Deputy Margaret Keller swallowed the last bite of her cheeseburger.

The night was uncomfortably warm, and Marge was annoyed as hell at her dreary post. Crickets chipped all around her, whispering secrets of the forest that only they were privy to. A lone moth hovered around the headlights, enchanted by the glow. But Marge was too upset to notice.

Just my luck, she thought. No speeders tonight. Not even a tipsy driver.

All was quiet on Forest Highway 89.

Then she got the call.

"Any units in the area, please respond. We've got a disturbance at the tower in DJ. Caution is advised."

Marge recognized the voice on the radio. Shantel. She'd always liked Shantel. Marge thrust her hand through the open window and grabbed the receiver. Her response was illegible, words garbled as she used her tongue to dislodge a piece of beef stuck in her teeth.

"What was that, Deputy?"

"Sorry," Marge said, reaching for the mega cup of soda on the bonnet of her cruiser. "I'm in the area. I'll take care of it." She took a long sip. "Oh — tell my dad that I said this job sucks."

A chuckle on the other end. "He said he loves you too."

Marge emptied the soda cup on the grass and tossed the trash onto the passenger seat of her cruiser. Then she slid in, put the car into gear, and pulled out onto the highway. Beads of salty sweat began to dot her forehead, and her brown jacket seemed tighter than normal. The radio crackled as she drove, her blue eyes catching the markers leading to her destination. Deer Junction. Bingo. But she didn't get out.

Instead, Marge turned off the lights and coasted for a little while more, hoping to surprise whoever it was that had tripped the silent alarm.

Another crackle from the radio.

She found herself growing impatient as the dry air seemed to suck out her very soul. Stuck in a car with the windows rolled up wasn't helping either. She shrugged off her jacket, grabbed her gun, and got out.

Marge positioned a powerful flashlight underneath the butt of her gun as she crept through the park. The beam of light guided her further into the thick forest of Deer Junction, and away from the designated paths.

The crickets were louder here, and a chorus of frogs could be heard from the pond about half a mile down on the right. The trees grew tall and close together in this part of the park. Good cover for the deer and shady criminals, Marge mused. Despite the hot air, a slow chill crept through her body as a stray thought fluttered through her mind.

Wasn't that dead boy found in this area last month?

Strips of fear wrapped themselves around her throat, squeezing tighter the more she advanced.

A twig snapped.

Marge whirled to the right, then left, her hands unusually shaky. The smell of fresh earth and leafy decay clung to her nose for some reason. And something else. Something tinny that she couldn't quite identify. She breathed out slowly, trying to regain her composure.

I'm just being paranoid, she told herself. Probably a bunch of teenagers trying to climb the tower again.

But as Marge turned to her left and a sliver of the milky-white full moon caught her eye, she swallowed the lump in her throat and regretted the decision to come alone.

She didn't believe the stories. She didn't. But they certainly left an impression on her. It wasn't until the moonlight touched her body through a large break in the trees that she noticed the pin on her shirt.

Marge swore.

She'd forgotten to give the lucky emerald broach back to her mother. She bowed her head and the metallic scent of the broach filled her nose. The gears in her mind were already turning.

Metallic, tinny, decay, fresh earth. . .blood.

Marge gasped and picked up speed, darting through the underbrush as she tried to follow the scent. Her heavy boots crunched dried leaves and stone, and the beam from the flashlight bobbed from side to side.

Above, the stars had all but disappeared as a flash of lightning lit up the sky. And just as Marge burst into a clearing, the thunder masked her shrill scream.

The metal tower was a few feet ahead.

It stood almost as tall as the trees and served as a recreational climbing structure. Right now, it was covered in a black substance. Splashes and jagged lines drawn in—

Marge couldn't breathe.

She flicked off the safety on her gun and inched forward, eyes and light fixed on the hollow mass a few feet away from the foot of the tower. Her body was rigid and cold despite the boiling air.

A flash of lightning, and the scene was filled with color. Red. Not black. The tower was covered in red.

Another flash followed by angry thunder, and Marge stepped up to the dark hole.

She felt the burger rise in her throat, and she dropped her flashlight. Falling to her knees, she gripped the ground and heaved up her dinner. The burger, the fries, the onion rings, the cherry soda.

At the back of her mind, she knew she shouldn't contaminate the crime scene. She knew vomiting all over evidence was never a good thing.

Another flash, and the mangled bodies of five human men showed bright and clear against the deep brown of the earthy hole.

With shaky hands, Marge reached for her radio. But it wasn't there. She vaguely remembered pushing it into the grove under the glove box. She swore again as she stumbled to her feet, ready to run back to the cruiser.

Then she heard it — a growl. Deep and guttural . . . and right behind her.

The red hair on her neck stood up, and she shivered. It's just a bear, she thought. Just a bear. That boy was killed by a bear. Her lungs refused to work, her arms felt like jelly. And a streak of lightning hit the top of a tree, igniting an inferno.

Marge could smell the burning wood, she could feel the searing heat as more trees began to catch alight. But she didn't dare move. She couldn't. Because it didn't sound like a bear. . .

A chilling howl filled her ears, and her training kicked in.

She swung around, aimed her gun, and fired in the direction of the howl.

Thunder, 15 rapid rounds, and a bloodcurdling scream as Marge was sent soaring over the hole by a heavy paw.

She crashed through the wooden fence surrounding the tower and hit the ground with a thud. Her gun had fallen into the hole. Marge groaned, breathless and body aching, as she used her elbows to push herself upright. She was sure her back was covered in splinters.

A black blur moved closer, and Marge gasped.

She watched as the creature slithered into view, it's movement like liquid. Light from the orange flames danced along its fur. Sleek, thick, black fur. Marge saw the glowing green eyes, the grotesque body, the teeth, and she knew. She knew. It was no bear.

And it was headed right for her.

Hi, guys! Welcome to Blood Shift. I hope you've enjoyed your stay.

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