jasper ridge. a small town, somewhere in the mountains,
with a population barely breaching two thousand and a history of
unusual goings on.
yet, aside from the occasional disappearance, things have been quiet for years.
perhaps a brutal series of murders was overdue.
eleven dead, two missing. strange people arriving during all hours of the night.
the police have yet to comment on the matter.
birds no longer sing to greet the day.
the skies have been still.
the shadows in the forest, even, have ceased to stir.
the whole world is holding it's breath.
see, these weren't any typical murders, commited with a mundane weapon.
the victims were literally ripped apart.
as if, the strange men say, by werewolves.
there have been rumours of lycanthropes stalking the streets for centuries.
nobody has ever listened to them,
apart from to laugh and then barricade themselves in by night.
just to be safe.
there have been rumours of people entering the woods, never to return,
stories of how, if you stand alone on a silent night, you can hear the trees calling.
everybody knows you don't answer.
you must never answer.
yet people still go missing.
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