PROLOGUE

What keeps a man up at night?
For some, it’s the strain of holding a household together. For others, it’s the patients they couldn’t save, or the worry of whether the next paycheck will stretch far enough. Most people lose sleep over the ordinary burdens of life. Life isn’t easy, and everyone carries scars from somewhere—old jobs, old mistakes, old memories.

Jack Mortimer, criminal studies professor at Larimer Metropolitan College in Denver, Colorado, was no exception.

He sat awake long past midnight, surrounded by the same files he had sworn he’d never open again. The Wolfback murders. Forty‑eight cases, each one a reminder of the investigation that had consumed him three years earlier when he was still a detective in Stoneville. The nightmares hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d grown sharper with time.

Today, he would present those cases to his students. He had chosen the Wolfback investigation as the term’s major case study—partly to teach the next generation of detectives, partly to finally tell his side of the story, and partly because he hoped that speaking it aloud might quiet the nightmares once and for all.

He didn’t sleep that night.
At dawn, he drank a quick cup of coffee, grabbed his notes, and left for the college without even kissing his wife, Wendolyn, goodbye. Their marriage had been strained lately. Jack’s sleepless nights, his silence, his refusal to talk about what was bothering him—it all added up.

Jack had always been the type to carry everything alone.
He hoped that telling this case study would finally lighten the load.

He pulled into the LMC parking lot twenty minutes later, his old blue BMW coughing as it settled into the space. Despite being a professor, Jack was still young—early thirties—but he carried himself like a man twenty years older. The Wolfback case had aged him in ways no one could see.

He headed straight for the lecture room, the case file tucked under his arm. As he walked, he flipped through the pages, wondering where to begin. Right order, he decided. Start at the beginning and let the rest fall into place.

Inside the room, he set his coffee down, rolled up his sleeves, and began preparing the space the way he had once prepared an incident room. He pinned the crime‑scene photographs to the whiteboard, grouping them into clear investigative clusters: Victims, Locations, Timeline, Patterns, and a final box marked Unresolved. Red circles and arrows connected the images, recreating the same structure he had lived inside during the investigation.

He stepped back, studying the board. It didn’t look like a classroom anymore. It looked like the war room he’d never truly left.

He laid the master case binder on the desk, along with photocopies for the students and his own annotated notes. The first file—Case 1: Stoneville Peak incident sat atop, waiting.

…

The students began filing in one by one, slowing as they noticed the display on the board. The heading alone—THE WOLFBACK MURDERS—was enough to shift the room’s energy. Some students leaned forward in their seats, excited whispers passing between the true‑crime enthusiasts who had followed the case obsessively when they were younger. Others looked uneasy, their eyes lingering on the crime‑scene photos Jack had arranged.

Everyone in Colorado knew the name Wolfback.
But no one knew the details.

The media had reported the victims, the dates, the panic in Stoneville—but the deeper facts, the ones too disturbing to broadcast, had never been released. Today, for the first time, these students would hear what really happened.

A girl near the front—Emily Reyes, one of Jack’s brightest and most inquisitive students—raised her hand before she even sat down. She wasn’t overbearing, but she was always the first to ask questions, always hungry for the truth behind the headlines. A few other students gathered around her, whispering theories and half‑remembered rumors.

Jack stepped to the front of the room as the last few students settled.

“Good morning, class,” he said, his voice steady despite the weight in his chest. “If you’ll take your seats, today we’re looking at a real head‑scratcher—Colorado’s most infamous case: the Wolfback Stoneville murders.”

A ripple of tension moved through the room.

“That’s not all,” Jack continued. “The cases I’m sharing today are the ones I personally worked on. You’ll be getting the facts—not the rumors, not the media version. The truth.”

He paused, letting that sink in.

“Before we begin, tell me what you already know. What’s public knowledge about the Wolfback murders?”

Hands went up—hesitant at first, then more confidently.

A student in the back spoke. “Uh… the killer was never identified, right? Just the nickname. Wolfback.”

Another added, “There were… what, forty‑something victims? Or sightings? The numbers were always confusing.”

Emily raised her hand. “The media said the attacks were random. No pattern. No motive. Just… chaos.”

A nervous student near the window muttered, “And they never released what the killer looked like. Not even sketches.”

Jack nodded. “Correct. The public knew the victims, the dates, the locations. But the details—the ones that mattered—were kept out of the media.”

He rested a hand on the first case file.

“Today, you’re going to learn why.” 

Emily raised her hand again, her brow creased. “Sir… is it even okay for you to show us this? The media and the government kept these details hidden for a reason.”

