Chapter 1: The Night Duke Went Wild

That year, a blizzard sealed off the mountain roads, and our family—we’d gone weeks without meat. The wind rattled the windows, cold seeping into every corner of our old farmhouse. I remember how my stomach growled, how the smell of wood smoke never quite chased away the ache. Even the wood stove in the living room couldn’t keep the chill out. I pulled my knees up to my chest. Hunger gnawed at us, making tempers short and the days stretch long. The snow outside was piled up past the porch rail, and it felt like the world had shrunk to just these four walls.

My grandpa was sharpening a hunting knife, giving Duke a cold, unsettling look. Our big yellow mutt. He was cowering in the mudroom corner.

The scrape of steel on stone carried down the hall. Every so often, Grandpa would pause, squinting at Duke with an intensity that made my skin crawl. I thought about what might happen next. Duke, usually so eager for scraps or a pat, pressed himself against the door, tail tucked. He whimpered, low and desperate.

Grandma caught on quick.

She always did. She stood at the kitchen sink, hands red from scrubbing potatoes, and when she saw Grandpa eyeing Duke, she set her jaw, getting ready for a fight she’d hoped she’d never have.

"Frank, how can you be so heartless? You’re really gonna kill the dog you raised up from a pup?"

Her voice cracked, just a little. That always happened when she was furious and scared at the same time. She wiped her hands on her apron, stepping between Grandpa and the mudroom, like she could shield Duke with nothing but her thin frame and stubbornness.

"Chickens are for six years, dogs for eight. Keep ‘em too long, they turn into something else." Grandpa paused, and I held my breath. "If he’s gone wild, we’re all in trouble."

He said it like it was gospel, some old mountain wisdom passed down with the family shotgun. That’s just how Grandpa talked. His eyes never left Duke, and for a second, I thought he might be right—there was something strange in the way Duke watched him back, something I’d never seen before.

"You actually believe that old wives’ tale?"

Grandma’s voice was sharper now. Her hands balled into fists. "You always said stories like that were nonsense. Now you want to use it as an excuse?"

For a second, I wished someone would say it was just talk. Grandma tried to snatch the knife away.

She lunged, but Grandpa twisted away, keeping the blade out of reach. The knife gleamed in the kitchen light, and for a heartbeat, everything was still except for the storm howling outside.

Grandpa shoved her aside—not rough, just firm.

He steadied her by the shoulders. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wasn’t going to let her get in the way. "Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Martha."

"I can see it in Duke’s eyes. Something’s off." Grandpa’s voice was low. "If we don’t do it tonight, it’ll be too late."

His words hung in the air, heavy as the snow on the roof. My chest tightened. The way he said it made me shiver, like maybe he saw something the rest of us couldn’t.

Grandma sat on the linoleum, stunned. Grandpa was usually so easygoing. Now, he was cold as ice.

She pressed her back to the cabinet, blinking hard. She tried to hold back tears. The kitchen felt smaller, and the old clock ticked louder than ever.

He shot her a glare. For a moment, nobody spoke.

His jaw clenched. The lines on his face looked deeper than ever. "That animal’s not right. If he’s gone wild, we’re all at risk."

Grandma muttered, "I just can’t bear it." She hugged her knees. "We’ve had him more than ten years."

Her voice was barely above a whisper. She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking gently as if trying to comfort herself.

Grandpa tested the knife’s edge with his thumb. He ignored her.

The blade drew a tiny bead of blood. Grandpa didn’t flinch. He wiped it on his jeans, eyes never leaving Duke.

"Eli, go get your Uncle Travis. Tie Duke’s legs. We’re doing this after dark."

He said it matter-of-fact, like he was sending me out for firewood. Not to help kill our dog. My stomach twisted, but I nodded and hurried upstairs.

I ran up to the attic. My legs felt heavy.

The attic stairs creaked with every step. Dust motes swirled in the slant of winter light. Uncle Travis was hunched over a crate, sorting through old hunting gear.

"Uncle Travis, Grandpa says... says to tie up Duke’s legs. We’re butchering him tonight."

The words felt sour in my mouth, and I could barely meet his eyes. I waited for him to say it was a joke, or that Grandpa was just blowing off steam. My heart thudded.

Uncle Travis’s face brightened. He paused, then grinned. "Finally, some real food."

