The Wolf and Me: The Seven Sequels

by Richard Scrimger

  I think that was the first time I new about myself. Not because Rich said I was a dummy—I heard that a lot. But Nancy didnt say no I wasnt stupid. She just said she didnt mind. So I figured that I really was stupid and that it wasnt that big a deal.

  My snow pants made that zoop zoop sound when I walked back to school beside Nancy. I wonder what happened to her. We were in different classes in grade 4 and then she moved away. She had curly black hair and glasses with a strap to hold them on and no fear. Sometimes the important people in your life are not there for long.

  I AM SLEEPY

  and I drift from thinking about Nancy into a dream of falling. When I wake up its true. Theres a cracking sound and I end up on my side and theres something rong with the customs trailer. I wasnt sure befor but I am now. The floor has dropped away from the bottom of the outside wall. I can see a strip of nite and feel a cold wind.

  The music on the other side of the door is loud. There is still bumping going on—the dancing. I am cold because of the open strip of wall. I put on my glove and mitt. I think about standing up and shouting for help but a voice inside me says wait. You know that voice. The corner of the floor drops again. It is angled down and I am sliding toward the crack.

  Wait says the voice.

  There is another crack and the floor falls out. I end up on the hill under the trailer with a sore bum from the drop. It hurts like when you go over a bump on a tobogan witch is what the floor of my room is now—a tobogan.

  I slide down the hill on it. I look up and see the lites of the trailer behind me and the bridge over my head. I hit a tree root and the wood floor cracks but the plastic carpet keeps going with me on it so I go even faster than befor. Plastic is my magic carpet. I just miss a tree and then an other. The sky is clear and the moon is mostly full—like a Ritz cracker with a bite out of it—so there are clear shadows on the snow. When the moon lite hits the tree ahead of me there is a flash from a yellow sticker. Farther down I pass another flash. This is Kentons path. I gess I am going the best way down. I stick out my hands to steer but the path is pretty smooth. I only have time for 1 or 2 breaths and then the carpet flys over the bank of the river and I land on my bum witch hurts some more. The ice is flat and smooth so I skid and spin for a while befor I can roll off the plastic and stand up. I have to blink. The moon is brite and the ice and snow are white all around me and Canada is dead ahead.

  A minit ago US customs had me locked in a room and in trouble. A lot can happen in a minit. Holy crap says a voice. No this is not the voice you trust. This is my voice. I am talking out loud.

  I never skated away on a river befor. That song is in my head as I take off. The ice is smooth and the wind has blown off most of the snow. The skating is great. Left glide rite glide left glide. I hear a wolf howling. I gess he is howling at the moon. It sounds erie and cool.

  I pass an island with a tree and nothing else—a desert island from a comic strip. There shuld be a ragged guy throwing a bottle with a note in it only that wuldnt work because it is winter. I pass an island with more trees and another island with no trees at all. I hear a booming sound come from underneath me and I stop. Is the ice splitting? Is there a hole ahead? I dont want to fall in. The ice feels strong under my skates but I watch care fully for a hole—witch is how I come to see the foot prints in a patch of snow. There is a rapper beside the foot prints—shiny paper that looks like it was on a hamburger. I remember what Kenton said about Alex and Brady crossing over to Canada to have fites when they were in school. It seems I am not the only 1 on the river tonite. I look all around but I cant see any body or any other hint of any body. The rapper is from befor. I skate and skate. I hear a train whistle a long way away and then the wolf agane. I see a shadow on a patch of snow ahead of me and look up to see an owl floating toward the US. It mite not be an owl but I dont know any other nite birds.

  Left glide rite glide. Deep breath. Glide.

  River skating is better than a rink. I feel this amazing sense of freedom. The open—the empty—the world—the ALL of it. Being alone in a big place takes you away—like you can float off and look at yourself from a distance. Here I am in my little life trying to deal with my troubles. Some people are worrying about me and some are helping me and some are making it hard for me and all the time theres this—this—this gigantic ALL all around me. It makes me feel small but also grate full. Maybe not grate full xactly—maybe more like you see how awe some everything is. My family only goes to church 2wice a year and I dont pay much attention xept for the singing and if there are donuts in the church basement after words so I am not talking about God here. I dont know anything about God. But as I am skating late at nite across this river that goes forever and the ice smooth and fresh and the moon shining down I am like—wow.

