Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  Adam and Beckan back away from the house, shielding their eyes from the rain as they look up, up, up to the flaming turrets piercing the sky, to the roof and the widow’s walk.

  “There!” Adam shouts and points as a flash of lightning lights up the scene before them. “I see them! They’re on the roof!”

  Beckan sees them too. He’s full of both relief and dread. He’s glad he’s not too late, but how on earth is he going to get up there?

  “We need a ladder!” Adam shouts over the wail of the storm.

  Beckan heads for the hillside, Adam right behind him, but they’re met by Derry’s bulldog face as he grudgingly drags a ladder up the hill. Lady rushes by them, barking rabidly at the inferno.

  “Hurry!” Derry yells. Adam and Beckan each take part of the ladder and help Derry carry it the rest of the way, skirting the crack in the ground. They stretch out the ladder and lean it against the side of the house. With great disappointment, Beckan realizes the ladder only reaches the second floor balcony outside Rose’s bedroom.

  Adam races up the ladder without waiting for an invitation. He’s already scrambling over the the balcony’s railing when Beckan follows.

  “Adam!” he shouts. “Wait!”

  Adam steadies himself on the railing and reaches up to the bottom of the next balcony.

  “Here!” Beckan shouts, holding up his hands after he stumbles onto the balcony. Adam puts a foot in Beckan’s linked hands and hoists himself up. Once over the railing, Adam reaches down and helps Beckan. Together, they climb up the last floor of the house, bracing themselves and finding footholds on the window frames and in the twisting ivy. What seems to take hours takes only minutes, and they’re finally on the roof, calling to Rose and Liam.

  “Rose!” Beckan shouts.

  ***

  I turn to see Beckan and Adam climbing over the side of the roof. I’m sure I’m hallucinating until Liam starts scrambling over the railing of the widow’s walk. Adam reaches us first.

  “Adam!” I cry, half relieved and half full of regret. “What are you doing here? How –”

  “We can have our happy little reunion later!” he shouts and grabs Liam by the armpits, pulling him over the railing. “I’d like to save your ass and get down from here. Then we can hug it out.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, I laugh. As Adam hands Liam off to Beckan, the door of the widow’s walk bursts open, a torrent of flames arching for us. The shingles have grown hot under my feet and I know we have only minutes, maybe seconds, to get off the roof before it caves in.

  “Hurry!” Adam yells urgently.

  I grab Adam’s outstretched hand and climb over the railing. I watch as Liam holds tightly to Beckan’s hand. Derry’s head pops up over the edge of the roof. He holds out a hand for Liam and Beckan passes him off quickly, but gently. I’m filled with a powerful relief as they disappear over the side.

  Adam leads me to the edge of the roof, and to Beckan. Adam holds one arm tightly as I reach out to Beckan with the other. He squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Crazy girl!” he shouts with a tense smile. “We’ll have tah climb down tah the balcony,” he cautions me. “It’s slick and hot all at once. Be careful.”

  Beckan and I begin climbing down. Peering into the glowing night below, I see Derry and Liam climbing down the ladder. When my head is at the roofline, I shout to Adam, still dangerously close to the widow’s walk.

  “Hurry, Adam!”

  “Don’t stop! I’m coming!” he shouts back.

  The house shakes as Beckan and I reach the third floor balcony. I fall back into Beckan, who steadies me.

  “Keep goin’,” he says with a growing sense of urgency. “Go!”

  “Adam!” I yell when I don’t see him scrambling over the side above me.

  Beckan doesn’t wait for Adam. He grabs me by the waist and practically throws me over the railing. “Go, Rose! I’ll get Adam, but for the love of Gawd, go!”

  As I start lowering myself to the second balcony and Beckan turns back to get Adam, a huge tremor shakes both house and mountain. My heart sinks to my stomach and I hear the familiar creak of wood as the balcony pulls away from the house. Beckan’s eyes fill with horror as he realizes what’s happening.

  The balcony falls away from the house. For a few agonizing seconds we’re weightless. Then we’re on the ground in a tangle of wood and wrought iron. I land hard on my back, the air leaving my lungs. Liam cries out behind me. Lady barks frantically. Beckan screams, grabbing at one of his legs, which lies at a sickening angle. I look back to the house and watch Her last seconds of life flicker out in a grand explosion of fire and thunder.

  It starts at the top. Her roof caves in. A burst of flames reaches into the clouds, connecting with a dazzling array of lightning. Thunder rolls as She screams and the ground shakes with Her rage. The attic collapses into Her third floor, Her second, Her first. Flames shoot out in all directions, soaking up all the oxygen around Her and for several terrifying seconds, I can’t breathe. Then, finally, I scream.