He grinned, rubbing his hands together like he was about to carve the Thanksgiving turkey. I shivered. Travis had always been rougher than the rest of us. There was a hungry glint in his eyes that made me uneasy.

Folks around here said Uncle Travis was born under a bad sign—wolf-blooded, they joked. People say wolves are the bane of dogs, and it sure seemed true.

He wore that nickname like a badge. Always telling stories about wild things in the woods. The neighbors joked he had a mean streak, but nobody ever said it to his face.

Maybe Duke sensed it too. Or maybe he just knew the end was near. He shrank back, trembling.

Duke’s whole body quivered. His nails clicked against the linoleum as he tried to make himself invisible. His eyes darted between me and Travis, pleading for a mercy we couldn’t give.

Uncle Travis made quick work of tying Duke up tight.

He looped the rope around Duke’s legs with practiced hands. Not cruel, just efficient. Duke whined, but Travis just muttered, "Hush, boy."

"Dad, when do we do it?" I heard Travis ask, voice thin.

Travis straightened. He glanced at Grandpa through the doorway. His face was flushed, like he’d been running.

"Tonight."

Grandpa set the knife down, unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world.

He placed it carefully on the counter. Wiped his hands on a faded dish towel. The kitchen felt colder. The shadows deeper.

"Why wait till night?" Uncle Travis frowned.

He crossed his arms. Didn’t like the delay. "Why not just get it over with?"

Grandpa said, "Dogs are creatures of the day." He paused. "Night’s when the bad things come out." Another beat. "If you do it at night, nothing lingers."

He spoke in that low, serious voice. The one he used for things you couldn’t see but had to respect. It was the kind of logic that made sense only in the dark.

Uncle Travis just nodded. Didn’t really get it.

He shrugged, rolling his eyes a little, but he didn’t argue. Around here, you didn’t question Grandpa when his mind was set.

I went over to Duke. He was shaking all over.

I knelt down, careful not to spook him. His fur was coarse and warm under my hand. I could feel his heart thudding like a trapped rabbit’s.

"Duke, want a piece of caramel? It’s sweet."

I dug a sticky caramel from my pocket, offering it with a shaky hand. Duke sniffed it. Then licked my fingers, his tongue warm and desperate.

Duke looked up at me. His eyes shone with tears.

I swear, I’d never seen a dog look so human. For a moment, I thought he might speak, beg me to help him. Instead, he just pressed his head into my lap, whimpering.

"Martha, you need to boil water," Grandpa called. His voice cut through the kitchen.

His voice echoed through the house, snapping us all back to the task at hand. The old kettle rattled on the stove as Grandma filled it. Her hands shook just a little.

Grandma grumbled her way to the kitchen. Muttering under her breath.

She muttered under her breath about men and their foolishness, banging pots louder than she needed to. I could hear the anger in every clatter.

"You’re all outta your minds." She slammed a pot. "I’m sick of it," she muttered.

She shot Grandpa a look that could curdle milk. He ignored her. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

"Dad, can we do it yet?" Uncle Travis pressed, voice tight.

He paced by the door. Glanced out at the falling snow, like he couldn’t stand waiting another minute.

"Wait. Before we start, we gotta wash up. Scrub off any scent." Grandpa’s voice was steady. "Then we gotta burn some sage—keeps the spirit from tracking us."

Grandpa pulled a bundle of dried sage from the cupboard, waving it under my nose. The smell was sharp and earthy. It filled the kitchen with a strange calm.

"Killing a dog is this complicated?" Uncle Travis scoffed, shaking his head.

He snorted, shaking his head. Never seen so much fuss over a mutt.

Grandpa said, "Old family rule. Better safe than sorry." He looked at Duke. "We’ve had Duke fifteen years—he could’ve gone wild." Another pause. "His eyes have been strange lately."

He said it with a finality that made my stomach twist. Grandma just shook her head, lips pressed tight.

Soon, the water was ready. Grandma brought in a steaming bucket. Her face dark.

The steam fogged up her glasses. She set the bucket down with a thud. She didn’t say a word, but her silence was louder than any argument.

Grandpa tossed aside his old corncob pipe. "Bath time."

He set the pipe in the ashtray. Rolled up his sleeves. The air was thick with tension, and even the dog seemed to sense it.