  Until I put my foot thru the ice. Then I stop thinking big thots and go back to worrying.

  I AM WET UP TO MY NEE.

  I mean knee. Mr Wing made lists of tricky words for me. One of them was words with x at the start like xplain—witch you dont spell that way but I sometimes do. An other list was words with letters you dont say. Knee was on that list along with knit and know. And there were lots of w words. I still get mixed up. I dont rite knee very much. I mean write. I am sitting on the ice with my leg in the water. I try to pull my leg out but the hole is the wrong shape and I cant.

  Wrong is another tricky word. Sometimes I get it and sometimes I dont. Wrong and write. I try again, standing up so I can pull harder. My foot wont fit.

  I watched a movy about survival and it was pretty scary. This plane went down in the mountains and it was winter outside and it got gross. Spencer was with me in the living room and he kept talking about camera angles and how great this shot was and all the time I was thinking that these guys were eating each other. Ew.

  There is nobody for me to eat out here on the ice but I have to get out of the water fast. And then I have to get warm. The movy made that clear.

  I wish I was in the living room with Spencer now. I wuld let him watch whatever he wanted. I wuld even make him a sandwich witch I dont normally do.

  The ice is thicker than a thick book. The hole is cut rite thru it. Somebody must of done that witch means that they stopped here and needed water so they culd fish or drink or I dont know. Whatever you use water for. Probly not to have a bath. People were here. Maybe the hamburger eater was here.

  Hello! I shout. It is the first thing I have said in a while.

  Help! I shout. The wind takes my voice away.

  Overhead is the bitten out moon and more stars than I have ever seen. I find the pail with Orvils special star somewhere in it but I dont care about north rite now. I want to get out.

  I hop around the hole slowly trying to get my foot in the same shape as when it fit in. Trying not to worry about my shivers and my foot feeling num. There! No not quite. Then the ice makes that booming sound and the hole shifts a bit and my skate pops out.

  I’m okay! What a relief.

  All this time I am looking down at the ice and my skate. I am consentrating—I think that is it. Paying attention. So when my foot is free and I look up and see the wolf rite there beside me I am surprised. I did not know it was there.

  WOLVES ARE NOT WHAT YOU THINK.

  Sure they are tuff looking and they have teeth and claws and all but they are not super bad guys. They are not going to attack you and carry you away unless you live in a ferry tail. Mostly they are shy. The TV show I saw was clear about this—nobody gets killed by wolves. Nobody. You are way more likely to get hurt by a cow than a wolf. Cows are mean.

  So I am surprised to see this wolf but not worryed at all. OK maybe a bit.

  Hi there I say. I test my wet leg. It squelches but it still works. There is ice on my skate blade. I bend down to slide it off. The wolf is pacing a few feet away from me.

  Good dog. That sounds wrong as soon as I say it. Wolfs are like dogs but they are not dogs. No way is this a dog.

  I think about Little Red
Riding Hood. How old is she—like 8 or 9? Just a kid. This wolf would take her and her gramma easy.

  I have the ice off my skate blade now. I am shivering pretty good. I have to get out of here. My foot is soaked but I can still skate.

  Bye bye! I say and start off slowly. The wolf moves in front of me. If I keep skating I will hit it so I stop. The wolf stares at me. I take off to the left thinking I can go around the wolf. It moves again. Without trying really hard it gets ahead of me. It can move faster than me. Its pads and claws work better than my tired legs and dull skates. But why is it doing this? Does it think we are playing a game?

  Go away! I say.

  Stupid wolf! I say.

  The wolf looks at me and yawns wide then turns away and lifts a leg to pee.

