Wolves of the West: The Hunt

I sat opposite my aunt at the breakfast table. She was much older than my mom, born to a different mother.

My aunt had her head lowered, frizzy red hair occasionally falling into her cereal as she muttered a prayer to whatever goddess she was close to that morning.

She snapped her head up, smiling as she rolled her shoulders and shook out her ring-clad fingers. My mother snorted over her shoulder, standing at the stove just behind my aunt.

Our kitchen was tiny enough that if my aunt were to reach backward, she’d be able to touch the fridge and my mother at the same time.

“What’s funny, Lila?” my aunt asked.

“Nothing, Robin,” my mom answered.

I snorted over my oatmeal, placing one elbow along the inside spine of my book to keep it open. My aunt looked over to me, raising her pierced eyebrow.

Though her body was over the age of fifty, my aunt’s spirit was definitely stuck in the mid-teenage years.

“Something funny, punk?”

I shrugged. “Depends on who that prayer went out to.”

My aunt leaned over her cereal, the tips of her long hair once again becoming submerged. I pressed my lips together to hide a smile. She peered at me with clear blue eyes, assessing my attitude.

“If I told you I prayed to Artemis, what would you say?” she asked.

I looked up at my mother who had turned around, spatula in hand, to watch our exchange. I took a deep breath and steadied my gaze on my aunt’s.

“I’d say you had nothing in common with the virgin goddess and you were wasting your time. Sorry, Aunt Robin, but you’re not a maiden anymore.”

My aunt feigned shock. “Lila, are you listening to your kid?”

“She’s not a kid anymore, Robby, she’s eighteen.” My mother met my eyes over my aunt’s head and grinned. I kept my face cool.

My aunt refocused on me. “Okay, what about Athena?”

I sighed. “Wisdom?” I asked. “Is that really what you need? What about a stable income and your own house?”

My aunt narrowed her eyes. “Nike.”

“You could use success,” I admitted, “but she’s a lesser goddess and probably isn’t listening.”

“Venus,” my aunt proclaimed, holding her arms out wide. Her house robe was an elaborate swirling pattern, fitted with fringe down the sleeve and lace at the knee. “What do you say to her?”

I laughed. “What need do you have of Venus?” I asked.

My aunt shrugged. “One can never have enough love or beauty.”

“I beg to differ,” I said. “I have all the love I need.” My mother laughed, and my cheeks warmed. “What?” I asked as my aunt and mother shared a knowing look.

My mother turned off the stove and slid her eggs onto golden toast before taking a seat at the table, squishing herself between the edge and the wall.

“You say that now because you’ve never felt love from a lover.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Please don’t say lover.”

“Your mother’s right, once you have a lover, it’s a different game, Mordy. Their love is all you crave, and trust me, you can’t get enough.”

I pushed my breakfast away, making a show. “It’s even worse when it comes from you.”

My aunt pushed my shoulder playfully across the table. “You can’t argue with Mother Nature.”

I paused for a moment before grinning. “You’re right, I can’t. We should all be praying to her, really. What with the polar bears dying and the ice caps melting and yada yada.”

My mother took a sip of her coffee, her eyes peaking with interest. She swallowed and dragged her thumb along her upper lip before speaking. “You know, I heard they found wolf tracks in our forests.

“Apparently, a community a few hours north had to relocate their wolves. Something about hunting issues and such. Anyway, apparently they thought our area would be more suitable. Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Alas!” my aunt cried. “Lupa!”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you ever tone down the crazy?”

“Sorry, babe,” my aunt said with a wicked grin, “it’s the only way to stay young. I don’t have your mom’s advantage.” My mother was young still as she was only seventeen when I was born.

“Maybe you’d like to help me today, Robin, I’ve got a few clients coming in the afternoon,” my mom offered.

My aunt turned up her nose. “You know I’m not into all that stuff, Lila. I don’t like the tricks and such.”

My aunt tossed her red hair over her shoulder. She was so different from my mother who was half Italian.

My mother was beautiful with smooth skin, unmarred by age or struggle. Her hair was thick and radiant, dark and wavy.

Her eyes were a deep brown, framed by long lashes and set underneath strong brows. Her lips were full, her teeth straight, her nose small and freckled.

