Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  When I’m close to the edge, I get down on my hands and knees, and crawl through the wet grass, soaking the knees of my sweatpants. I crawl right up to the edge on the skinniest piece of land jutting out over the rocks even though my brain is screaming at my body to stop. Stop! STOP!

  The sea surges over the rocks below and only the tallest, sharpest of them slice through the water like knives. The beach is invisible underneath the swollen green waters. The churning waves reflect my anger and desperation.

  My small perch lurches forward unexpectedly, slanting toward the water. Gripping at the grass, I look behind me. Just behind my feet is a large crack in the ground. My heart pounds. My brain goes into overdrive. I have to get off this precipice, but I’m terrified the slightest movement will send me careening toward the churning waves.

  Mine.

  Slowly and deliberately, I turn my body around, toward the crack. There’s only a few feet between me and solid ground…

  MINE!

  The ground falls away from me with the loud snapping of tree roots. I’m weightless in the second before gravity takes hold. I lunge out to grab onto something, anything, and manage to get the fingers of my right hand around one large tree root as the ground crumbles away. I dangle a few feet below the cliff’s edge, but there’s nothing else to hold onto, no footholds. I dangle, helpless and terrified. I can think of nothing else to do, but scream.

  So that’s exactly what I do.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The Blank Diary

  I scream as loud, as hard, and as long as I can. I scream until my throat is raw, exerting all of the power I can without letting go of the tree root that is now my only lifeline. But it’s pointless. No one can hear me over the roaring wind and the crashing waves.

  “What am I doing,” I yell at myself, beginning to cry. “Why did I come out here!”

  I frantically claw at the muddy side of the cliff with my left hand, trying to find a way to climb back up onto the cliff, a mere two feet away. I pray the slippery root I’m clinging to is strong and connected to one of the ancient pines rather than one of the drying up spruces. It feels like a dry twig in my hand and I’m terrified it’ll give any moment. Think light, I tell myself. I’m as light as a feather. I’mlightasafeather.I’mlightasafeather.I’mlightasafeather.

  Huge water droplets begin to pelt me as it starts raining again. The side of the cliff becomes wetter and weaker with each drop.

  “Of course!” I scream. “Of course it starts to rain! God dammit!” I have a ridiculous moment of Catholic guilt but God understands, right? I mean, He is about to let me die.

  A gust of wind rushes up and twists me around. The soft earth is at my back. I’m looking out over the ocean, and then… down. My vision narrows. All I see are the sharp rocks below, ready to pierce my comically small body…

  My lifeline tears out of the dirt. I slip a foot closer to the churning surf. My wave battered body is there, bloody and shattered on the rocks.

  Help isn’t coming. I’m only postponing the inevitable.

  Yes…

  Eventually this root is going to break.

  Yes…

  Or my muscles will give. Or the root will cut into my fingers and the pain will force me to let go. This is how I die.

  Yes…

  My grip loosens. Death is easier…

  Yes, so much easier...

  Will it be quick, or will I have to drown? Will it hurt?

  It’s easy, Rose. It’s so easy…

  My grip loosens a little more. One more flinch and I’ll plummet into the abyss. I let out a final, gut-wrenching sob, ready myself to let go, to give up on this life. She will take care of Liam. This is what She wants. It’s what I want…

  “Rose!”

  I’m shocked back to my senses. “Hello? Help! Down here!” My relief breaks through the calmness that claimed me seconds ago.

  “Rose. It’s Letta!”

  “Oh Letta, thank God! Help me!”

  “Hold on!”

  “Hold on? Hold on?” What the hell else am I going to do?

  “Beckan’s getting a rope!” Letta shouts to me. “Just hold on!”

  “I am,” I shout, grimacing against the pain in my hand, “but I don’t know about this root! Hurry! Please!” Desperation burns in my throat.

  A thick rope falls a few feet away from me.

  “Grab the rope, Rose!” Beckan’s voice is calm but demanding.

  To grab it, I’ll have to turn around to face the cliff and lunge with my free hand. I’m certain that alone will be enough to snap the root. I’ll only have one shot. Grab the rope or die.