  I am not going to let this animal stop me. I have to get to the other side of the river. I head a bit left and so does the wolf. Then I push off hard as tho I am going to go farther left only I cut back insted. Its a fake—like I am playing hockey and the wolf is a defense man. I am past him! The wolf falls for my fake and there is only 1 more island befor I get to Canada.

  I am heading a little to the rite of where I was befor but so what. The wolf is running 2 but he is not trying to get ahead of me any more. Now we are running in the same direction. What do they call that—paranormal? No thats a movie. Something like that. I know the word. I will think of it later. I keep an eye on the wolf and at the same time try to watch out for more holes in the ice.

  Left. Glide. Deep breath. Rite. Glide.

  Im tired and woozy from all I have been doing—getting in trouble and escaping and drinking that funny peach stuff and escaping again and freezing my leg—witch maybe xplains why I start to see things. Maybe I am getting sick. But I cant help what I see. The sky off to the left now has lines of ripples running across it. Rippling pink and green lites—what is that about? Am I crazy? And its brite out—almost as brite as day. I can see the wolf clearly. He has long legs and a thin body. Hes gray mostly with a black splotch on his sholder and another on his head like hes wearing a black scarf and hat. Have I said Im not afraid of the wolf? Thats not quite it. I dont think hes going to eat me but theres something about him. The way he lopes along kind of sideways. The way he checks me out and then shakes his head. We are still running parallel him and me. Thats the word—the same way but not touching. Hes tired like me. His mouth is open so he can pant. It looks like he is smiling at me. Does he like me or not? Not wuld be my gess.

  The last island is small and roundish and it doesnt stick out of the ice very far. I pass close enuff to the island that I see the small green tree leaning over so far its branches are trapped in the ice. Shadowy and secret looking—and even more so in the pink and green lite.

  Is it really pink and green? I blink. Yup.

  I take a deep breath and get ready to head across the last bit of river. Thats when I see the jim bag—sorry gym bag. Its dark and its got handles and it is sitting in the shadows of the over hanging tree. I wuldnt of seen it if I had not been skating so close to the island. Huh I think. I dont want to grab it. Its probly yucky and I all ready have a gym bag. I take a stride toward shore and hear my name.

  Bernard.

  No mistaking—its as clear as clear. I stop short in a flurry of ice specks and look around. Nobody calls me Bernard. Spencer called me Bunny when he was a baby and it has been my name ever since.

  Bernard.

  There it is again. But theres no body around. Who is talking to me? The only person who ever called me Bernard was Grampa. He didnt like the name Bunny. I am used to hearing my name in Grampas voice and I do now. I gess its coming from inside me. I do feel kinda crazy come to think of it. Not bad or sick—just crazy. Bigger than normal if you know what I mean. My mood matches the sky witch is dancing with curtins of lite now.

  Go and see Bernard.

  Definitely Grampas voice but it is not coming from me. My mouth is shut—has been shut all along.

  Grampa is that you? I say. Witch is stupid because it cant be Grampa. But who else sounds like him? Who else is around? Who else can I see? Just the wolf who has stopped running and is sitting down looking at me hard. He opens his mouth.

  Yes Bernard says Grampas voice. The wolf closes his mouth.

  Hoo boy.

  SO I AM CRAZY.

  Thats all I can think. Grampa can not be the wolf and he is not talking to me. I close my eyes tite. Maybe the wolf will be gone when I open them again.

  Nope.

  Hurry Bernard.

  His mouth moves again. And now that I come to think of it the wolfs gray like Grampa. And thin like Grampa. And Grampa wore a dark hat. Oh well I think. I will have to get used to being crazy. Whatever. I am still feeling hi and lite and I am long past being weirded out.

  Go and see said Grampa the wolf.

  I am not sure of anything but I skate over to the gym bag. The ice is bumpy near the island. I look back.

  Is this what you mean? I ask out loud.

  The wolf yawns and ducks his head witch culd be a nod. Okay then. I pick up the gym bag. Its crappy and old and faded blu. The handles are cracked plastic. Inside is smelly—looks full of towels and stuff. I zip it back up fast.

  Can we go now? I say.

