Chapter 5: The Ledger
Chapter 5: The Ledger
Clara stood before the dilapidated remains of the Thorne family house, heart pounding in her chest.
It had once been beautiful, she could tell whitewashed siding, carved shutters, and a porch that wrapped around like a warm embrace. But time hadn’t been kind. The windows were boarded, the paint peeled in long, curling strips, and the front door hung slightly off its hinges. Vines choked the porch pillars, and the whole structure leaned just enough to suggest it might collapse if she breathed too hard.
She took a step forward.
The wood groaned beneath her boots. Every instinct screamed to turn around. But she pushed through, gripping her flashlight like a weapon and easing open the door.
Inside, the air was stale. Dust motes danced in the beam of her light, and the faint smell of mildew mingled with something older something like forgotten memories.
She stepped into the main hall.
“Okay,” she whispered, “he said it was in the study.”
The floor creaked with every step. Family portraits still clung crookedly to the walls faded faces behind cracked glass. A younger Liam stared out from one of them, standing between a stern-looking man with stormy eyes and a woman with a soft smile. Clara paused a moment, staring into those eyes. She could see where Liam had inherited his burden.
The study was at the back of the house. She found it by the cold fireplace and the towering bookshelves. Most of the furniture was covered in white sheets, ghost-like in the dark. One corner of the room had collapsed, letting in vines and moonlight.
She moved to the desk. Dust covered everything.
It took her twenty minutes to find the false panel.
She discovered it when her hand knocked a brass candlestick from the edge of the bookshelf and it hit the floor with a hollow clunk. She crouched down and found a loose board beneath the carpet. Carefully, she pried it open.
Inside was a leather-bound ledger, old and cracked, its cover dark with age.
She took it out gently, flipping it open.
The first page was handwritten in tight, neat script.
“This record is for those who remember. Who dare to see. The beast is real. It walks among us.”
Clara’s pulse quickened. She turned the page.
Names. Dates. Descriptions.
March 3, 1959 – Margaret Whitlow reports hearing a voice in the woods calling her dead husband’s name.
August 14, 1964 – Benjamin Crane found near Warden Tree. Mauled. Still breathing. Died before dawn.
January 2, 1970 – Harold Bell claims to have seen the beast change. “It was human. It was one of us.”
Page after page of horror. Clara’s hands trembled.
Then she found something else.
October 1997 – My son Liam was born this night. The same night the beast killed again. I fear what this means. I will raise him strong. But I cannot protect him from what he may become.
Clara froze. The ink was darker here more hurried.
Liam had never mentioned this. Had his father suspected him? Or was he trying to protect him from something darker?
She turned the page.
April 2003 I saw the beast again. And this time I saw its eyes in the light. It was…
The ink trailed off. The next page was torn out.
“No,” Clara whispered, flipping forward. “No no”
The following pages were blank.
Whoever had written this had stopped just as they were about to name the creature.
She slammed the book shut and stood. Her breath was quick, and sweat dampened her brow despite the cold. She needed to get back to Liam. He had to see this. They needed answers and fast.
Then she heard it.
A footstep on the porch.
Clara whipped around, the flashlight shaking in her grip. “Hello?” she called.
Silence.
Then another step. Heavier.
Closer.
She crept toward the door and peeked through the crack.
At first, she saw nothing.
Then something moved just beyond the porch railing. A shadow.
She backed away slowly, clutching the ledger to her chest.
The front door creaked open.
Clara ran.
Out the side door, through the kitchen, and into the back garden now overgrown with weeds and thorny vines. Her foot snagged on a root, and she fell, the ledger skidding from her hands.
She snatched it back up and didn’t stop running until she reached the main road. The moon overhead was full and bright—no longer red, but cold and merciless.
When she finally reached the church, breathless and scraped, she found Liam already sitting up.
“You were right,” she said, thrusting the ledger into his hands. “Your father kept everything.”
Liam opened it slowly, his eyes scanning the entries. His jaw clenched when he reached the page about his birth.
“I didn’t know he suspected me,” he said quietly. “He never said anything.”
“He was afraid,” Clara said. “But not of you. Of what you might face.”
Liam nodded. “This name here,” he said, pointing to an entry. “Harold Bell. He said he saw the beast change. But they ran him out of town years ago. Said he was a drunk.”
“Where did he go?”
“To the cabins up past the ridge. He’s the only one still alive from the old generation. If anyone knows the truth, it’s him.”
Clara nodded. “Then we go see him.”
Liam looked out the basement window. The moon had begun to sink. Dawn wasn’t far.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow we learn everything.”
Clara sat beside him, her heart still racing.
The werewolf was real. The town’s silence was real.
And now, they had a name to chase—and maybe, just maybe, a way to end the curse.