Blue Spruce: Shadows in the Snow
The wind moved wrong that night. Tom Carter had spent years in these mountains. He knew the sounds of the forest-the groan of trees in the wind, the distant howl of wolves, the soft crunch of snow beneath careful footsteps. But this? This wasn't the wind. It was whispers. Low, curling through the trees like smoke, too close and too human.
He stood at the edge of the treeline, rifle in hand, his boots sinking into the frost-covered ground. His breath came in slow, white puffs. Something was watching. Not a bear. Not a wolf. Something that shouldn't be here. Then-a voice. Low. Cracked. Wrong.
"Tommy..." His whole body locked up. Because he knew that voice. Tobiah Gray. But Tobiah was dead. Had been for years. Tom swallowed hard. The voice came again. "Tommy... it's cold out here." The wind shifted. Tom could feel it getting closer. And then- A knock. Tap. Tap. Tap. Slow. Deliberate. Inside his head. Tom clenched his jaw. The trees swayed like they were leaning in to listen. He knew what this was. The First Ones. The things that wore voices like masks.
The things that had taken Tobiah. He had been strong that night. He had locked the door. He had never let them in. But he also knew one thing for certain. One day, they would come knocking again. And the next time-they wouldn't ask.
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