Matt spun the wheel hard, navigating another hair-raising bend in the narrow gravel road. He glanced at the clock on the dash. Midnight. His wife called it the witching hour – a time of ghosts and magic. He wasn’t superstitious like Penny, but tonight, hemmed in by the dark forest, he could almost believe it. Matt stifled a yawn and turned on the radio. Music would help him stay awake. He’d been up since dawn.
What was that? Something swift crossed the corner of his vision and Matt slammed on the brakes. They gave a tortured squeal, but it was too late. He felt the sickening thud of metal on flesh. Matt cursed and stopped the car. Nothing showed in the headlights. No trace of the shadow that had raced across the road.
Shoulders hunched against the cold, Matt walked back along the corrugated track. The fog was a night shroud swallowing the torchlight. There – sprawled on the rutted roadside. He knelt down and felt its warmth, felt the final fragile flutters of life until the animal was beyond fear or care. It lay quite still now. Blood oozed from its mouth and nose, and moon shadows striped its coat.
Matt could barely breathe. This couldn’t be. He shook his head, hot tears flowing as the impossible became reality. A dog? No – a phantom.