Jack nodded, expecting the question. “I understand your concern, Miss Reyes. But as the future of law enforcement and crime prevention, you need to be prepared for anything. People think this job is just cops and robbers, paperwork, donuts, and putting a killer behind bars.” He paused, letting the room settle. “I certainly thought so eight years ago, when I was a twenty‑four‑year‑old detective first assigned to this case.”

A few students leaned forward.

“I was wrong,” Jack said quietly. “Dead wrong. You have to know that someday, you may face something that doesn’t fit the textbook. Something that doesn’t behave like a normal offender. Something that feels… impossible.”

The room went still.

Jack gestured to the board. “What you see here is only the surface. These photos are barely the tip of the iceberg. The real Wolfback—the truth of what happened in Stoneville—was never shown to the public.”

Emily swallowed, but her eyes stayed locked on him. Other students shifted in their seats, some nervous, some eager.

Jack opened the first folder, the paper edges worn from years of handling.

“Let’s begin,” he said. “Case Number One.

Case one: Stoneville Peak Incident

Case Number: 001–SP
Date Reported: October 14 2018
Time Reported: 22:00 hours
First Responder Arrival: 22:15 hours
Location: Stoneville Peak Overlook, Stoneville, Colorado
Reporting Officer: Det. Jack Mortimer
Victims: Two students of Stoneville High School (names withheld for class presentation)

Summary of Incident

At approximately 22:00 hours, a 911 call was placed by a hiker reporting a damaged vehicle at Stoneville Peak, a known teenage gathering spot. Upon arrival at 22:15 hours, first responders located a parked sedan with the roof forcibly removed and found the two occupants deceased inside.

Initial Assessment

Damage to the vehicle suggested significant force. The roof had been torn away and was located several meters from the car. Early speculation considered a possible wildlife attack, as grizzly bears possess the strength to damage vehicles. However, local wildlife rangers reported that grizzlies typically remain on the opposite side of the peak, where food sources and terrain are more suitable. While not impossible, a bear presence in this area was considered unlikely.

Unusual Evidence Recovered

Responding officers noted the presence of thick, unusually strong webbing on and around the victims. The material did not match typical spider silk in density or tensile strength. Small spiders were observed on the webbing, and specialists were called to safely remove the material using protective gloves.

Preliminary biological analysis identified the spiders as juvenile wolf spiders, though with several anomalies in their physiology that did not match known regional species. DNA testing indicated the presence of foreign markers that could not be classified at the time.

Further examination of the web samples revealed similarities to silk produced by certain orb‑weaver species, which are known to use neuroactive compounds to immobilize prey. Trace markings on the victims suggested possible exposure to such compounds, though the exact effects on humans were undetermined.

Conclusion at Time of Filing

The working theory was that the victims were attacked by an unknown animal, with the webbing possibly deposited after the fact by opportunistic spiders. No definitive explanation was reached. The case was classified as a suspicious wildlife‑related incident pending further investigation.

“That was the initial report,” Jack said, tapping the corner of the projected document. “As you can see, my name is listed as the assigned detective. I was a brand‑new twenty‑four‑year‑old at the time, and they put me straight on this case because they thought it was a waste of time. The department was ready to call it an unlikely bear attack with some opportunistic spiders looking for a meal.”

Jack shook his head. “But I wasn’t so eager to close it. That silk was a red flag. The strength of the webbing, the density—no known species in Colorado could produce anything like it. I thought maybe it was man‑made. Someone with the right equipment could tear the roof off a car without leaving tracks.”

He clicked to the next slide. “Eventually, I found something… intriguing.”

The class leaned in.

“As many of you know, the Navajo Nation has a long cultural presence in this region. The hiker who reported the incident was Navajo. I followed up with him the next morning. He was still shaken.”

Jack paused, choosing his words carefully.

“He told me that what he saw reminded him of Spider Woman, a central figure in Navajo tradition. In their stories, Spider Woman is a powerful, protective spirit—credited with teaching weaving and craftsmanship, and sometimes acting as a guardian. He believed the webbing at the scene was a sign, that perhaps the victims had disturbed something sacred or behaved in a way that brought spiritual consequences.”

A few students exchanged glances.

“I told him the working theory was a bear attack,” Jack continued. “He dismissed it immediately. Said there were no tracks, no claw marks on trees, no signs of a bear anywhere near the overlook. He said the scene was too precise—more like the work of a spider than a large animal.”

Jack gave a humorless smile. “When I repeated his comments to my superiors, they thought I’d lost it. One of them—Detective Clayton—asked if this ‘Spider Woman’ swung from buildings like that comic‑book character.”

A few students snickered.

Jack didn’t.

“I assured him this was no comic‑book character,” he said quietly. “And no newspaper funny. Whatever happened at Stoneville Peak was very real.”

He closed the first file.

“And as I would soon discover in Case Two… it was only the beginning.”