Moonlight filtered through the leaves overhead, keeping the woods in eternal twilight and making the landscape seem all the more surreal.

The hunter stepped through the sea of dead leaves carefully. His eyes scanned the trees for any sign of movement; his shotgun was loaded and gripped tight.

A rustle, then the snap of a twig.

He whirled.

Nothing.

He whispered a prayer, eyes flicking around fearfully.

A dark shape in the distance.

Gone.

Even as I walk through the valley of the shadow of dea—

He took another step—

A howl rent the night apart.

Frustrated, the man turned his face to the sky.

“Goddammit,” he yelled skyward, “can’t you cut the fucking suspense out? Would it kill you to just get straight to the action instead of beating about the goddamn bush?”

“Um,” came the echoing voice of the author from above. “Okay. I could try. If that’s the way you want it.”

“You’re damn right I—”

But whatever he was about to say was cut off when the wolf leapt from the darkness and sank its fangs into him.