From the hallway came the sound of a low, rhythmic growl. The hour of the wolf hadn't ended with the song—it was only just beginning.

The file name was specific, typed with the erratic capitalization of the early internet:

The "19..." at the end was a mystery. Was it 1969? 1972? Elias had every Steppenwolf record, or so he thought. But Hour of the Wolf didn’t exist in any discography. It was a ghost track, a rumored studio outtake from the Monster sessions that was supposedly too dark, too psychedelic, and too heavy for radio.

The guitar riff wasn't the fuzzy, upbeat rock of "Born to Be Wild." It was slow, sludgy, and ominous. As the song played, Elias noticed something strange. The clock on his taskbar had stopped. The whirring of his computer fan died down, yet the music grew louder, filling the room until the walls seemed to vibrate.

He tried to hit 'Stop,' but the cursor wouldn't move. The song shifted into a chaotic organ solo that sounded like a fever dream. Elias looked toward his window. Outside, the neighborhood streetlights had flickered out. In the darkness of his backyard, dozens of pairs of yellow eyes reflected the moonlight. They weren't dogs.

"The sun is down, the moon is thin / Let the hour of the wolf begin..."