Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  “Hmm.” I shrug and use the towel to soak up excess water from my hair. I saunter to the back door to admire the view again. Sighing, I admit eerie Wolfhowl Mountain and sleepy Port Braseham might not be so bad – not that I’ll ever admit it to Mother.

  I imagine how nice it’ll be waking up and starting each day with such a startling view when a small figure appears between the sun and the house. Pulling the old door open, I peer through the screen as a soft breeze blows Liam’s giggles toward me.

  I toss the old towel onto the counter and step onto the back porch, descending a few stairs and shielding my eyes from the sun with a hand. “Liam, you shouldn’t be out there by yourself,” I warn. As if sensing my next warning, Liam totters toward the edge of the cliff.

  “Don’t get too close to the edge! You’ll fall,” I continue down the steps, my pulse quickening. I take a few cautious steps into the yard, as if the cliff will creep up on me while the grass tangles around my legs like living vines.

  Liam turns back and waves a pudgy little hand, smiling brightly and laughing his infectious laugh. Despite my irritation, I smile and wave back.

  Then Liam breaks into a reckless run, heading directly for the dropoff, his red hair glowing like fire in the sinking sun’s light.

  “Liam!” I take off after him. “Liam, stop!” Panic thrusts up inside me.

  I chase Liam, gaining on him as the edge of the cliff looms closer. The sharp blades of grass and weeds slash my legs as I pump my arms as fast as I can to close the gap between us. I’m nearly on top of him, just one more inch…

  As Liam’s little feet leave the earth I make a crazy lunge, grabbing at the collar of his shirt. But just as I reach him he vanishes, sinking over the edge of the cliff and then I, too, sail over the edge after him with the momentum of a steam engine.

  Time stands still. There’s no trace of Liam plunging toward the sea below as I stare down at the jagged rocks, at the black waves violently hurtling themselves against them. The water churns and sparkles in the sunset and the salty air burns my lungs. For a moment, all is silent. But then I hear a scream, as if from far away. It grows louder and louder until I finally recognize my own terrified voice as I rocket toward my death.

  Chapter Three

  Don’t Believe Everything You See

  Warmth grips my wrist so tightly something cracks. A hand, strong and rough, grabs me before I completely disappear over the brink. I swing out over the churning waves far, far below and then, like a pendulum, back toward the cliff, slamming into its soft earthy side. I barely have time to contemplate my near death experience before I’m being hauled toward safety. I grab onto every root or blade of grass within my reach with my free hand as my sneakers scramble along the side of the dropoff. My torso hits horizontal land and I furiously kick and claw at the grass, scampering until my feet find the ground, and then crawl as far from the edge as my body will allow before I collapse, trembling and exhausted.

  My mind races as I catch my breath. Someone has just saved my life, and that someone is now only a few feet away. I roll onto my side to take in my savior.

  Familiar bottle green eyes alive with adrenaline peer out from behind a freckled face and shaggy, reddish brown hair. Even lying in the grass, he cuts a tall figure; a figure made of hard manual labor, lean with worked muscles. I remember the sensation of his rough hand on my wrist and look at his hands, running through his hair. They’re cracked and dry, much older than the rest of him; he couldn’t be more than twenty or so. His green eyes find mine and his parched lips part. “What the hell d’you think you were doin’?”

  His words trigger my memory and I’m on my feet again, heading for the cliff. “My brother! Liam! Liam,” I scream before I’m tackled.

  The stranger’s heavy body falls on top of mine. I kick and struggle as I try to get away. “Get off of me!” I scream, and with a deep breath, take in the stale taste of cigarettes and sweat on my tongue. “Liam!”

  “Hey!” He straddles me, pinning my arms to my body with his knees. “Hey! Crazy girl!” When I don’t stop struggling, he smacks me across the face; not violently, but hard enough to get my attention. He places two strong hands on my shoulders, pinning me to the ground. I glare into his piercing eyes as they hover above me, still feeling the tingle of his slap on my cheek. “Are you out of your evah lovin’ mind?”

  “Get off of me!” Tears build behind my eyes. Liam… “My brother just fell off of the cliff!”

  “No he didn’t!” He refuses to budge. “The only crazy idiot out heeah jumpin’ off cliffs is you!”