  I take too long thinking it over, and the root gives again. I slide another foot closer to the water with a yelp.

  “Rose!” Letta screams.

  “Grab the rope, girl!” Beckan shouts urgently.

  Taking a deep breath, I steady myself against the side of the cliff with my feet. I say a silent prayer for Liam and Mother, and then launch myself at the rope, twisting in the wind.

  The root snaps. I’m falling fast and my hand isn’t on the rope yet. At the last second, a gust of wind throws the rope into my hands and I latch on with only an inch of rope to spare.

  Letta sighs from above, “Oy Gevalt!”

  “Do you have a good hold?” Beckan shouts.

  I inch my grip up a few inches before I shout that I do.

  “Hold on tight!” Beckan says. “We’re gonna pull you up!”

  The rope starts moving upward very slowly. I try to lessen my weight and climb up the side of the cliff with my feet. When I’m within reach of the cliff’s edge, Beckan keeps his straining muscles on the rope and Letta reaches down and grabs onto my jacket. Finally, and with a relief so strong I feel the bile rising from my stomach, I’m back on solid ground.

  For several minutes filled only with our panting, the three of us sit on the wet grass in the falling rain. Beckan and Letta stare at me, and I stare at my shaking, rope-burned hands.

  I almost gave up. I did give up. Another second longer and…

  “Do you know how close you came to being fish bait?” Letta finally says. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  The giddy laughter builds deep in my belly before exploding into hysteria.

  “Are you okay?” Letta asks dubiously.

  “Oh, Letta,” I say with my head in my hands. “It’s so, so silly.” I wipe the laughter tears from my eyes. “I just wanted to look down at the beach to see if anything good washed up in the storm.” Right? “I just wanted to stick my head over the edge.” Right? “I had no idea… It never occurred to me that part of the cliff might actually fall away.” Right…? “I mean, how often does that happen?”

  “It’s a bit of bad luck, I guess,” Letta replies.

  “Yeah,” Beckan says flatly. “Bad luck.”

  I try standing but my legs are shaking. Beckan hops up and takes an arm. “Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you! And also, I’m sorry.” I’m looking at Beckan when I apologize. “Really sorry.”

  “How many times do I have tah save your life?” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but his eyes remain alert and intense.

  “Let’s hope that’s the last time.” I try taking a step forward, but stumble again.

  “Heeah,” Beckan says, “let’s get you inside and make sure you’re okay.” Letta grabs my other arm and the three of us go in through the back door like soggy dogs, shaking off the rain and leaving puddles at our feet.

  I throw my coat over the back of a kitchen chair and collapse into it, leaning my head in one hand. I’m exhausted. Letta plops down across from me, equally adrenaline depleted.

  Beckan stands near the door, leaning against the counter. He leans his head back and closes his eyes for a moment before seeming to re-energize. He looks around, catching sight of the digital clock on the stove, blinking and winking in the dull light from the windows.

  “The power’s back on,” he says. “Hey, when
was the last time you ate?”

  “Um…” I haven’t had anything to eat today and I skipped dinner last night. “Well…”

  “If you have tah think that hard,” Beckan says as he starts rooting through the cabinets, “it’s been tah long.” He finds a large pot and then pulls open the refrigerator to view the pickings, which are embarrassingly sparse. I’m not sure when Mother went to the store last.

  “You don’t have to cook,” I say, making a weak attempt at politeness. “Really, you saved my life – again. I should be making something for you.”

  “I insist,” he says, bending over to look more closely at the contents, overflowing with condiments. I catch Letta staring at his butt.

  “Letta!” I hiss quietly, and she shrugs before squeezing some of the rain from her hair with a jacket sleeve.

  “How’d you guys find me anyway?” I ask. “I’d –” Given up. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold on.”