Uncle Travis followed him into the side room. His boots heavy on the floor.

He cracked his knuckles, grinning like he was heading into a football game. I hung back, not wanting to see what came next.

Grandma glanced at me, then slipped out quietly. Not a sound.

She moved like a ghost, silent and quick. I watched her disappear down the hall. Her footsteps muffled by the old rug.

I heard her whispering to Duke. "Poor thing, you don’t deserve this."

Her voice was soft, almost singing. Duke licked her hand, tail wagging weakly. It was the kind of goodbye you give when you know you won’t see someone again.

A little later, Grandma came back in. A faint, almost secret smile at the corner of her mouth.

She wiped her hands on her apron and busied herself with the dishes. Every so often, I caught her glancing toward the mudroom, eyes shining with something I couldn’t quite name.

Grandpa came out. The moon hung over the tall maples. His brow was furrowed deep.

He stood at the window, staring out at the night. The moonlight made his face look older. The lines etched deeper than ever.

"What’s wrong?" Uncle Travis asked, voice thin.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Trying to sound casual, but his voice a little shaky.

"Something’s off." Grandpa’s eyes narrowed. "That mutt might really be turning mean." He pointed. "Look—the moon’s got a streak of red tonight."

Grandpa’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if he was afraid the moon might hear him. He pointed out the window, and I saw it too—a thin red haze bleeding across the sky.

"Old folks say, ‘When a blood moon rises, wild things wake up.’" Grandpa’s lips pressed tight. "Real funny timing."

Uncle Travis rubbed his eyes, looked again. "I don’t see it."

He squinted, but all he saw was snow and shadows. "You sure, Dad? Maybe you just need some sleep."

"Dad, are you seeing things?"

Travis tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. The old stories didn’t seem so funny anymore.

Grandpa looked up again, more careful this time.

He pressed his forehead to the glass. Searching the sky like he was looking for an answer only he could see.

"Now! Do it now—" Grandpa barked. "Don’t wait." He was urgent. "If the moon passes overhead, we’ll lose our chance."

His voice was sharp, urgent. I’d never seen Grandpa move so fast. Suddenly, everyone was scrambling.

Suddenly urgent, Grandpa grabbed the knife. He strode toward Duke.

His boots thudded against the floor. Each step heavy with purpose. The kitchen seemed to shrink around us, the air thick with fear.

As he walked, he peeled off his black wool coat.

He tossed it onto the table, shoulders squared, jaw set. The coat landed in a heap. For a moment, it looked like a shadow crawling across the wood.

He and Uncle Travis reached Duke in a few strides. Oddly, Duke wasn’t scared anymore.

Duke sat up, ears perked. Eyes shining with a strange calm. It was like he’d made peace with whatever was about to happen.

Uncle Travis said, "Weird. He’s not scared of me now."

He sounded almost disappointed. Like he missed the old days when Duke would cower at his approach.

Grandpa didn’t reply. Just looked darker.

He gripped the knife tighter. His face set in a grim mask. The room was silent except for the wind howling outside.

He threw his coat over Duke’s head. The room held its breath.

The heavy wool smothered Duke’s face, and for a second, everything was still. I held my breath, heart pounding in my chest.

"Eli, get back—don’t let him get your scent."

Grandpa’s voice was harsh. I scrambled backward, tripping over my own feet in my hurry to get away.

I bolted.

I ducked behind the kitchen table, peeking out just enough to see what happened next. My hands shook so bad I nearly dropped the caramel still sticky in my palm.

Grandpa braced himself. Plunged the knife toward Duke’s neck.

Time seemed to slow. The blade flashing in the moonlight. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see.

"Awooo!"

Duke let out a wild howl. Broke free, and leapt into the backyard in a single bound.

The sound was like nothing I’d ever heard—a mix of pain, rage, and something ancient. The back door banged open. Duke shot into the snow, leaving a trail of paw prints behind.

"Travis, get him! Don’t let him get away!" Grandpa shouted, voice raw.

His words echoed through the house. For a second, even the storm seemed to pause. Travis grabbed the knife and tore after Duke, boots crunching on the frozen ground.

Uncle Travis bolted into the yard, knife in hand.

He slipped in the snow, cursing under his breath, but kept going. The moonlight made everything look strange. Shadows stretching across the yard.

