Firefly Hollow

by Haddix, T. L.

  Owen sighed, a sound that came out in deer form much as it did when he was human. The pool was one of his favorite places to roam, one of his safe places. If the girl came back as she promised, he didn’t know what it would mean for him. He couldn’t risk being caught, and he wasn’t willing to give up his solitude. If the girl threatened that… he hated the thought of having to go to her parents, but if it came to that, he’d do it.

  Chapter Two

  July 1955…

  OWEN WAS RESTLESS. HE’D PUT off changing as long as he could, but as evening approached, he couldn’t hold off the need any longer. He made his way out of the farmhouse, careful not to let the door slam and wake his mother. She’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep, after being miserably hot and uncomfortable all day. Owen’s sister-in-law was with her, so he didn’t have to worry about his mother needing anything before he returned.

  Once at the barn, he made sure he was alone before he undressed. With his clothing folded into a neat pile, he let the hidden beast inside free, and his body changed, shifting into the form of a sleek, powerfully muscled black and grey wolf. He was too angry to become the deer, too full of pain and despair. His mother was slipping away in front of him, and nothing he did seemed to make any difference or bring her much comfort.

  As the wolf, he shot off down the hill, through the forest. He skidded to a halt at the top of the cliffs that marked the far edge of Campbell land, barely catching himself from falling onto the railroad tracks nearly a hundred feet below. Leaves and debris from the forest floor scattered over the edge, drifting in near-silence down to the distant ground. Heart pounding from both the exertion and the scare, he stood for a moment, looking across the creek and valley.

  After collecting himself, he headed toward the pool on the other side of the point. By the time he got there, he was panting heavily, and he lapped up the cool water with greed. Thirst satisfied, he trotted around the rocky embankment to the top of the boulder. He stopped dead in his tracks when the scent of a human reached his nose. Sniffing carefully, he followed the scent to where it pooled on the rock. It belonged to the girl - Sarah, he’d learned. She’d been there recently. Owen growled, a brief and disgruntled grumble. He didn’t want her on his land, at his refuge. He’d held off speaking to Ira Browning, and with the mood he was in, he knew he’d have to continue to keep his silence. One day, though, he’d have to say something.

  He sighed and turned to go back up the mountain. A peculiar sound reached his ears. Turning his head to the side, he cocked his ears and listened. The sound came again, and with sudden terror, he recognized it—a young woman’s voice, shaky and terrified, praying for help. Not stopping to think, he ran.

  Sarah was on her way home when she saw the rattlesnake. Thinking she could step around it, she eased to the side of the path, her back against the embankment. As she drew level with the snake’s tail, its head turned. Tongue flickering out, its body coiled into a tight spring faster than she could react. An ominous rattle sounded, the snake’s tail moving so fast it was a blur.

  “Oh, God. Sarah Jane, you’ve really done it this time.” She held as still as she could, heart pounding. Sweat poured off of her, the salty wetness nearly blinding her as it ran into her eyes, but Sarah didn’t dare move to wipe it away. The snake was ready to strike, and she knew the only chance she had of surviving was if it lost interest in her. The rattlesnake was at least four feet long. At the widest point, its body was as big as her forearm. One bite and she’d be dead before she reached the edge of the trees, much less the house.

  She didn’t realize she was praying out loud until a loud crack sounded in the trees above her. She stopped. “Hello? Is someone there? I’m in a little bit of trouble here.” She had to bite her lip to hold back hysterical laughter. “A bit of trouble” didn’t begin to cover the situation.

  When no one answered, she figured the sound had been a squirrel or a bird moving around in the forest. “Okay. I slide to the side, and he strikes. I can’t climb up the bank backward because he’ll strike. Weapons, weapons. Drat, I should have brought a walking stick.” She tried to look around without moving her head, but she didn’t see anything within close reach that she could use to protect herself. Nausea churned in her stomach, and she feared that she might pass out. “God, please help me.”