I could see parts of my mother in myself. As for the parts that weren’t her, they were foreign. I had never met my father.

According to my mother, he was a few years older than her but far less prepared for commitment than she was at seventeen.

“It’s not tricks,” my mom protested, engaging in the same argument for the hundredth time. “Sometimes I do get feelings.”

“I get feelings too,” my aunt confessed, “but I only feel them in my gut after I’ve consumed your cooking.” She stuck her tongue out and held her hand up for a high five.

I stared at her until she pouted at me and let it drop. “You’re a bore, Morda.”

“So I’ve been told,” I mumbled, gravitating to my book again.

My mother sighed. “Have it your way, Robin, waste your time in the attic doing whatever it is you do.” I felt my mother’s hand on my arm and looked to her, smiling expectantly.

“What about you, Morda? Do you want to sit through a few readings with me?” I’d rather rake leaves during a tornado.

I forced a smile. “I was going to meet Jocelyn, maybe do some shoots.”

My mom was quick to hide her disappointment. “Oh, all right then. It’s just been so long since I had you in the room with me, I thought you’d like to come along.”

I frowned at my mother’s phrasing. I wouldn’t be going along anywhere. She did the readings in our living room.

My mother ran the shop in town during the week and did readings on the weekend. Friday night she stayed up with the news on and hung up tapestries and astrological posters.

She brought out elaborate, handwoven rugs and interesting sculptures and burned sage.

Basically, she turned our living room into a voodoo room. At least, that’s what I liked to call it.

“I guess it’ll just be me,” my mom said, fingers worrying over the beads she wore around her neck. Her eyes were warm. “If you change your mind you know where to find me.”

I smiled and stood, grabbing my dishes and kissing her forehead as I made my way to the sink.

My mom turned around and caught my arm, stopping me. “If you’re going to the woods to take pictures, don’t take the trail off the main street.

“I heard on the news that a few kids were chased through the woods. They said they were chased by wolves.”

My stomach seized.

“I heard about that,” my aunt confirmed. “The officers also reported that they were drunk out of their minds.”

My mom ignored her sister, holding my gaze firm. “Swear on it, Mordy.”

I rolled my eyes and wiggled my earlobe before crossing my heart with my index finger and shaking out my mom’s outstretched hand.

Call it weird but this was how me and my mom got stuff done. If you swore, you meant it. It had been that way since I was seven.

My mother smiled, stress relieved. “Have fun, hun.”

“See ya, babe!” my aunt yelled as I headed down the narrow hallway. I slipped my feet into my Converse, ignoring the laces as I grabbed my backpack by the door.

“Bye!”

I opened the door, and a wind chime rang out. I hated the wind chimes my mother hung over our door, along our porch, and on the birch trees in front of the house.

She found the sound comforting, a tribute to her mother who had died when she was a teenager, while I found them eerie.

At night, when they rang out, I could only picture my Grandma ghosting through the yard on her way to meet me.

I shut the gate behind me as I left the yard and headed down the sidewalk. I slung my backpack off my shoulder and rifled through it, finding my camera and reaching for the lens cap.

I brushed the lens off with my sleeve and blew on it before turning it on and adjusting the focus. I fiddled with the settings, trying to adjust the filter to the brightness of the day.

My feet led my body with ease, knowing the way better than my head did.

I lifted the camera to my right eye and closed the left. I spun the focus ring until the picture in front of me came into focus. I exhaled sharply when it did. Just in front of me stood my only friend.

Well, sort of.

Jocelyn and I were more acquaintances than friends. We sat together at lunch to avoid sitting alone. We went out together one Friday a month to avoid social stagnation.

We never phoned or texted in order to avoid becoming friends.

I lowered my camera and took Jocelyn in.

She was wearing large sunglasses despite it being overcast today. They were hot pink and heart-shaped, the lens reflective and eager to throw my own appearance back at me.

She was wearing a hideous shade of purple lipstick and had her long, blond hair parted in the middle and clipped to the side with sunflower hairpins.

Her hair was dead straight and grazed the tops of her hips, creating a sort of curtain around her small frame.

