Erza styles's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The logging road ran farther than the map showed. Erza drove past the creek turn and kept going. The ruts deepened. Branches scraped the paint. The road did not end at a trailhead. It ended at a door. His headlights lit the cabin straight on, chimney above, lantern dark over the step. He killed the engine and sat with both hands on the wheel. He had come to hunt a thing he could not name. Walking in blind was how he would end up like James. He stayed in the truck and worked the problem. He had a hunting knife, a flashlight, the brass key, and no idea what waited past the door. The woman had said it would be hungry again. He needed to know the shape of it before he met it. He got out slow and walked the ring of trees with the flashlight low. The claw marks were here too. Same perfect circle. Same height. He measured one gouge against his own hand and spread his fingers wide. Four cuts, but the spacing was wrong for four fingers. He counted again. Three. Three deep, one shallow, like a thumb dragged behind. He crouched and found tracks in the mud near the step. Three toes. Splayed wide. Bigger than a bear's. He circled the cabin. One window on each side. He wiped the glass and shined the light in. A table. A pack on the floor. James's pack, red strap, brother's name in marker on the flap. No blood on the boards. No body. Whatever had done this had not done it inside. He went back to the truck for the axe from the bed. He wedged the door of the cabin open with a stone and stood clear. Nothing came out. He waited a full minute by his watch. Then he stepped in, knife first. The cabin was cold and empty. He checked under the bed, behind the stove, in the small closet. He found James's boots by the door, laces still tied in the loop James always used. He found the sleeping bag folded. He found a plate with dried food on the table. No sign of a fight. He stepped back out onto the boards. That was when the smell hit him. Wet fur and rot. He turned toward the treeline. Something moved between two trunks. Low to the ground, then tall. Three pale eyes opened in a row. A mouth split wide below them, red and wet, full of crooked teeth. It did not roar. It watched. Erza did not run. He backed to the doorway and pulled the door shut between them. He slid the bolt. He heard claws drag once across the wood. Then nothing. He knew its shape now. He knew where it slept. He was locked inside its kitchen, and the road behind him ended here.