  She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced to her left. Her breath caught on a gasp. Ten feet away, a wolf stood in the middle of the path, hackles raised and fangs bared, looking from her to the rattler. It was absolutely silent as it slunk closer to the snake.

  What happened next would live in her nightmares for weeks to come. Another loud crash sounded, and a bird, startled from its hiding place, flew between Sarah and the snake. The movement triggered the rattler, and it struck, mouth opened wide to expose deadly fangs. Sarah couldn’t tear her gaze away, and in that instant, she knew she was dead. Just before the snake made contact, she slammed her eyes shut and screamed.

  When Owen came around the curve of the path and saw the snake, with Sarah cornered against the hill, his heart rose into his throat. He knew he couldn’t get to her fast enough to save her, but he had to try. He eased down the path, getting as close as he could without scaring the snake. If it struck before he was within reach…

  As he got close enough to draw the snake’s attention, a bird flew from the bushes. The snake struck, and Owen sprang into action. He pushed off with his hind legs in a long, frantic leap. Jaws snapping, he closed his mouth around the body of the snake. He hit the ground several feet down the path, Sarah’s scream echoing through his ears.

  Knowing he had only milliseconds to act before the snake turned on him, he gave a vicious shake of his head, tearing the snake in half. Blood and gore rushed into his mouth. Owen ignored the bitterness and ground his teeth down harder. The part of the snake’s body with the head had been flung across the path, and he quickly stepped up to it. With one paw holding the mangled end, he grabbed it behind its head and shook. Until the snake was completely dismembered, it still posed a serious threat. With a few more shakes, the threat was removed.

  He unclenched his jaw and let the remains of the snake drop to the ground. Panting heavily, he turned to look at Sarah. She hadn’t moved. Her eyes were huge in a face so pale, the skin was almost translucent, and she was trembling to the point that the leaves and roots around her shook.

  Owen simply watched her, emotions still roiling through him. Part of him was tempted to slink up to her and comfort her as though he were a lap dog. Mostly, though, he wanted to howl in frustration, anger, and fear. If he hadn’t happened along and heard her cries, she likely would have died. Frustration won, and he lifted his head to the sky with a growl. The sound rumbled out of his chest and broke out in a piercing howl. As it died, he turned again to look at her. With deliberation, he walked up the path toward her, stopping when he drew level with where she stood. He let out a loud huff of air and turned his back. Tired to his very marrow, he took a few more steps and glanced over his shoulder at her. She cautiously stepped away, but kept her eyes glued to him. He could smell her fear.

  Good. Maybe now you’ll stay the hell away.

  Confident she was terrified enough not to return, he trotted up the path. His mind was racing. He worried she might go home and tell her father what had happened, and Ira would gather a posse to search for the wolf. Owen would have to be very careful for the next few weeks and keep his ears open whenever he was in town. Hiding the wolf would be easy enough, he figured, even as the need to do so frustrated him almost unbearably.

  Chapter Three

  FROM THE TIME HE WAS a very small boy, Owen knew he was different from other people. He didn’t seem to view the world the same way others did, not even his parents, and especially not his father, Hank Campbell. Even though Owen was the oldest son, he and his father had never been close. Owen was fine with that, a sentiment that made
his father even more distant.

  When Owen was four, he’d gotten lost in the woods. For nearly a day, he had wandered, following deer trails and rabbit paths. He had gotten hungry, but he hadn’t been scared. His parents, on the other hand, had been frantic. All their family and neighbors had assembled, forming a search party that combed the mountains for hours. They’d found him the morning after he disappeared, curled up in the hollow created by a fallen tree. To Owen, the whole thing had been an adventure.

  To his mother, it had been an omen of things to come. From that point on, Lucy Campbell kept her son close. Though she gave attention and affection to Owen’s younger brother, Harlan, the bulk of her focus was on Owen. When it was time for him to start school, she’d been reluctant to send him. He’d been small for his age, and Lucy worried that he wasn’t ready.