She was wearing overalls, which would have been bad enough if she hadn’t taken the time to sew patches of material and miniature beanie babies to the front of them.

She had fishnet stockings on and heavy boots. She wore a Hello Kitty watch that didn’t keep time and always seemed to have a Ring Pop on one finger.

She didn’t smile when she saw me, she just stuck the ring in her mouth and turned her head a little. This was Jocelyn’s way of greeting me.

“Hey, Jocelyn,” I said, “how’s it going?”

She sighed and took the Ring Pop from her mouth. Her tongue was green.

“Okay, I guess. My mom keeps harping on me to get a summer job, but she doesn’t understand that I really don’t want to work at a fast-food restaurant.”

“Sucks,” I replied lamely.

I wasn’t really sure how I was lumped in with Jocelyn. I guess the other freshmen looked from me to her and thought, close enough.

Now, I wasn’t completely confused. I mean, I wasn’t exactly on the mark when it came to fashion sense.

Most of my clothes consisted of hand-me-downs from my mother whose sense of style was part gypsy, part goth with a dash of hippie. It made for an interesting wardrobe.

Jocelyn shrugged. She lifted her camera and took a picture of me, flash on and blinding. I blinked a few times and stared at her, but she was already moving past me, leading the way to our usual spot.

I ran a few steps to catch up with her. “I was thinking we could go somewhere a little different today.”

I hadn’t been back to the forest path where Britt, Kale, Amanda, and I were chased since it all went down about a week ago. I wasn’t eager to go back to where I had last seen a pack of wolves.

Jocelyn shrugged again. “Okay, lead the way.”

We walked mostly in silence. I tried to keep us off the main streets because cars had a tendency to honk. Whether they were honking at me or Jocelyn had yet to be discovered.

“Asshole,” Jocelyn hissed as a guy in a beater cruised by, his horn becoming faint.

“Did you hear about what happened to Britt and Kale?” I asked Jocelyn randomly.

She was walking strangely, crossing her legs dramatically while holding her breath as she stepped over the sidewalk cracks. “Who?”

“You know, Britt and Kale… we were in English together.”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “We’re done with that now, Morda, I don’t think about high school anymore. That part of my life is over.” She clapped her hands together. “Shut.”

“Yes, but surely you remember them.”

She shook her head. “I don’t. I cleared it all from my memory.” Jocelyn talked a good game, but I knew better. If she really wanted to be done with it all, I would have been wiped too.

I took a deep breath, struggling to contain the words I wanted to yell at her. At times, Jocelyn was incredibly frustrating.

Despite her quirks, Jocelyn had been a decent companion. She never made fun of me or judged my family, which was more than anyone else at our school.

We crossed into the forest, taking the trail that led out of town. I hadn’t taken this trail many times at all. It was difficult to navigate.

One wrong turn took you into protected land that spanned hundreds of miles.

“La forêt!” Jocelyn exclaimed, lifting her camera to the trees. “J’adore!”

She was among the few people in our grade to take French, and she did so just so she could talk about her family without them knowing. “Pouvez-vous marcher là-bas? Je veux espace pour ma créativité!”

I suspected she talked about me too.

I wandered away from Jocelyn, wanting my space as I sunk into the quiet forest. I lifted my lens, scoping the surroundings for something worthy to capture.

Before I could take a picture, Jocelyn broke my concentration.

She was heading into the forest, her boots carelessly trekking through the underbrush. I watched her dumbly for a few moments as she carved out her own path.

I wasn’t sure why she felt the need to deviate, but then again, I had a hard time deciphering anything Jocelyn did.

“Come back,” I told her, “you don’t know your way around here.”

“I don’t want to go far,” Jocelyn muttered, her voice drifting. She was rapidly taking pictures. I looked around, trying to decipher her muse but finding nothing.

Jocelyn kept walking until she was out of sight. Nerves prickled at the base of my belly. I didn’t want to leave Jocelyn unattended, but I didn’t want to venture off the path.

All I could think about were the sharp snaps of canines as I ran.

I shivered and looked around, body tensing as I realized I could no longer hear Jocelyn crashing through the woods.

I stopped and strained my ears, wondering if she had paused to take a picture or if she had wandered too far for me to hear her.