  Letta explains while Beckan begins cooking. “I’d called a couple of times to see if you wanted to do something with our free day, but no one answered. Mom sent me up here to do the neighborly thing and check on you. I ran into Beckan on the hill, who was coming to do the same thing. Your front door was unlocked, but no one came down when I called out. Beckan saw the empty trashcan and figured you were taking out the trash, so we went outside. I said something to Beckan about how the cliff looked different, and from the look on his face, I knew he thought you’d…fallen off. So I ran over there and saw you clinging to the side.”

  “I’m so lucky,” I whisper, and repeat it silently. I’m so lucky. I’m so lucky. I’m so, so lucky.

  “Where is everyone anyway?” Letta asks. “Your mom’s car is here, but no one’s home.”

  “Oh, they’re here,” I say. “Liam’s been up in his playroom all day.”

  “By himself?” Letta asks, now having to speak up over the noise Beckan makes as he clunks around.

  “Sort of,” I say evasively. “And Mom’s been in bed all day.”

  “Oh?” Letta’s eyebrows go up.

  “Decided to take a sick day with us, I guess.”

  “But not to spend time with you?”

  I shrug and change the subject. I ask if there’s any other news to report, so Letta fills me in on the storm damage and Beckan jumps in every now and then, like the two of them have already been through the play-by-play. There’s some flooding downtown, but it doesn’t include the school. (“Unfortunately,” adds Letta.) There’s wind damage to most of the buildings on the wharf, and some of the fishing ships are sure to be total losses. (Beckan notes sarcastically, “One of the ships nearly went through the Quinn’s front window, but missed and hit one of their BMWs instead. Shame.”) The Wharf Rat will be shut down for a few weeks to make repairs. (“So naturally, there’ll beeah decline in food poisonin’,” Beckan says.) Letta’s talked to Shane and Patty, who are fine, but Eileen’s still playing hard to get. (Letta rolls her eyes, “I don’t even know why I bothered.”)

  “And of course,” Letta says finally, “Wolfhowl Mountain suffered a minor loss upon the cliff, which nearly resulted in loss of life.”

  “Har, har.”

  “Hey, I’ve got to laugh about it,” she says, “or I’ll start crying. That was some serious business, Rose, all kidding aside. Seeing you clinging to that tree root scared me enough for three lifetimes.”

  “Gee, only three,” I say sarcastically.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Liam appears in the doorway, following his nose, which zeroes in on Beckan busily working over the stove.

  “Well hello, stranger,” Letta says. “You hungry?”

  “Yeah,” Liam says eagerly, standing at Beckan’s side. “What’re you making?”

  “It’s a surprise.” Beckan winks.

  “Come over here squiggle worm,” I say. “Come sit by me and keep me warm.”

  Liam leaves Beckan’s side and surprises me by climbing into my lap instead of the chair next to me. I shift my weight until we’re both comfortable, and Liam puts his arms around my neck. Tears well up in my eyes; it feels good to have my brother back, if only for a moment.

  “Why are you all wet, Rosie? And what happened to your hands?”

  For the first time I realize how wet and dirty I am, and how badly my hands hurt. They’re red and swollen in the middle and I have a few blisters.

  Letta grabs a few ice cubes from the freezer, wrapping them in a paper towel and handing the bundle to me.

  “Thanks.” I put my arms around Liam, joining them by wrapping them around the ice.

  “Did you hurt yourself, Rosie?” Liam asks.

  “Oh, we were just goofing around outside,” I say nonchalantly. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “In the rain?”

  “Of course,” I poke Liam’s pudgy belly. “It’s fun playing in the rain. It’s a shame you wanted to stay inside.” I play it up so Liam might feel like he’s missed out on something fun because he was playing with Her instead. He doesn’t need to know part of the fun had been his sister nearly falling to her death.

  “Aww,” Liam frowns, and I feel like I’ve achieved a small victory.

  “Are we having a party down here or what?” Mother appears in the doorway, fresh faced and warm in a long cardigan and a pair of skinny jeans and wool socks. She’s showered and put her wet hair in a bun. “Oh, Rose, are you making Beckan cook?” She’s drawn to his side by the smell of something scrumptious, just as Liam was.

  “She begged me not tah,” Beckan lies. “It’s no problem.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Mother says. “Thank you so much!”