  “Maybe we should hold him back a year, Hank. Give him time to grow some.”

  “Damn it, Lucy, you act like the boy’s tethered to your teat. You’re going to turn him into a pansy if you don’t loosen your hold. And I’m not about to let one of my sons get away without learning how to read and write. I won’t have it.”

  Excited and scared, Owen had been sent to school down the mountain. The bus ride to the newly built school building that had replaced the one-room school on the holler took an hour. Owen’s was one of the first classes to attend, and the newness of the school, the desks, the books, even the teachers, was enthralling. Very soon, he became a star pupil, and that set him apart from his classmates. Add that to Owen’s small stature and quiet nature, and he quickly became a target for bullies.

  The next several years were difficult, for as much as he wanted to learn, the time he spent indoors with his classmates was torturous. He was a second-class citizen in school, and he knew it. Even the teachers, who applauded Owen’s intelligence and desire to learn, were somewhat deriding at times.

  The turning point in Owen’s life came late in eighth grade. He’d started to notice girls, and he was going through changes he didn’t understand. The few friends he had managed to make from school were going through similar changes, but none of them seemed to be experiencing things on the same level.

  Mallie Johnson was hands down the prettiest girl in Owen’s class. All year, Owen had been struggling to hide the way he felt about her. On that particular day, they were on the playground, Mallie grouped with her friends and Owen with his.

  “You oughta ask her to go steady, Owen,” Tommy Johnson, Mallie’s cousin, teased, the pitch of his voice going from the gruff rumble he’d started to develop to the squeak of puberty.

  Owen felt his face grow hot, and he shook his head.

  “Yeah, Owen,” Rosco Pratt chimed in. “You oughta ask her to the Spring Dance.”

  “She wouldn’t go with me,” Owen said. “Not a girl as pretty as Mallie.”

  They kept on him, though, and by the time recess was over, they’d convinced him that Mallie really was interested in going with him. Scrounging up all his courage, Owen approached her as they filed back into the classroom. He tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned around, all glossy brown curls and dimpled smile, he froze. Embarrassing things started happening to his body, and as Mallie stood there, a confused look on her face as she waited for him to speak, he felt an awful, prickling sensation start at the base of his spine. Certain he was going to wet his pants, or worse, Owen had turned and fled.

  He went into the woods and down to the shady creek that ran behind the school. The water was shallow, and Owen kicked off his shoes to wade. His feet itched and burned, and when he pulled off his socks, he was horrified at what he saw. His feet were red and splotchy, and all over the tops, short black hairs had sprouted. The bottoms were hairless, but the pads had thickened, and they ached as if someone had beaten them.

  Owen yanked up his pant cuffs, and saw that the hair, almost like fur, continued up his legs. The hair was different from the kind that had started springing up all over his body. It was shorter and, when he touched it, softer than he would have expected.

  Frightened and unsure of what to do, he let his pant legs drop, jumped up, and ran into the creek. He slipped and slid on the algae-covered rocks as he trudged blindly through the water, walking as fast as he could without falling. Without thinking, he headed toward home, and before he realized it, he’d reached the mouth of the branch that ran into the holler where he lived. His feet were numb from being in the cold water for so long, and as he climbed out of the creek, he almost cried with relief to see that they’d returned to normal.

  He knew his father was still at work at the hardware store. Scared and ashamed of what had happened, he made a beeline for the back of the house. His mother was there, hanging sheets out to dry. He stood at the corner of the house, watching her, and let the sound of her singing wash over him. He closed his eyes and sank to his knees, curling up against the house with a sob.

  She rushed over and hunkered down in front of him. “Owen! What’s wrong, sweetheart? Why are you here instead of in school? What happened?”

  Owen threw his arms around her waist and sobbed on her shoulder like a baby. Lucy tugged him up and onto the steps of the back porch, and after a while, he calmed down enough to speak.

