During the day, Michelle had tried to focus on her job. She had tried to push the memories away, but in the evening, when she should've been working on her dissertation, she had researched all online academic libraries for evidence of shape shifting deer instead.

Shape shifting deer however existed solely in fiction.

So long story short, Michelle couldn't have seen what she thought she saw.

Yet every night in her dreams, her stag came for her ... with his soul-searching gaze, his majestic antlers, his musky, forest scent.

"The night is ours," he said in a commanding, deep baritone. Ours ... the more she heard him say it, the stronger her conviction that 'ours' could, no should, include her. The night should be theirs, his and hers alone.

When she woke up, sweaty and bothered, she was quick to shake such nonsense out of her head and get her act together.

The car-mechanic that came to put in a new wind shield and airbag, took one look at the truck and whistled through his teeth. "And the deer got away unharmed? Must've been some deer."

Michelle refrained from answering, only smirked wryly, because yeah ... it had been 'some' deer.

"She's not sure it was unharmed, only that it got away," grandpa huffed.

He had been in something of a mood since the accident and Michelle offering to pay for the damages had done little to improve it. "Money is not the point," the old man had said, "the point is that I repeatedly told you to stay off that road after nightfall and now look what happened. Thank God you've only hurt your hand."

She had considered telling him that the stag had changed into some sort of a man but decided against it. He was already fussing more than she could handle, so she had made an appointment to have her head checked out without telling him.

Her head was fine.

She felt oddly unsatisfied by the physician's declaration. "Not even a little concussion?" she tried.

"You're not showing any signs." The doctor put down her little flash light, removed her gloves and slid back behind her desk.

"Is it possible that the images in my head do not match reality?" Michelle wasn't sure how to go about it, too embarrassed to tell her what she thought she had seen. "Is it possible, for instance, that I think I've seen a deer, but that it was actually a dog or a boar?"

"A boar?" The doctor started filling out some paperwork. "Could be. People are often confused after a collision, especially in the dark. Everything happens fast and unexpected. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

Michelle stared at her from the treatment table, still not knowing what to make of it.

"The bill will be mailed to you," the doctor said without looking up from her files.

"Of course." Michelle slid off the table and returned to Pine Grove Forest, a confused bundle of frustration.

On the fifth day, it took her everything she had to focus on the animals in front of her instead of the stag in her mind. She saw eighteen dogs for a routine check-up, repeating 'good boy, good girl' on autopilot even when they weren't. She prescribed diet food for an obese cat and consoled the owner of a knocked-up rabbit. "How is that even possible? The vendor assured us they were both males," the lady sniffed, so Michelle turned the rabbit upside down and showed her this one was most definitely not. Exhausted, she finally traded her white coat for her parka and walked down the road to the place of the accident.

A light drizzle filled the air with petrichor. Grey clouds prevented her from seeing the sun but it was still light out and would be for at least another hour. Except for a few shards of glass and the black trail left behind by her shifting tires, there was nothing to see. Not a single trace of the stag.

There was no immediate reason for her heart to go in overdrive when she ventured between the row of trees where the stag had disappeared, but it did. Her heart hammered and her mouth dried up, her palms turned sweatier with every step she took, yet the forest was painstakingly ordinary with its needle-covered soil, pine smell, and chirping birds.

The ferns waved gently with the breeze, sheltering mushroom families underneath, and she halted a moment to trace the layers of wavy fungi growing on the bark of a tree. It was all very lovely and normal, the sort of thing that usually had a soothing effect on her, but today didn't. What was supposed to feel calming, now send goosebumps up her arms and she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

She made her way back through the trees, looking for a sign of the stag. She could feel his presence. Why didn't he show himself? Because he was furious with her? He had no right to be. It was still light out. She wasn't breaking any rules. She would never go looking for trouble deliberately.

When she reached grandpa's meadow, no stag had made its presence known, but reluctant to leave, she sagged against a lonely birch tree, wrapping her arms around it and enjoying the feel of its smooth bark against her cheek.

"What the fluttery folly are you doing? In this weather? And it'll be dark soon." A croaky voice made her jump back. She blinked the rain from her eyelids and recognised the old man next to her as a friend of her grandfather.

"Mister Greyhound, you scared me. I wasn't expecting you here."

Amidst a circle of crow's feet, his light blue eyes twinkled with pleasure as he remembered what brought him here. "Your grandfather invited me for dinner and chess."

Michelle smiled back, knowing her grandpa would light up in Greyhound's company like a jar being filled with fireflies.

"I'll get the spare room ready," she said. As usual, Greyhound was on foot. Michelle had offered driving him many times before, but the man was as stubborn as he was peculiar. Much like grandpa. Another reason he always spend the night when he came over was that they were united in their disapproval of travelling through Pine Grove Forest after dusk.

"That would be lovely, dear. Come, get under here." He extended his arm so she could join him under his umbrella. His checkered rain hat, overcoat, and dito umbrella gave her Sherlock Holmes vibes, but she was used to him dressing as if from another era. His bushy, white whiskers completed the outlandish look.

"Now tell me dear," he said, pulling her hand through the crook of his arm, "Why were you hugging that tree? Any young men I need to go see? If any of them breaks your heart ..."

"Good heavens no, please ..." Michelle chuckled and then sighed. "I was in a car accident earlier this week and I walked to the place where it happened. Then afterwards, I don't know ... I felt a little melancholic, I suppose."

"Hm, I see. Were you hurt in the accident?"

"Not much, only this." She showed him the cuts on her hand. They were healing well, not needing any bandages anymore.

"Was anybody else hurt?"

She shook her head, the stag's 'Do I look like I need help?' bristling on repeat in her mind.

"In that case, do you want some advice from an old man?"

"Please."

"Pay no heed to what lies behind you. Direct all of your energy to what is in front of you. Behind you is an empty road that soon will be dark, but in front of you is a warm home and a tasty beef casserole, and if you and I play our cards right, perhaps some chocolate brownies afterward."

"And a brandy." The two men had their rituals and Michelle knew them.

"Ah yes ... a brandy," he said wistfully.

Michelle took the umbrella from his hands while he stepped into the house, but as she lingered behind to shake off the droplets before folding it, she couldn't help looking back to the forest, her heart unmistakably drawn to it.