Day Seventy-Six: The Eerie Voice (Part One) — Additional Chapter for Bewitching the Sect Leader

Last night was nothing short of a nightmare.

I stayed awake for most of the night, several times tempted to go out and check, yet held back by fear.

It had to be a large creature—absolutely, I could guarantee it! And definitely more than one. My mind raced with countless possibilities.

It started around midnight when I was suddenly awakened by a violent noise. The sound was loud, interspersed with fierce howls—animal cries, of that I was certain, and it sounded like a fight.

There were crashes, agonized screams, and heavy trampling. I tried to peek through the door crack, but the moon had slipped entirely behind the clouds, leaving everything outside shrouded in darkness. I could barely make out anything beyond five meters.

A roar! An angry animal’s cry!

A howl! Another species, wailing in distress.

The calls alternated repeatedly, and the unsettling thing was that the sounds seemed to be drawing closer to the treehouse. My tension mounted. Even Blackie and Lightning woke up. Blackie perked his ears and listened intently, several times almost barking, but I stopped him.

Until I knew what animals were out there, I didn’t want to provoke them. I feared Blackie’s barking might attract their attention. Most importantly, from the sounds alone, it was clear this wasn’t a solitary animal fighting, but a group.

If it was bears, or some other beast—leopards? Wolves?—could I handle them? No. So I wanted to identify them first. I didn’t even know which of these animals traveled in packs.

My pistol was already in my hand, my axe tucked at my waist. In a place like this, no reinforcements would come—except for Blackie, of course. So I had to rely solely on myself. I firmly believed in being prepared.

Crash, bang, howl! The series of sounds nearly made my heart leap out of my chest—not from cowardice, but from the fear of the unknown. Judging by the direction and distance, there was an eighty percent chance the wall had been broken down. Yes, that shattering noise, the dull thud of something falling—surely the fence.

Damn it, the newly built fence was already torn down in one section. Yet that also served as a grim reminder: these animals must be strong and numerous. Otherwise, given the fence’s sturdiness, even wild boars would have to ram it several times to break through.

The noise grew closer, nearing the treehouse. The door was already ajar. I half-stuck my body out, trying to see what creatures lurked outside.

But the group chased each other toward the back of the treehouse. In such pitch darkness, ensuring my safety was difficult. I hesitated for nearly ten minutes, unsure whether to step out or stay in.

And it was this hesitation that cost me the chance. They resumed their chase and rushed through the broken section of the fence!

When I finally stepped outside, there was no sign of them, not even a shadow. Of course, I didn’t dare inspect the fence, not knowing if they were still nearby. Approaching at that moment would have been reckless.

I calmed Blackie, brought him back inside, and firmly closed the door. But with my mind so alert, sleep was impossible. Especially with so many questions gnawing at me—the answers eluded me, and my thoughts refused to still.

Lying in bed, I imagined all sorts of animals, even conjuring up African lions—only to dismiss such notions as absurd.

I couldn’t recall when I finally fell asleep.

So I woke late today, well past noon. When I opened the door, the dazzling sunlight blinded me completely. It took several seconds to readjust.

As I had suspected, last night’s battle must have been fierce. Though I found no blood, the trampled wild grass spoke volumes about the number of uninvited guests.

Yet, thanks to days of dry weather, the ground was hard, leaving no footprints. I couldn’t use tracks to identify them.

I inspected the fence again. It was slightly better than I’d feared. Thanks to the vines securing it, only two horizontal logs had been knocked down—likely rammed with great force, breaking the vines.

Estimating the size of the animal that broke those vines, it had to weigh at least three hundred pounds, maybe more. I knew because I had tried to ram the fence myself—no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t snap those vine-bound logs, only shake them.

After all, the logs were buried in the earth and interconnected, making the fence quite sturdy. But this was only a preliminary assumption. The fallen logs had been lifted and examined more closely.

And then I found it—a clear mark on the logs, evidence of having been stabbed or gouged by something sharp or hard.

That mark overturned my earlier thoughts. Honestly, the first thing that came to mind was wild boars. Here, only wild boars have hard, exposed tusks capable of such damage.

Now, I was puzzled—were a group of wild boars chasing some other animal, or was a pack chasing the boars?

If it was the former, the threat to me would be less. Wild boars are omnivores; as long as I stay cautious, they probably wouldn’t target me again. Perhaps last time I startled a mother with piglets, or maybe the fruit I was eating was something they prized, or I inadvertently blocked their path. But normally, wild boars aren’t so aggressive, right?

But if it was the latter, a pack chasing wild boars, that would be a hunt. The answer was clear—they’d have to be carnivores, and the fact that they could terrify wild boars into fleeing recklessly meant they were a serious threat.

Hyenas? Wolves? Regardless, a pack of carnivores would be far more dangerous and make survival here even more difficult.

No, I had to take precautions—alarm devices, simple traps. After repairing the fence, I’d set traps around the yard. They had to be effective yet safe enough to prevent Blackie from triggering them. That would be a challenge.

“Wait, what’s this?” The small garden had also been invaded!

A patch of flowers was trampled. I had watered the garden just before bed last night—a coincidence. Usually, I watered in the morning, since watering at noon under the scorching sun would harden the soil and kill the plants.

But yesterday morning, I’d forgotten, only remembering at night.

Parting the crushed wildflowers, a distinct footprint emerged before my eyes.