  “No, my brother! I –” Before I can finish my sentence, I hear the clamoring of feet on the porch and turn toward the house. There, scuttling down the stairs, are Mother, Mrs. Carroll, and Liam.

  “Liam?”

  My rescuer finally lifts his hard body off of mine and offers a helping hand ,but I ignore it, getting to my feet, my knees still shaky and weak.

  “What’s going on out here?” Mother demands as the group approaches. “Who the hell is this?”

  Mrs. Carroll places herself between Mother and the stranger, who now fruitlessly pats at dirt and grass stains on his clothes. “Mrs. Delaney, this is Derry O’Dwyre’s son, Beckan.” She lowers her critical gaze to me and then flicks her eyes to Beckan’s rumpled clothing. “And I’m sure he has a very good explanation for this display.”

  “Oh, erm,” I’m suddenly self-conscious. “I uh, I thought I –” I break off when I realize the complete absurdity of what I’m about to say.

  “She got tah close tah the edge,” Beckan says quickly. I notice that, although his accent is stronger than Mrs. Carroll’s, he’s much easier to understand than his father. His mouth twitches as if to say something more, but he makes no more attempts to explain.

  “I slipped,” I add. “Beckan,” I hesitate, not sure I’m pronouncing his name correctly, “helped me out.”

  Beckan and I exchange furtive glances, both disguising our awkward smiles and hoping this is explanation enough. When the awkward silence continues, Beckan sticks out a large hand to shake with Mother.

  “Right, well it’s nice tah meet you, Miss Delaney.” He smiles warmly at her and she blushes at his formality.

  “Oh, ha!” She giggles and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s actually Mrs. Delaney, but please, call me Moira.” I roll my eyes. “And this is my son Liam.” She puts her hand on Liam’s shoulder as he absolutely beams at Beckan.

  Beckan exaggeratedly shakes Liam’s hand. “Strong grip you got, young man.”

  “And you’ve obviously met Rose,” Mother eyes me. “Thank goodness you were here to help her.” She’s smiling, but I recognize the tone of embarrassment and irritation. Not even an hour in town and poor little Rose needs rescuing from a cliff. “She can be such a klutz sometimes.”

  “Oh, it’s nothin’,” Beckan insists, all Aw shucks, Ma’am, and blushes.

  “Well,” Mrs. Carroll forces a smile. “Mrs. Delaney, why don’t we go back around front and make sure you’re good and settled. I’ll need to be on my way to my appointment right away.” I watch the realtor struggle not to look down her nose so obviously at us before she turns away. She walks expertly in her heels, even in the soft grass, one foot placed quickly in front of the other, as if she can’t get away fast enough.

  Mother, with a warning glance at me and a smile for Beckan, follows Mrs. Carroll and disappears around the corner of the house, Liam bounding after her. Silence persists between us as the sun continus to set, throwing the yard into a bright orange glow and setting the horizon on fire.

  “So, Rose,” Beckan says, my name rolling beautifully off his tongue, “you want tah tell me why you’re throwin’ yourself off a cliff two seconds aftah gettin’ intah town?”

  “I was not throwing myself off a cliff!” I stamp my foot. “I thought I –” I stop again, remembering what I saw – what I thought I saw. I saw Liam, saw him so clearly, his little figure darting toward the edg
e of the cliff. Thinking about it, my eyes are forced back to the dropoff.

  “Thought you saw somethin’ you didn’t see,” Beckan offers ominously, his soft voice suddenly very hard to hear.

  “I –” I hesitate, but something in his voice makes me continue. “Yes. I was sure, so sure, I saw my brother runnin’ off that cliff.” I point like an idiot, as if Beckan wouldn’t know which cliff I’m talking about.

  Beckan nods. “Ayuh… The sun has a way of playin’ tricks on you ‘round heeah.”

  Beckan’s tone sends shivers down my spine and as the wind picks up, I hug myself to chase away the chills. “What do you mean?”

  “I just mean… don’t believe everythin’ you see ‘round heeah.” His tone and eyes are so serious, that I can’t keep the warmth inside anymore. “Anyway, stay safe, Rose Delaney.” Beckan turns and walks toward the side of the house and I watch him until he disappears.

