Chapter 1: Whispers in the Shadows

I never thought I'd be back in Cedar Grove, yet here I was, sitting behind my father's old desk in the clinic he'd built from the ground up. Dr. Isla Rivers, following in her father's footsteps – that's what everyone in town kept saying, their voices laced with pity. Twenty-eight years old, newly appointed head veterinarian of Cedar Grove Animal Clinic, and completely alone. Well, not completely. I had my patients – the four-legged variety that couldn't ask questions about Dad's disappearance or why I'd abandoned my promising career at a prestigious Chicago animal hospital to return to this tiny town.

The scratching sound came again, pulling me from my thoughts. It had been haunting me all afternoon. I set my pen down on the last patient file of the day, trying to ignore how my hand trembled. Through the clinic's windows, I watched dusk paint our small town in shades of amber and shadow. The scratches had been getting louder, accompanied by whimpers and whispered conversations beyond my hearing.

"Hello?" I called out, pushing back from my desk. My ceramic mug of now-cold tea rattled against patient forms and prescription pads. "Mrs. Henderson? Is Scout's stitches giving you trouble again?"

Nothing but silence answered me. That same heavy silence that had followed me for weeks, ever since I'd returned home to take over the practice. Three months since Dad's disappearance, I still expected to find him hunched over his microscope in the back room, muttering about unusual blood samples and lunar cycles.

The motion-activated lights in the waiting room flickered on, and my heart jumped into my throat. I'd triple-checked the locks myself at closing – a habit born from too many late nights alone in the clinic. The scratching came again, followed by a low whine that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. That wasn't a normal dog whine. It sounded almost... human.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, grabbing the heavy flashlight from my desk drawer. The weight of it was reassuring in my hand as I moved toward the waiting room. "You're a veterinarian, Isla, not some scared kid jumping at shadows."

But shadows were exactly what greeted me – deep pools of darkness that seemed to writhe in the corners despite the overhead lights. The familiar room felt wrong somehow, as if the space had stretched and distorted while my back was turned. My heart thundered against my ribs as I swept the flashlight beam across empty chairs and educational posters about heartworm prevention.

The scratch came from behind me now, by the back door that led to the surgery suite. I spun around, flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. For a split second, I saw something impossible – eyes reflecting gold in the darkness, too high up to be any normal animal. Then they were gone, leaving only the echo of movement and the lingering scent of pine needles and earth.

My hands shook as I fumbled for the light switch. The fluorescent tubes hummed to life, revealing nothing out of place. No muddy pawprints, no scratches on the door. Just the same neat rows of surgical instruments I'd sterilized that afternoon, gleaming under the harsh light.

But there, on the counter next to Dad's old microscope, lay something that hadn't been there before. A small leather-bound journal, its pages yellow with age. As I reached for it, my fingers brushed against an unusual mark burned into the cover – a crescent moon intersected by what looked like claw marks.

The same mark I'd seen tattooed on Dad's wrist, though he'd never tell me what it meant, no matter how many times I asked.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, making me jump. The caller ID showed an unknown number, but something made me answer anyway. The voice on the other end was female, smooth as honey but with an edge of urgency that made my skin prickle.

"Dr. Rivers? My name is Astra. I believe you've just found something that belongs to your father." She paused, and I could hear the weight of unspoken words in that silence. "We need to talk about what really happened to him."

I stared at the journal in my hand, at the mark that seemed to shimmer in the fluorescent light. "I'm listening."

"Not over the phone." Another pause. "There's a clearing in the woods behind Cedar Grove Cemetery. Midnight. Bring the journal." The line went dead before I could respond.

I should call the police. Should lock up the clinic and go home to my safe, normal life of treating allergic cats and overwrought golden retrievers. But my fingers were already tracing the mark on the journal's cover, and in my mind, I heard the whispers from my dreams – the ones that had haunted me since childhood, speaking in a language that felt like home.

The sun had fully set now, leaving the clinic in pools of artificial light. As I gathered my things, I caught my reflection in the window. For a moment, just a moment, I could have sworn my eyes flashed gold in the darkness. Like those other eyes I'd seen. Like Dad's used to, sometimes, when he thought I wasn't looking.

Midnight wasn't far away. And finally, after all these years of questions, I might get some answers.

Even if they changed everything I thought I knew about myself.