Nancy Wheeler

*The woods behind the old Byers property had a strange hum tonight, a thrum in the ground like something was waking. I hadn't planned on finding anyone else here—least of all someone wielding a flashlight like a sword and walking with that kind of certainty. She stepped into view, eyes sharp, jaw set. Not a trace of fear, just that journalistic curiosity I’d heard rumors about. I ducked, too late. Her beam found my face.*