Description
On a cursed island, Officer Clara Hayes faces a werewolf while searching for missing hikers. Her courage wins the fight, but the infection seals her fate—forcing her to make the ultimate sacrifice.
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The island rose like a jagged wound against the blood-red horizon, its cliffs jutting out like broken teeth. Officer Clara Hayes gripped the ferry wheel tighter as the shoreline drew near. The air stank of salt and rot, and a mournful wind howled across the waves. She was here for answers—three hikers had vanished without a trace. Their trail ended at the old factory on the island. A trail of blood, but no bodies.
At thirty-four, Clara had seen death more times than she could count. She was relentless, steady, unshaken by things that rattled others. But the silence of the island felt wrong—too still, as though it waited.
The ferry docked at a crumbling pier. Clara’s boots crunched on gravel as she approached the looming factory. Its broken windows stared like hollow eyes. The hikers’ last steps had led here.
Inside, the air reeked of mildew and blood. Rusted machinery filled the space, shadows clinging to every corner. Her flashlight beam caught dried streaks of red smeared across the floor, leading deeper into the dark.
She found the first body. Torn apart, ribs split wide like petals of a grotesque flower. Clara swallowed hard and crouched beside it, but before she could examine further, a low growl rippled through the factory. Then came claws against steel.
Eyes—yellow, glowing—stared back from the shadows.
Clara raised her gun. The creature stepped forward. A werewolf, massive, its teeth slick with saliva, its gaze sharp and hungry.
It lunged. Gunfire cracked the air. The bullets slowed it, but not enough. It slammed into her, her weapon lost. Clara fought with a rusted pipe, landing a crushing blow that dazed the beast long enough for her to run.
But the factory was a maze, and soon she was trapped. The werewolf leapt—and stopped. Convulsing, its body twisted, fur retracting, bones snapping. A man collapsed to the floor, naked, trembling.
Clara froze. She knew his face. Ethan—one of the missing hikers. His eyes pleaded. “Kill me before it comes back.”
Her hand tightened on the pipe. She hesitated. Too long.
Yellow eyes returned, fangs tearing through his skin. The beast was back. It caught the pipe, wrenched it away. Clara staggered, desperate. Her last hope: the silver knife at her ankle.
Claws ripped through her side, but she drove the blade into its chest. The werewolf shrieked as silver burned it from within. It collapsed, lifeless.
Clara stumbled back, clutching her wound. She had won. Or so it seemed.
Her vision swam. Her blood ran hot. She knew the truth before her mind could accept it—the curse had already begun. The hunger was inside her now.
She raised the silver knife again, her breath shaking. She had always done what was necessary. This would be no different.
With one final thrust, she drove the blade into her heart.
Her body fell beside the werewolf’s, two hunters bound in death. But in the shadows of the factory, another pair of glowing eyes opened—watching, waiting.
The cycle was far from over.
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