The Howl Of Winterveil

Mira Greg

Werewolf | Ongoing

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Nestled deep in the snow-covered mountains, the town of Winterveil lives in the shadow of a chilling legend- a beast that stalks the woods under the full moon. When young doctor Maren Vale arrives in town to replace the recently murdered physician, she's warned to stay indoors at night. But when a patient's cryptic confession points to a hidden conspiracy, Maren sets out to uncover the truth. Enter Kieran Ashford, the enigmatic hunter who seems to know more about the beast than he lets on. Together, Maren and Kieran delve into the town's secrets, but as the winter nights grow longer and the moon waxes fuller, Maren begins to suspect the monster she's hunting might be closer than she imagined. In a battle against time, ancient curses, and her own rising fear, Maren must decide: will she save Winterveil, or will she join its haunted history?

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Chapter 12 12

12-06 16:32

Chapter 1 1

The train screeched to a halt, sending a shudder through its iron frame as the whistle pierced the winter air. Dr. Maren Vale adjusted her scarf against the biting wind that clawed at her cheeks. The platform at Winterveil station was empty except for a single lamp, flickering against the encroaching dark. The snowstorm had left a heavy silence in its wake, muffling everything but the distant howl of wind in the mountains.

Maren shouldered her leather satchel, its weight pressing against her side. It contained what little she could carry-a few medical texts, her tools, and a weathered journal. She stepped off the train, her boots crunching into the snow. Behind her, the conductor leaned out the window, his face shadowed beneath his cap.

"You sure about this, miss?" he called, his voice tinged with concern.

Maren paused, her breath visible in the frosty air. "Why wouldn't I be?"

The conductor hesitated. "Winterveil's no place for outsiders, especially not this time of year. Folks up there... they're different."

Maren offered a faint smile. "I'm here to help. That's what matters."

The conductor gave her a reluctant nod and disappeared back into the warm glow of the train. Moments later, the engine roared to life, and the train vanished into the night, leaving Maren alone with the wilderness.

The path leading into town was barely visible, a trail carved into the snow that twisted through the dense pines. Winterveil's only inn was supposed to be just beyond the trees, but the chill and the gathering dark made every step feel uncertain.

As she trudged forward, the wind carried a sound that made her stop-low, guttural, and primal. A howl.

Maren turned sharply, her pulse quickening. She scanned the shadows between the trees, but they offered no answers, only the oppressive weight of silence returning. Swallowing her fear, she adjusted her scarf and quickened her pace.

---

The inn was a squat, timber-framed building with a sloping roof weighed down by snow. A dim light flickered in the window, promising warmth. Maren pushed the door open, stepping into a room heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and stew.

Behind the counter stood a wiry man with graying hair, his face deeply lined. He looked up from wiping a mug and regarded her with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"You must be the new doctor," he said, his voice rough but not unkind.

Maren nodded, shaking the snow from her coat. "Maren Vale. And you are?"

"Arthur," he replied. "I run the inn. Thought you'd be arriving tomorrow."

"The train schedule changed," she explained, setting her satchel on the counter. "I hope it's not too much trouble."

Arthur waved her off. "Trouble? Not at all. We haven't had a doctor here since... well." He trailed off, his expression darkening. "Best not talk about that now. You'll be wanting supper, I imagine?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Maren said, her stomach growling in agreement.

As Arthur ladled stew into a bowl, the door swung open behind her. A gust of cold air swept through the room, and Maren turned to see a man stepping inside.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his hair dusted with snow and his coat worn from years of use. His boots left heavy prints on the floor as he approached the counter. He glanced at Maren briefly, his blue eyes sharp and assessing, before addressing Arthur.

"Anything new?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Arthur shook his head. "No sign of it tonight. At least, not yet."

The man nodded, his gaze shifting back to Maren. "You're the doctor, aren't you?"

"Yes," Maren said, meeting his stare despite the unease it stirred in her. "And you are?"

"Kieran Ashford," he said simply. "Hunter."

There was something about the way he said it that felt weighted, as if the title meant more than it should.

"You'll be busy soon," he added, his tone almost a warning.

"I'm here to do my job," Maren replied firmly.

Kieran's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement, but he said nothing further. Instead, he turned to Arthur and spoke in a quieter tone. Maren caught only fragments-"tracks by the ridge," "fresh kill," and "blood moon."

Arthur's face tightened as he nodded, his knuckles white against the edge of the counter.

---

Later that night, Maren lay in the small, drafty room Arthur had prepared for her. The stew had warmed her, but sleep was elusive. The whispers of Kieran's conversation haunted her, as did the howl she'd heard in the woods.

She stared at the cracked ceiling, her mind racing. Winterveil was supposed to be a quiet mountain town in need of a doctor, nothing more. But something about this place felt... wrong.

A sudden noise shattered the stillness-a distant scream, sharp and fleeting.

Maren bolted upright, her heart hammering. She rushed to the window, peering into the night, but all she saw was snow and shadow.

The scream didn't come again, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it hadn't been a figment of her imagination.

---

The following morning, Maren made her way to the clinic, a modest building on the edge of town. The air was bitterly cold, the streets quiet save for a few wary glances from townsfolk who kept their distance.

Inside, the clinic was sparse but functional. Maren set about organizing supplies, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the unease that lingered from the night before.

Her first patient arrived just after midday-a middle-aged man with a gash across his forearm.

"Got this fixing my roof," he said gruffly, though his eyes darted nervously around the room.

Maren cleaned and stitched the wound, noting the way his hands trembled despite the minor injury.

"You seem nervous," she said gently. "Is everything all right?"

He hesitated, then leaned in closer. "You should leave," he said in a low voice. "This town... it's cursed."

"Cursed?" Maren repeated, trying to keep her voice neutral.

He nodded, his expression grim. "It starts with howls in the night. Then the killings. The beast doesn't stop until the snow turns red."

Before she could press him further, he pulled his arm away and left, muttering something about the moon.

Maren stood in the empty clinic, her unease growing. She couldn't ignore the whispers anymore. Something was happening in Winterveil, something that went far beyond superstition.

And she had a sinking feeling she was already in too deep.