In the New Jersey Pine Barrens, where the trees grow dense and the roads give way to tangled wilderness, something stirs. The locals say you can hear it on the coldest nights—a high-pitched shriek, something not quite human, not quite beast.

The stories go back centuries. Some say it was a curse, an omen of misfortune that slithered into this world on a storm-wracked night. Others claim it was the child of a mother who, in her desperation or her rage, called upon the Devil himself. The details shift with time, but the warning remains the same: stay out of the pines after dark.

Because if you listen closely, past the rustling leaves and the distant howl of the wind, you might just hear the beat of leathery wings.

And by then, it’s already too late.

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