  “Mom, something horrible happened to me. I-I… I’m not normal.” Just thinking about the hairs that had sprouted and the way his feet had changed made him shudder. His mother stiffened. She faced straight ahead, and he heard her swallow. “Mom?”

  She stood and turned to go in the house. “I’ll be right back. You wait here, and I’ll explain what’s going on.”

  When she returned, she had two small jelly jars and a bottle of whiskey. She handed the jars to Owen, poured a splash of the amber-colored liquid in each of them, then added a second, heftier splash to one. She recapped the bottle and put it down, then took the jar with the extra whiskey.

  “Drink up. You’re going to need it. Don’t guzzle it, or else it might make you sick.” She turned up her jelly jar and drained it. A grimace crossed her face, and her breath hissed out from between her teeth, but the drink seemed to brace her.

  Owen knew his eyes had to be as big as half-dollars. He’d never seen his mother touch a drop of alcohol. She was usually the one who chastised others for drinking. If she told him to drink whiskey, he knew he must be dying. He looked down at his jelly jar then, fatalistic mindset in place, and sipped the whiskey. He recoiled from the taste, but knowing she was watching, finished the fiery liquid.

  “Blech!” He coughed and sputtered, wishing he could run inside and get some water to wash the taste out of his mouth. “That’s awful!”

  The corners of his mother’s mouth twitched. “Good. You keep thinking that, and you’ll go far in this world.” She looked down at her lap where she had twisted her fingers into knots. “Owen, I’ve not always told you everything I should have. I reckon I was waiting until you were old enough to understand. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  Confused, he frowned. “But—”

  Lucy shook her head and raised her hand. “No. Hear me out, son. This is something that you and I will know about, but your father and brother… they don’t have this condition. They won’t understand.”

  Cold chills ran down Owen’s spine, and he waited tensely, breath held, for his mother’s explanation.

  “See, the people in my family, we have this… gift. The women can hear better than most people and have a better sense of smell, but the sons? Owen, the sons can change into other creatures. It doesn’t happen to every boy, but usually one or two a generation at least. Very rarely, the girls can change, as well.”

  For a moment, he thought she was joking. She had to be. He’d never heard such an outlandish tale in his life. “Come on, Mom. You don’t think I’m going to believe that, do you?”

  “Do you remember all those fairy tales I us
ed to read to you when you were a little boy? All the folk tales about the men who went into the woods and turned into beasts?”

  Owen couldn’t take his eyes off her face. He nodded.

  “Well, they weren’t just tales I made up to scare you. They’re true.”

  The whole thing was too much. His mother was the most honest, upright person Owen knew. Something had to be affecting her, perhaps the whiskey. He glanced down at the bottle that sat on the steps between them.

  Lucy smiled. “Oh, honey, it’s not the booze. All of it’s true, what I’ve told you. You’re growing into being a man, but you’re also becoming more.”

  Owen spread his fingers, looking at his hands as if through new eyes. Sure, he’d noticed his body changing, but other than the intensity seeming to be more than what his friends were going through, the alterations hadn’t seemed all that different.

  “As I understand it, you’ll go through several months of ‘troubles,’ and then things will level out,” Lucy explained. “Any time you have a lot of stress on you, a lot on your mind, or you get angry, that’s when you have to fight the creature the most.”

  “What kind of creature?” Owen whispered. “Can I be a bird and fly away?”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Some men can change into more than one creature; others can only change into one. Usually, it’s a wolf or a wolf-like dog. That’s what my brother changed into.”

  “Uncle Jimmy?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “But he died in France, fighting Nazis. How could he join the Army if he was a-a beast of some kind?” Owen protested.

  Lucy reached out and pushed his hair off his face. “It’s called shifting. And Jimmy learned how to control it, for the most part. Though I’ve always thought he went over there hoping to get killed. He was never at peace with his true self, Owen. I hope that’s something you will be able to do: learn to accept yourself. What you are, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”