  I figure the wolf is coming with me. I dont try to change direction and lose him. I know I cant. We go together—me and Grampa the wolf.

  I remember my cousins fiting about Grampa last week. Was it last week? Whenever. At the cottage when we found all his secret stuff. This may be a chance to ask him.

  Were you really a spy back a long time ago? I ask the wolf. When you were flying around the world did you do stuff like James Bond? I ask.

  The wolf looks at me. Does he nod again? I feel stupid but I keep on anyway.

  Some guys think you have there anthem Grampa I say. Did you take it? Was that part of your spying? These same guys kid napped me. They are bad guys rite? Rite Grampa?

  I dont know what I am asking. My problem is that I dont know who the good guys are. Kid napping is bad but so is stealing an anthem. Maybe Grampa was a bad guy. I dont know how you tell.

  Also my problem is that I am talking to a wolf.

  He doesnt answer.

  Im getting close to the shore. My strokes are shorter and harder and my gliding is not as smooth.

  Its not as brite ether. A long ribbon of green pulls across the sky with a tail of sparks behind it. Theres a ripple and a flash—and then nothing. The sky show is over. The nite looks normal again as I glide the last few feet and step up onto the bank. This side of the river is flatter than the American side. I can walk up. The bag swings in my hand. Theres a road near the edge of the river. A pick up truck goes by. Head lites blaze for a second and then are gone. I pick my way over icy rocks so I dont wreck my skates any more than they are already wrecked.

  Wreck is an other of Mr Wings w words.

  Its the same stuff as across the river but it feels different to me. Trees and rocks and snow and snow. And ice. And snow. Canada. I am a long way from home but I am home.

  Bernard.

  The familiar voice is quiet but clear. The wolf stands in a clump of trees. The black cap on his gray head looks very much like Grampas beret.

  Take care he says.

  Whats happening now? I ask.

  I have to go he says. Take care of whats in the bag and take care of yourself. Will you do that Bernard?

  Wait I say. Dont go.

  The wolf turns back to look at me over his sholder. I swear hes ticked off. A very Grampa look.

  Will you do it? he asks. When I say yes he nods.

  Thats your job he says. Do it. You are a good guy Bernard.

  How did he know I was wondering about good guys and bad guys? But befor I can ask anything about him he leaps into the darkness and is gone.

  Do your job. Thanks Grampa. Like I need telling. I know I have to call Spencer so he doesnt worry about me. And I have to get back to Creekside. These are my jobs.


  I dont know about Grampa being a spy for the bad guys or the good guys. I asked but he didnt say.

  Is it my job to find out? I dont know how Id do it.

  Its the sort of thing DJ wuld be good at. Or Steve or Adam. These guys wuld have ideas. They wuld call people and go places and do things. Maybe Webb wuld have an idea. Or the new guy—I really shuld know his name—hes my cousin. Anyway I dont have any ideas at all.

  Does Grampa care about spying any more? He seems pretty happy being a wolf. If that was him. And if it wasnt then Im crazy and Grampa is dead and he doesnt care about anything.

  Do your job. OK I got it.

  I dont know witch way to go so I pick left. I always pick left when I dont know. The road goes up hill to a bigger road and then I have to pick again. So I make another left and keep going. Skating is harder than it was. My blades are dull. Also there is ice on the side of the road but not in the middle. The plows have gone out. So I am having trouble keeping going.

  The strange lites in the sky are gone. Were they real or part of a dream or those things you see when you are crazy sick?

  Push left. Glide. Push rite. Glide.

  Do your job still makes sense.

  THE RIVER IS BESIDE ME AND THE MOON IN FRONT.

  The road is more normal looking. The letters and number on the sines for instants. Beside the road there are posts with yellow reflecting things on the top. I didnt see those in the US. I shuld of known rite away that I wasnt in Canada. I must be even stupider than they say.

  Theres nobody around—no cars or lites or houses. I totally can not find the north pointing star. I know its small and near the stars that look like a pail and I can not see that ether. I feel like I am looking thru the telly scope again and not seeing whatever it was Gally Layo saw. Moons? Moons. I dunno.