  ***

  The small one-level cottage built into the back of the hill is already cloaked in darkness. The outside décor mimics the main house, but on a smaller scale, and is just as poorly kept together. Beckan looks at the peeling paint and battered shingles and sighs; just two of the many things he and his father had been meaning to fix for a long time. The weathered front door slowly creeks open and an energetic bloodhound bounds out of the darkness.

  Beckan braces himself, accepting Lady’s paws on his chest as she jumps on him. He rubs her big floppy ears and notes the white fur creeping in around her eyes and snout. As Lady drops down and runs circles around him, wagging her tail, another figure emerges from the shadows. Derry is every bit as tall and freckled as Beckan, but he’s twice his size in old muscles that have started going to seed. Beckan meets his father’s beady stare and continues toward the house. He passes Derry on the porch without a word.

  “She’s gettin’ stahted ah little early this time ‘round, eh?” Derry’s says in his typical gruff voice.

  Beckan doesn’t respond but follows Derry’s gaze up the hill to the attic window. He flinches as the shadow, slight and fast, flits across the dark panes.

  “That girl, she’s cunnin’,” his father says, “but she’s gonna beah trouble. Mahk my words.”

  Beckan sighs. “Ayuh.” The uneasy feeling grows in the pit of his stomach as he goes inside, where a hot shower and a cup of tea will cleanse him of the spooky feeling that’s followed him home.

  Chapter Four

  The Fire

  “Boy, that woman was jumpy wasn’t she?” Mother closes the door behind her as she breezes back into the house. Liam and I sit on one of the bottom steps, chins in our hands and elbows on our knees, disappointed and bored. “And in a hurry too!”

  “Yeah, for her ‘appointment’.” I hold up air quotes, rolling my eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Mother leans against the door with a sigh. For the first time all day, she looks tired. The jade of her eyes is dull and several strands of hair are matted to her forehead with sweat. She wipes them away with a light smile.

  “A pretty woman like that doesn’t dip out on the biggest sale of her career for just anything,” I say. “I’m guessing she’s got a sugar daddy at the nearest motel.”

  “Rose! That’s an awful thing to say!”

  “Sugar daddy?” Liam asks. “Like the candy?”

  I ignore him. “Why else would she be in such a hurry?”

  “Maybe she’s scared,” Liam frowns and fiddles with a shoelace.

  “Scared? Don’t be silly.” Mother pushes away from the door and makes a space for herself between us. She places an arm around each of us and I manage not to recoil. For a moment, I forget myself and lean into her.

  “There is nothing to be scared of here,” she says, giving us a squeeze.

  “Mom,” I say seriously, “this place is a fire-eaten museum and it has more shadows than a graveyard. It’s ancient! It’ll probably collapse any minute.” One can hope.

  “Look kiddos,” Mother sighs heavily and her shoulders sag; she’s weary of my never-ending negativity, “I know this move, among other things, has been tough on you, but this is a fresh start for us. Let’s not take it for granted.” She looks pointedly at me. “And, yes, this place is a tad gloomy, I’ll admit, but all it needs some love. A little paint, a little wallpaper...” She gestures to the large foyer around us and her voice falters. “It’ll be good as new.”

  Mother hugs the dubious Liam tighter. “The most important thing to remember is it’s just a house. Yes, it’s old, and yes, it’s been a long time since anyone’s lived here, but there’re no ghosts. There’re no goblins. There’re no monsters. It’s just a house. Okay, kiddo?”

  After a pause, Liam says, “I’m hungry.” Mother and I laugh. If Liam’s hungry, then all is right with the world.

  “Alright. Let’s finish unloading the car,” Mother says. “Then we’ll figure out something for supper. Deal?”

  “Deal!” Liam runs at the front doors and Mother follows.

  “Rose?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” I say. “It’s kinda chilly in here. I need a sweatshirt.”

  “Mrs. Carroll said our packages arrived a few days ago and the O’Dwyre’s divvied them up for us,” Mother says without turning around. “Your things are in the room at the top of the stairs.”

  I’m already halfway up the right-side staircase when I remember there are two staircases. I turn around to ask which staircase she means, but Mother’s already disappeared through the doors.