Duke bared his teeth in a strange grin. Then stood up on his hind legs. With a crouch, he sprang straight onto the shed roof, nearly fifteen feet high.

We all stared, mouths open. It was impossible, but there he was—yellow fur gleaming, eyes fixed on the moon.

"Awooo! Awooo!"

He stretched his neck to the moon and howled. The sound long and haunting.

The cry sent shivers down my spine. I saw neighbors’ porch lights flicker on, as if everyone felt the same chill.

Clang! Uncle Travis’s knife hit the ground.

The blade skittered across the ice, landing with a dull thud by the woodpile. Travis just stood there, staring up at Duke. His face pale as the snow.

Duke lingered a moment. Then vanished into the moonlit woods.

He moved like a shadow, slipping between the trees until he was swallowed by the darkness. The only thing left was his howl, echoing through the night.

"Dad, what just happened?" Uncle Travis was stunned.

He stumbled back toward the house, eyes wide. Mouth working but no words coming out.

"That dog’s gone wild. This is bad."

Grandpa’s voice was low, almost a growl. He stared at the spot where Duke disappeared. Jaw clenched tight.

"What?"

Uncle Travis shook his head, trying to make sense of it. "He was just a dog, Dad. Just a dog."

Sweat stood out on Uncle Travis’s forehead. He’d always been hardest on Duke, kicking him when annoyed.

Now, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand, looking guilty. I wondered if Duke remembered every time Travis had been mean to him.

"Dad, what do we do now?"

Uncle Travis was a wreck. Panicking.

He ran his hands through his hair, pacing in circles. The kitchen felt too small. The air too thin.

Grandpa wiped his brow. "Lock every door and window. No matter what, nobody goes outside tonight, or we’re in real trouble."

He spoke with a finality that brooked no argument. I hurried to the windows, checking the latches. My hands shaking.

Grandma said, "Great—now Duke’s coming back for revenge."

She folded her arms, lips pressed tight. I could tell she was scared, even if she tried to hide it behind sarcasm.

Grandpa shot her a look. That shut her up.

His glare was enough to silence anyone. Grandma turned away, busying herself with the kettle. But her hands trembled.

That night, dogs barked up and down the county road.

It started as a low growl, then built to a chorus—dozens of dogs, their voices rising and falling like a storm. I pressed my face to the window, heart thudding. Watching shadows dart across the snow.

In the deep of night, dozens of dogs from neighboring farms crowded into our yard, forming tight circles. Duke stood upright in the center, almost human.

They moved in eerie unison, eyes glinting in the moonlight. Duke stood taller than I remembered, his silhouette sharp against the snow. For a second, I thought I saw him smile.

"Awooo!"

At his command, several big dogs stepped out. Began scratching at the door.

The sound was frantic, claws scraping wood, making my skin crawl. I backed away, clutching my caramel like a lucky charm.

Duke stared at the house, then looked up. Bowed his head to the blood-red moon.

The sight sent a chill through me. He looked almost regal, like a king paying tribute to something older than any of us.

I whispered, "Grandpa, Duke’s bowing."

My voice shook, barely more than a breath. I tugged at Grandpa’s sleeve, afraid to look away from the window.

"Shh! I see it too." Grandpa’s eyes narrowed. "That dog’s gone wild, drawing on the moon." He squeezed my shoulder. "He’s giving thanks."

Grandpa’s voice was tight. Eyes never leaving Duke. He gripped my shoulder, holding me close.

"Travis, at first light I’ll fetch Mrs. Mallory from the next town. You all stay inside. That beast still fears me a bit. Don’t open up for anything." Grandpa gave his orders.

His words came out clipped. No room for argument. I nodded, swallowing hard.

Mrs. Mallory was a spirit medium from over in Maple Heights. Known for her odd ways and real talent.

She was the kind of woman people whispered about in church, but when trouble came, everyone called her first. Folks said she could talk to the dead and scare off anything that didn’t belong in this world.

Uncle Travis was shaking.

He hugged himself, eyes darting to the windows. I’d never seen him so rattled.

"Got it, Dad," he squeaked, barely audible.

His voice was small. Nothing like the man who’d grinned at the thought of fresh meat.

Only at dawn did the dogs finally leave. The howling faded as the sun rose.