  Beckan blushes all Opie Taylor and aww shucks ma’am.

  Mother joins us at the table. “Singing in the rain, were you?” she says, pinching my wet sleeve in her fingers.

  “Something like that,” Letta says evasively and changes the subject, repeating her news about the storm damage. Mother nods in all the right places, making an effort to appear normal and conversational, but I can tell she’s struggling. At least she’s trying though.

  “Tada!” Beckan finally announces with a bright smile, carrying a large pot over to the table and setting it on a hotplate. We peer over the edge of the pot into a murky looking, but delicious smelling stew. Clearly, our faces are not what Beckan expected and his smile falls. “What?”

  “What is it?” Liam asks.

  Beckan sets bowls down in front us and says, “Odds n’ Ends.”

  “Odds and Ends?” Letta crinkles her nose distastefully.

  “Yeah,” Beckan pulls up a chair and ladles his creation into each of our dishes. “That’s what my muthah used tah call it. Whenever she hadn’t had a chance tah make it tah the store, she’d go through the fridge and the pantry, find whatevah she could, throw it all together and make somethin’ wonderful. Trust me, I learned from the best.”

  I look at my bowl of muddy broth dubiously and pick around with my spoon. I think I see some potatoes, peppers, and tomatoes, maybe even some sausage.

  Liam is the first to give it a try, his grumbling stomach giving in to the appetizing aroma. He spoons Beckan’s mixture into his mouth, clumsily blowing on it first, and then rolls it around on his tongue like a professional food critic. He chews carefully while we await his expert opinion. After a large swallow, he smiles.”It’s good!”

  “I told ya,” Beckan says.

  We laugh and eat without hesitation. I can’t remember the last time we’d enjoyed a meal at the kitchen table like a real family. For a while, I forget about the oppressive negativity pervading the entire house and enjoy this moment.

  After lunch, I help Beckan with the dishes while Letta takes Liam and Mother into the family room to pick a movie.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening is spent in the darkness of our family room, sitting too close to the television while watching Monsters, Inc. and then a few episodes of SpongeBob Squarepants. The party breaks up around seven when the Bauers call Letta
home and Beckan offers her a ride down the hill. I quash my jealousy – Beckan spent the afternoon sitting so close to me our legs were almost touching. He spread his long arms around the back of the couch and I had to fight the urge to fold myself into him.

  This afternoon is a small pinprick of light, a small ray of hope, that it’s possible to beat Her. The how is still allusive. The moment Beckan and Letta leave, the depressive cloak falls back over the household. It’s potent and immediate.

  Mother stifles a huge yawn. “Liam – ”

  “I know, I know,” he says, already slumping toward the stairs. “Bath time.”

  “Rose, can you help him tonight?” Mother asks. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I just don’t have the energy.”

  “I can do it by myself!” Liam shouts from the top of the stairs.

  “As you wish,” Mother throws up her arms. “I don’t have the energy to argue either.” She heads upstairs after Liam, splitting off toward her room and they each close a door at the same time, leaving me alone. I watch a little more TV before turning it off and going upstairs.

  When I open my bedroom door, my eyes are immediately drawn to the blank diary on the nightstand, glowing under the small lamp that was on when the power went out.

  Without really thinking, I go to my backpack and take out my pencil case, which is full of colorful, girly, inky pens that are perfect for scrawling hot pink hearts and little blue curlicues. I sit on my bed with the diary in my lap and start drawing. I spend the next thirty minutes doodling over the cover.

  When I finally stop doodling and look down, I’m shocked. What I see is not at all what I thought I was drawing. “What…?”

  There’s no colorful pen in my hand, nor on the diary. Instead, I’m holding a thick black Sharpie, and when I pull my hand away, what I see is not a collection of hearts and flowers, but something far simpler. Initials. My initials. R. D., in a prominent calligraphy I’ve never used before. It’s exactly like the letters on the covers of the other diaries.

  Diaries of dead women.

  I open the cover of my new diary, turn to the first page and write today’s date.