  “Adam!”

  Epilogue

  April

  Liam screams before falling into contagious giggles. I set the last paper plate on the picnic table and turn around, shielding my eyes from the sun with a hand. My eyes linger only a second on the terrible burn scar running from the palm of my hand to my shoulder. It becomes more and more a piece of me each day, a reminder of how wonderful it is to be alive, to be happy, and to really live.

  Beckan holds Liam upside down by his ankles with one hand and tickles him mercilessly with the other. Mother watches from a blanket spread over the grass. She’s a greyer, weaker, and less vibrant version of who she once was, but even this is a miracle. Doctor Fleur believes with time and therapy, she’ll recover most of her former self. But even if that doesn’t happen, I’m just glad she’s finally home and smiling again. Moira Delaney has not been beaten.

  I spent several weeks in the hospital recovering from the severe burns to my right arm and lower legs. Although the scars are permanent, surgery and skin grafts have made them less ugly. For the first time in my life, I don’t care much about my appearance. To simply still be breathing is my miracle. I should have died on Christmas Eve, had intended to. But in the end, it was Adam who saved us, who saved us all. I think of him every day, sometimes with thanks, sometimes with guilt and confusion. Did Adam come to Wolfhowl to save us? Or did he come to die for us? I’ll never know the truth, but I owe Adam my life, and I’m determined to make his death worth the sacrifice.

  We moved into an apartment near the hospital, although we can certainly afford more with the insurance settlement for the “act of God” – officially an earthquake, mudslide, and a convenient strike of lightning – that destroyed Wolfhowl Manor. But for the moment, we’re comfortable in a typical, small apartment building without the space – or darkness – of a larger home. And this way all three of us are close to the hospital for our various appointments. I still have regular checkups to make sure my skin grafts are healing as expected, and rehab to work my damaged muscles. Liam, who suffered burns down his left side, has healed well physically, but still has appointments for his mental wellbeing, as does Mother. Hopefully by summer, she’ll be ready to return to work.

  Beckan suffered a serious leg break in the fall and now walks with a pronounced limp. The injury required surgery to insert pins, but his doctor is confident the limp will fade with physical therapy. He always stops by to see us after his appointments. He also visits when he doesn’t have appointments, just to spend time with me, which makes me feel special. He’s very supportive. He helped me find a local dance studio where I can continue to study dance and teach a class to children. He helped me study for my G.E.D., which I received, and he’s helping me look for colleges to attend in a year or two; I can’t leave Liam or Mother until I know they’ll be okay without me, no matter how many times Beckan and Derry promise to take care of them.

  Although we’re living in Bar Harbor,
we do visit Port Braseham. Since the total destruction of the house, the townspeople have suddenly realized they don’t have to hate us. They held fundraisers to help us cover our medical bills. They also paid for Adam’s funeral and began checking in on Enit and Laura, inviting them to church and other events around town. Liam’s little friends from kindergarten missed him, and they have play dates from time to time. Mother and Laura O’Sullivan have become good friends since Adam’s death, and comfort each other, which I think is good for both of them.

  Port Braseham is enjoying a renaissance of sorts since Wolfhowl Manor was destroyed. The historical society hasn’t decided what to do with the land yet, but it’s agreed that building another house there is out of the question. For the time being, they’ve set the issue aside and are focused on more important things – like money. Tourism’s up and the local businesses can afford to spruce up and advertise. Money’s being spent to renovate and reopen the waterfront businesses. People are always out and about, bustling around town and spreading happy news of pregnancies and talk of the beautifully seasonable weather – there hasn’t been a storm since Christmas – and spreading the news of the burgeoning fishing business. The attitude seems to be: Curse? What curse?

  Things are looking up for everyone. Even Ol’ Derry’s figured out how to be happy. After Adam’s death, he and Laura formed a bond over the son he’d never been able to claim. Though there’s a fifteen-year age gap between them, they’ve found their own happiness and are starting to recover together. Now that he and Beckan are both out of their caretaking jobs, Derry has begun the process of opening his own furniture restoration business where father and son will work together, and Laura will help them manage accounts. When Derry made the announcement, that grumpy, bulldog face smiled for the first time since we met. It looked so strange on him that I asked if he was alright. His response was a hearty, cheerful laugh.

