My story begins back in 2011, when my family and I purchased a large acreage of property

north of Fairbanks, Alaska. The surrounding lands were a breathtaking site, with thick timber,

rolling hills, and vast acreage suitable for farmland. It was a dream come true for us.

At that time, I was just 14 years old,

and my family consisted of my two older brothers, aged 17 and 18,

my older sister at 16, and of course, my mom and dad.

We moved into a large farmhouse that had undergone multiple renovations

since its original construction in 1908. The lane the house sat on was surrounded by the wild,

lush Alaskan wilderness, and wildlife such as wolves, moose, and bears were common sights to us.

We were accustomed to being cautious when necessary. The farmhouse was

spacious, with a somewhat barn-like structure on one end of the property. This structure,

while not entirely a barn, had the appearance of a renovated storage shed, possibly used for hay

storage in the past. On the other side of the property,

there was a smaller typical storage shed. The house itself was a five-bedroom four-bathroom

beauty, completely remodeled and expanded over the years. The previous owners were friends with

my parents, which allowed us to get a great deal on the property.

Our family's intention was to expand our family and have livestock, and we believed that the area

north of Fairbanks was perfect for this endeavor. Initially, everything seemed normal as we settled

into our new home. We bought two dozen chickens, several sheep, and a few

horses. My responsibility was to feed the chickens, a task I despised. About a month after moving in,

I noticed a small blood trail leading from the outside to the chicken coop. Three chickens were missing,

and there was blood all over their spot inside the coop, leading to the woodline.

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