I was starting to panic.

And that was before the screaming started.

My heart crammed itself into my throat, leaving no room for air as I pitched myself forward and into the thick wood.

The farther I got, the darker it felt. The forest was unattended aside from the path and was left to grow wild and dense.

“Jocelyn?” I yelled, my pulse rapid and present. I felt it all over my skin. “Jocelyn!”

Somewhere close by someone was screaming. And by the sounds of it, they were in complete agony. I started running, my skirt catching on branches and my shoes flopping.

I wished I had paused to tie them up properly.

I winced as the screaming reached a crescendo, echoing off the trees and attacking my senses from every angle. I picked up my speed, chest wheezing as I yelled out for Jocelyn.

I turned around a corner, swatting back a thick bush and ran right into Jocelyn’s back.

She had lifted her sunglasses on top of her head and had her camera raised and firing. I looked up and had no trouble finding her muse.

An old house stood alone in the middle of the forest. It was grand and imposing, but it had aged so terribly that it might as well be used for kindling.

I sidestepped Jocelyn, turning to her and hissing, “What the hell?”

She ignored me and kept taking pictures.

And then the screaming continued.

I looked up sharply, realizing that it was coming from the house. I turned back to Jocelyn and stared at her. “Aren’t you going to help whoever’s there?”

She shook her head. “Not my business.”

I flinched as the screams turned to moans. I looked back at the house, at the dark windows and bleached wood. Everything about it screamed for me to leave it alone. But I couldn’t.

I started toward it, hitching my backpack higher up on my shoulder.

“I’m not waiting around for you,” Jocelyn said.

I didn’t answer and kept walking, stepping onto the porch with as much confidence as I could muster. The moaning was fainter now and more spread out, but it was still enough to make me hesitate.

The floorboards creaked and groaned under my weight, complaining in their old age. I placed my hand on the doorknob, the courage I had earlier quickly abandoning me.

I looked over my shoulder on instinct, finding myself alone.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

The front foyer of the house was mostly dark. The day’s light filtered in through dirty windows and old lace curtains.

I took a step inside, my breathing labored as the stress started to get to me. The furniture was old and worn-looking, outdated by more than a few decades.

I left the door open, too afraid to close myself into the space. The staircase led to an ominous-looking upstairs that I thought best to avoid. I paused where I stood, unsure what to do next.

Tentatively, I called out, “Hello?” No one replied. “Is someone hurt? I heard screaming…” It dawned on me then how stupid I was being.

What if someone was being murdered? How would I be any help to them if I stumbled upon the scene and got myself killed for it? I should have left with Jocelyn; I should have called the police.

I took a deep breath as I resolved myself. I was already there. I had to see if I could help.

I moved through the house slowly, shuffling through a living room and entering the kitchen.

There was a plate of food on the counter. Some of its contents had spilled, a trail of stray lettuce leaves littering the counter and floor. Whoever had been eating had dropped their fork.

I bent down and picked it up, frowning as I noticed the curve in the handle. Someone had almost snapped the fork in half. But that wasn’t possible, was it?

I figured it was possible, just not something one saw every day.

I set the fork down beside the abandoned plate and noticed that the back door was open. I swallowed hard and moved toward it, my fingertips brushing the wood as I moved through the doorway.

“Ben?” His name tumbled out of my mouth, coming out in an exasperated sigh of relief.

Ben looked over his shoulder at me, tawny eyes catching mine. “Morda?” he sounded surprised to see me.

I blinked as I got a better look at him.

He was shirtless. I wasn’t complaining. Ben’s chest and abdominal muscles were chiseled, tight and disciplined.

Ben was bent over a pile of firewood, an axe stuck in a tree stump by his side. Clearly, he had been at work before I barged into—what I assumed was—his house.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

I lifted the camera around my neck. “I was taking pictures.”

“Of the inside of my house?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

I bristled. “Of course not.” He waited and said nothing. “I heard screaming.”

Ben brushed this off as if I had commented on the weather. He turned away from me, picking up the axe and lining up a piece of unsplit wood on the tree stump.

Ben’s biceps flexed, and for the second time, I noticed the puckered burn on his arm. However, this time I was able to make out the shape of it. More like the symbol.

