Marcus Thorne’s fingers hovered over his laptop keys as that familiar feeling grew in him like a spreading bushfire.
Three days in this goddam cabin, and all he had to show for it was an empty Word document, a floor full of crisps wrappers, and a well-used backspace key. Some retreat this turned out to be.
Outside, the thick pine forest of Saaremaa appeared dark and murky against the twilight of the late Estonian summer. Many miles separated the tiny cabin from the nearest house. Marcus sighed and closed the laptop. A short walk would freshen him up.
As he sat on a bench on the porch, pulling on his boots, the atmosphere changed. The familiar whoosh of the trees in the breeze had abruptly stopped. Now there was only unnatural silence, like he was being watched. His neck felt prickly.
Marcus was about to enter the forest from the edge of the long garden when a new sound disrupted the strange silence. A low, elongated moan, like the subterranean creaking of an ancient ship. He stood stiff, peering slowly around him. There was no wind, no rushing in the trees. Nothing to explain the intruding tone.
The sonorous groan grew louder, surrounding him as it cut through the silence. Marcus spun, wide-eyed, trying to catch where it was coming from. It seemed to come at him from everywhere and nowhere…