  The second floor of Wolfhowl Manor is perhaps more overwhelming than the first, if only because there are so many rooms up here. Six doors lead off of the open hall. It’s darker than the first floor, the paneled walls absorbing most of the light. The only window looking in on this part of the house is the great stained glass of Mary, but no light shines through it now. The chandelier hanging just below the second floor level emits a dim, ineffectual light. I hate to admit it, but after what happened on the cliff, I’m a little creeped out.

  I go for the room at the top of this staircase first. Fifty-fifty shot, right? I nudge the door open with a loud echoing crrreeaaakkk, drowning out Mother’s cry as she reenters.

  “No, Rose! Not that one!”

  But it’s too late.

  I know instantly the fire started in this room. A huge blackened scorch marks the center of the floorboards like a bomb blast. The fire-eaten wood beams hang crookedly from the ceiling, ready to disintegrate at the slightest touch. A hole yawns in the ceiling beyond the damaged beams, but it’s boarded up with few pieces of plywood. A similar shoddy repair has been made to an outer wall. The framing of the bay window opposite the door is equally black and soot covered, and the broken panes are also boarded up. The same octagonal cut from the dining room below is in the front corner. There’s a small door in one of the walls of the turret, but I can’t even begin to guess what’s behind it as a wave of nausea overtakes me. I sway on my feet and throw a hand against the wall for support. I’m scorching hot and the taste of bile creeps into my mouth.

  Mother rushes in behind me, yanks me from the room, and slams the door.

  In the hallway, I wrench my arm from Mother’s grasp and lean against the banister, fighting the urge to faint. I wipe sweat from my forehead with a clammy hand.

  Liam runs up the stairs. “What’s wrong? Mommy? Rosie?” Mother’s back is against the door to the fire room. “Hey, what’s in there?”

  Neither of us replies.

  I feel the world dimming and I focus my thoughts in an attempt to stay conscious. Really, I can’t be that shocked, can I? I knew there’d been a fire, but I assumed the damaged parts had been restored, at least on the inside. What the hell else were Beckan and his father for if not for that? But it isn’t the sight of the room that really bothers me. It’s the way the room makes me feel. It’s a stifling, desperate, miserable feeling. In the few seconds I stood in the doorway, that horrible feeling flooded my senses. I can still feel the heat of the wall on my
hand, burning like a hot stove, and I check to be sure it isn’t actually burned.

  Finally, I find my voice. “Mother… that room –”

  “Rose, I’m so sorry.” She interrupts.

  “What happened in this house?” I say, finally beginning to feel normal again.

  Mother sighs and shrugs. “There was a fire several years ago. Mrs. Carroll didn’t give me the details and I didn’t ask. She mentioned repairs had been made and I guess I just assumed all of the damage had been repaired.”

  “You just assumed?” I ignore the voice in my head reminding me I’d made the same mistake.

  “I’m sorry, Rose,” Mother says, her voice stern, “but what do you want me to tell you? We needed a place to live and this place was affordable.”

  “Affordable,” Liam says. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means cheap,” I hiss.

  “Yes, Rose, it was cheap,” Mother says. “I’m sorry this house isn’t to your liking, but you’re just going to have to buck up and deal with it. This is our home now. It may not be perfect, but it’s ours. Luckily, we have two handymen hanging around, whom I’m sure can help us restore the damaged parts of the house. It’ll be like new before you know it. Now, if you still need a sweatshirt, your clothes are in the room on the other side. Go get one and then help Liam and me get his room ready, so we can get some food and get to bed.” She picks up the box she dropped at the top of the steps and disappears into a doorway without another word.

  Liam shrugs and follows her into his new bedroom, oblivious to the tension in the air. I’m so angry I’m practically growling as I stalk to my room and stomp through the door. As I flip a light switch, my anger dissipates almost immediately. To my chagrin, my bedroom is actually pretty amazing.

  Dammit.

  Two bay windows lined with cushions of light green and pink greet my eyes on the opposite side of the room. The sheer pink drapes gathered on each side look nice with the faded mint green of the walls. The cool colors soothe my emotions. The cutout from the turret with the funny little door in it is in the front corner. The second best feature of the room is the set of French doors leading out to my very own balcony. I peer through the translucent curtains onto the dark front lawn, the lights of Port Braseham tinkling back at me from the bottom of the hill. I feel a little like Rapunzel awaiting her prince.