  I survey the scene before me now. It’s the first seasonably warm day in late April. A few geese glide along the glass surface of Beaver Dam Pond. Beckan finally releases Liam, setting him on the blanket next to Mother, completely exhausted. Letta’s arrived with her parents and they’re setting down a blanket for themselves, and for Shane and Patty, who are holding hands and whispering cheerfully behind them. Derry and Laura stroll together near the tree line. Enit trails behind, holding onto Lady’s tail as a guide and pretending to enjoy the chirping birds while she eavesdrops.

  Everything seems so perfect I’m afraid it’s all a dream. Will I wake up any moment, still trapped in the burning house? Things had been so very dark for so very long, I’m almost afraid to admit how good I feel. I allow myself a small, secret smile, and warmth seeps into my heart.

  Beckan smiles and waves as he walks over. He takes my hand in his and kisses it lightly. “How’s it goin’ ovah heeah?”

  “Good.” I smile and pop up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. At the last minute, he turns his head and puts his warm, soft lips on mine. I close my eyes and kiss him gently back before lowering myself back to earth. I lean into his chest, grinning from ear to ear.

  “All set?” he asks.

  “Yep.”

  He turns, shouting to our family and friends, “Let’s eat!”

  Everyone gathers around the picnic tables, eyeing the spread of delicious food. Letta and Patty smother me with hugs before moving into the loose circle we’ve formed. Each person takes the hands of those next to them and bows their heads. As Derry begins the prayer in his low, gravelly voice, I keep my head up, looking at each of the people around me. I’m moved by the sudden feeling of bliss that overcomes me and fight back the happy tears.

  Then, I lower my head and thank the Good Lord, not for our food, but for our lives.

  ***

  The grapefruit sunset has finally faded on Wolfhowl Mountain, pink fading to purple and then black. It’s nearly silent save for the waves crashing beyond the cliff, yearning upward under the command of the full moon, high up on her perch in the night sky.

  A heap of black debris and detritus lays in the darkness, a black mountain atop a black mountain to the townspeople below, who pay it no mind, not anymore.

  Ash, scorched wood, melted metal. Just scraps really.

  Against the black landscape, two shadows move in the moonlight. They may seem indistinct to the distracted eye, perhaps just some birds flying across a streak of light, but to anyone who looks, really looks, they might convince themselves these shadows are really silhouettes. Two silhouettes moving through the pile of scraps. One a woman, her body bowed by misery. The other a boy, slightly hunched at the shoulders, skinny to the point of malnutrition, hair hanging in front of his eyes. They don’t speak, or even acknowledge each other as they work, but one would not be here without the other; this is clear. They could be mother and son, plodding through the ruins of the house, looking for anything that might’ve survived the great blaze.

  Beneath the shadow of a hand, a rusty nail leaps up from the blackness, along with a small wood beam, seared, yet salvageable. Nail goes to wood, poised and ready. An invisible breath of wind sends ash from the wood into the air where it will drift out to sea and eventually become part of the ocean.

  In the still air over the sleeping town, a faint sound echoes.

  Chink. Chink. Chink.

  It almost sounds like the power of a hammer against a nail. But what follows next is a voice. Yes, definitely a voice, low and hissing, slithering through the darkness like a snake.

  Rooosseee… I haven’t forgotten about you, Rose...

  Come home, Rose.

  Come. Home. Rose.

  Acknowledgements

  I owe a great deal of gratitude to my wonderful butterfly of a friend Brooke Ackerman, who was the first to read Wolfhowl Mountain in its entirety. It was her interest in Rose and her family that helped me push through writer’s block and make it to the end of their story.

  I am in even greater debt to my good friend Daniel Cramer, who acted as my editor and helped me finalize this book and ready it for the eyes of the general public. Without his help, this last step might never have happened.

  A big thank you also to Chris, for his support, troubleshooting, and endless patience. Publishing is often a pipe dream, but you helped make it a realilty. Thank you and I love you.

  My parents always told me that I could be whatever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. Thank you for meaning it, for helping me when I needed it, and for just moving the family computer into my room and allowing me to monopolize it for all my little stories; it’s what ultimately turned me into a writer.

  Don’t worry, Kira, my amazing sister, your hardwork has not gone unnoticed. You constantly balance my negativity with positivity, and you read my first draft without complaint. That, perhaps, means the most.

  Lastly, to every teacher I ever had: Thank you, thank you, thank you! But a special thanks to Mrs. Casserly for loving my quirkly little shorts. It had a deeper impact than you’ll ever know.

  About the Author

  Dian Cronan Beatty lives in Virginia with her husband, Chris, and their children – I mean cats – Catsiopeia and Soma. You can find her works in progress and shorts on Wattpad (dcronan). She is on Twitter (@MsCronan), and you can check out her completely unsuccessful blog: My Name Isn’t Diane.