It was an omega sign, one I recognized from my aunt’s books.

“There’s always screaming in the woods,” Ben told me.

He raised the axe, back muscles drawing together on the upswing and abs tightening on the downswing. There was a soft thud as the newly separated wood fell to the ground in two equal chunks.

I folded my arms across my chest. “No, there’s not.”

Ben shrugged. “You don’t live in the woods.”

“So?” I fired back. “I live close to the woods, and I spend a lot of time in them.”

“Not as much time as I do,” Ben argued, throwing the wood onto the pile at my side. I assessed it for a moment, wondering why he needed so much wood in the summer.

I gritted my teeth in frustration. “Are you telling me you didn’t hear that screaming? It was…” Ben stilled as he waited for my description. I shook my head. “It was horrible.”

He shrugged, glancing at me before lifting the axe again. A sheen of sweat had gathered on his forehead. “I didn’t hear anything, but I’ve been back here chopping wood, so maybe I missed it.”

Ben reached for a flannel shirt and dragged it over his face.

I jutted out my lower lip. “I don’t know how you could’ve missed something like that. It drove my friend out of the woods. It sounded terrible, really. Kind of like the screams I heard the night we met.”

Ben snorted. “Right, the screams that you thought came from that guy, the one you thought wolves were attacking. The screams that amounted to nothing.”

I threw out my hands in frustration. “Are you trying to tell me I’m crazy? That it’s all in my head?”

Ben threw the wood pieces onto the pile and restarted the process. “Crazy usually starts at your age.”

I threw my nose up. “Well, I heard it.”

Ben sighed and dug the axe into the tree stump before he turned to face me properly. “Honestly? I didn’t hear screaming.

“I’m not saying that you didn’t, but I wouldn’t worry so much, lots of people hike around here, lots of people get freaked when they get to the deeper parts.

“There’s plenty of animals to scare people, but the animals are probably too spooked by humans to do any real damage.”

I shook my head. “This wasn’t like that. There were moans of pain.”

Ben’s face was stoic. “I suggest you leave the woods if they make you this spooked.”

“I’m not spooked,” I told him, “I’m scared with good reason.”

Ben rubbed his hands over his face before placing his hands on his hips. “Do you need some warm milk or something? Do you want me to hold your hand or sing you a lullaby?”

Ben threw his hands out wide. “What do you want me to say? I didn’t hear anything.”

“I just—”

“For whatever reason, you thought you had the right to walk through my house, and now you’re arguing with me.”

I recoiled. I was only trying to help.

“Sorry,” I said lamely.

Ben’s eyes softened for one moment before hardening again. “Yeah, okay, fine, apology accepted.” He stared at me expectantly, and I realized he was waiting for me to leave.

After a moment, he sighed and walked over to me, acting as a guide as he led me through his house.

Roaming the house with Ben by my side made it even more of a mystery. Why did a young guy live in an old house out in the woods on his own?

And even more, why did the house look as though it hadn’t been properly lived in for over fifty years?

Ben got to the front door and rolled his eyes. “You left it open too.”

“I didn’t want to be trapped.”

His mouth fell open, but he said nothing as he opened the door wider for me to go through. I grimaced at him and left; not a second later, the door slammed behind me.

I took a quick step forward, afraid he was going to catch me with it.

Resentment bloomed in my chest as I made my way across the creaking deck and down the porch stairs. I started across Ben’s untamed lawn, heading for the tree line a few feet away.

Just as I was about to enter the woods, the sound of rustling made me pause. I stopped and watched the trees, not sure if I should proceed.

Suddenly, the grouping of bushes in front of me started to move, and I stumbled backward, seriously spooked.

The rustling stopped, and I was about to investigate just before the creature broke out of the trees and stalked toward me.

It was a wolf.

It looked at me and raised its muzzle as its hackles rose too. The wolf’s eyes were dark and narrowed, its tail swishing low against the forest floor.

A deep growl rumbled in its chest, picking up in intensity as it stepped toward me.

I shrieked, and the wolf snapped its jaws as though I had just made his daily routine a little more interesting.

Shit.

I barely had time to throw my hands up before the wolf lunged.