Anya shivered in the warm summer night. The air was heavy with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. The low, guttural growth in the woods surrounding Willow Creek shivered her spine. She had heard stories of a creature haunting the woods: the werewolf. A terrifying legend passed down through generations, whispered in hushed tones around crackling campfires. But Anya never believed. Tonight, however, the growl was different. It wasn't the playful bark of a stray dog, it was something primal, a savage. Something had sent her primal fear through her veins. The worn leather journal in her hand was filled with her grandfather's meticulous notes on the town's history and the werewolf legend. He was a man of science, but his obsession with the beast had consumed him in his later years. Anya had always dismissed it as a harmless eccentricity, but the recent disappearances in Willow Creek had made her question everything. Just then, a flash of movement caught her attention. A dark shadow ran across the clearing, disappearing into dense undergrowth. Anya's heart was hammered against her ribs. She knew she should leave, but an irresistible curiosity held her captive. Taking a deep breath, she ventured deeper into the woods, following the path her grandfather had marked on his map. The air was colder, and the trees seemed to press in on her, whispering secrets that she could not decipher. The scent of pine needles gave way to a musky odor that churned her stomach. Anya reached a clearing, a small stream trembling through the center. She saw it on the bank. A mangled deer, whose fur was torn and blood stained the grass crimson. Anya gasped, her eyes widening as she realized the truth. The deer were not just killed; they were torn apart. The tooth marks were long and sharp, not like the bite of a dog. They were too large and too jagged. Anya could feel the cold hand gripping her heart. She had seen these marks in her grandfather's journal, next to a sketch of a monstrous, wolf-like creature. The werewolf was real.