Page 1 of Howling Night

ChapterOne

I didn’t look back when I left my little apartment in downtown Chicago. To hell with big cities and to hell with all the people in them.

With a satisfying thud, I dropped the last cardboard box on the kitchen counter. Dust particles danced in the late afternoon sunlight, streaming through the small window of my new home.

My new home.

The phrase still felt strange, like shoes that hadn’t been broken in yet. In the city I rented, which meant I had neighbors… noisy neighbors. I had a landlord and someone to take care of things when they broke.

Now, I had a house. It was cozy, but it was a house, and it was all mine. It’s too bad it took a good chunk of my savings just for the down payment.

“Welcome to Birchwood Hollow, Everly,” I announced to the empty house, my voice echoing slightly against the bare walls.

The house wasn’t much — two bedrooms, one bath, a combined kitchen and dining area with a small living room at the front of the house. The wood paneling in every room hadn’t been updated since at least the 1970s, but the whole place was mine. Or at least it would be when I finished paying it off in thirty years.

I shuffled to the couch I’d managed to position against the living room wall earlier today with help from the moving company. My muscles screamed in protest as I flopped down, a cloud of dust rising from the cushions. The six-hour drive from Chicago had been grueling enough without the subsequent unpacking marathon.

“That’s everything, Miss Montana,” the muscular man said as he tapped a knuckle on the door frame.

“Oh!” I said, pushing myself up. I handed him two folded twenties. “Thanks for your help.”

“Very kind of you, ma’am,” he said, tipping an invisible hat. “Have a good rest of your day.”

I pressed my lips into a forced smile. “Thanks, you too.”

I closed the door, watching them start the truck and drive off from the small window at the front of the house. The tires spewed dust and gravel as they sped down the driveway and onto the road that would take them to town or the highway.

From where I stood, I could see the neighbor’s house across the road. It wasn’t in the best condition, with stained siding and all sorts of junk piled up around the property. The windows were dark, and I wasn’t even sure if anyone lived there.

Birchwood Hollow was already a drastic change from Chicago, and I hadn’t done more than drive down the main drag of the small town with a population of not more than 5,000. The nearest big city… St. Paul.

It was so small that the woman at the gas station immediately knew I was the young woman who bought Old Man Harrison’s place. He moved to Florida to enjoy his retirement.

It was also remote enough that my cell service had been spotty since I crossed the state line. But that was perfect. It was exactly what I wanted… to disappear.

My house sat at the edge of town, backing up to the woods that eventually led down to one of the many lakes’ shorelines. From the kitchen window, I could just make out a sliver of blue between the trees. It wasn’t the lakefront view I’d had from my Chicago apartment, but at least it was quiet and I was alone. Far away from assholes.

I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow I’d start looking for a job. Something simple. Cashiering at the local market, maybe. Or waitressing at the diner I’d passed on my way into town.

Nothing like my old, stressful corporate position. Nothing that would require me to dress up in my business clothes and boss people around. That wasn’t me anymore. That was never me.

I closed my eyes. That’s exactly what I’d come here to escape. Those thoughts. Those memories. That woman I’d become.

I was sick and tired of putting up with all the bullshit, both in business and in my personal life. Especially when it came to men. I was done with men. All men. I hadn’t met one that wasn’t a selfish bastard who wasn’t also controlling and emotionally manipulative.

Exhaustion washed over me like a tide, and I surrendered to it gladly. The boxes and mess would still be there when I woke up.

A persistent ringing dragged me from the depths of sleep. My phone buzzed angrily on the coffee table, bouncing bit by bit toward the edge. Through the window, the light had shifted to early evening.

I fumbled for the phone, squinting at the screen.

“Annie,” I said, sounding out of breath. “Shit, sorry. I meant to call.”

“Everly Rose Montana,” she scolded. “You had me worried sick.”

My brow wrinkled. “Worried about what?”

“I don’t know… that a bear or a wolf ate you or something,” she said, her voice cracking with the fading service.

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