The Shapeshifter in the Woods

The Shapeshifter in the Woods

Malcom had lived beside the woods for twelve quiet years. They pressed close to his back fence, thick with old trees and darker rumours, yet nothing had ever crossed the line into his life. Not until the night he heard the dog.

The sound was wrong. Not barking, not whining, but a broken, desperate choking cry that snagged his nerves. Malcom grabbed a torch and stepped into the trees, calling out, his breath fogging in the cold air. The beam caught movement ahead, low to the ground, then something taller rose up behind it.

At first he thought it was a man. Then it changed.

Its shape bent and lengthened, joints snapping into places they should never be. Skin rippled like wet clay, reforming, stretching. Its eyes caught the torchlight and burned back at him, wide and empty, too many reflections swimming inside them. Its mouth opened wider than any mouth should, a throttling black hollow, pulling the small dog up by the scruff as it thrashed helplessly.

Malcom did the only thing his terror allowed. He grabbed a stone, then another, and hurled them with all the force he had. The second stone struck the thing’s shoulder. It shrieked, a sound like water being dragged through metal, and dropped the dog.

The creature twisted away, limbs folding in on themselves, and crawled with impossible speed toward the pond at the edge of the woods. The water rippled once, then went still. The woods fell silent, as if nothing had ever been there at all.

Malcom stood shaking for a long time before he realised the dog was pressed against his leg, trembling just as hard. He searched for its owner for weeks. No one came forward. In the end, he kept the dog, believing some things bind survivors together forever.

Within months, Malcom put his house up for sale. He could not sleep near the woods anymore. Every night, he heard that sound again. Every night, he saw those eyes.

They moved to the city, far from trees and ponds. Still, to this day, Malcom dreams of the most terrifying sighting of his life. He has never told anyone. Some things, once seen, should never be spoken aloud.