Moonglow

by Michael Griffo

  “Orion, maître des cieux, voici notre pouvoir.”

  The howl that erupts from deep inside of me is so intense and sudden that it silences her. She reacts exactly the way that I want her to, accepting her fear like her companion already has, giving in to it, allowing it to fill her body like my hunger-heat is filling mine, so I can feast.

  The female, now silent, looks at me with a face filled with shock instead of intent. She is staring at me with the awe that is appropriate, and she understands that if I want to kill her there is absolutely nothing she can do to prevent it. She is wise, and I am strong. We understand each other, we need each other, and as I look into her eyes, the color of unattended dirt, I see that she knows I will spare her. This time I’ll allow her to live. Her eyes do not offer me thanks but something more important: respect.

  Turning away from her I focus on the white male. His body is shaking more violently now as he crawls on the ground. His hands slam hard onto the floor; his knees slide after him, trembling, desperately trying to obey the command of the rest of his body. His eyes dart left, right, searching for an escape that we both know doesn’t exist. Good. Welcome the fear, embrace it; the end is almost here.

  With each step I take, I can hear my nails click against the wooden floor. With each step I take, I can feel my heart beat faster, and I consciously choose to slow down my pace. I do not want to rush this kill; I want to savor it. I want this time to be better. The last time was like a frenzy, a panic, flesh torn, blood spilt, hunger abated but not quenched. Now I must be in control from start to finish, enjoy every moment and not rush, even though I feel as if I don’t have much time left.

  My prey is stuck in the crevice of the wall, pushing against the wood as if his slight frame could break through to the other side to reach what he believes to be his freedom. But he will not be free, not until I break through the chains that connect him to life. Not until I decide to open my mouth and plunge my razor-sharp teeth into his flesh and claim what is mine.

  His body is a crumpled, shivering mass of white bones. Tiny sounds escape from the mound, whimpers, cries, muffled gasps. Each sound a violation against me and against nature itself. He raises an arm in front of his face as if to prevent me from seeing him, as if he could disappear into the fear that surrounds him, as if anything could stop me from doing what my heart and my mind and my soul are telling me to do.

  “Dominy, please,” he says, his voice quivering. “I’m your friend.”

  I have no friends!

  For a moment the heat that engulfs me is cooled. I am no longer consumed with fire and rage and hunger; something else fills my body. I have no idea what it is; I have no idea what I’m feeling. It’s foreign, and yet it’s familiar, but whatever it is, it makes me pause.

  I look at this thing huddled on the floor in front of me, and I wonder why I stop. Why have I given in to its plea? Why am I allowing this thing to have an effect on me, to control me when it should have no influence? It is just a thing. And yet this thing has an unexpected power.

  “Dominy,” it repeats. “It’s Archie. I’m your friend. You don’t want to hurt me.”

  Trembling words coming out of a trembling body. Weak words coming out of a weak body. I should not listen to them; I shouldn’t let them swirl inside my head; I should not let them dictate how I will act. But I do.

  My tongue glides across my lips, and I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of my need to drink. The white creature begins to stand to its full height, and he towers above me; he looks down at me, his limbs not still but no longer shaking violently. He is gaining control over his body and over the situation and over me.

  “That’s it,” he says. “You know me, and you would never hurt me.”

  I look at him, and it looks like he is starting to move, but I realize it is my own vision, my own confusion that is making the entire room start to spin. Dizzy, I turn to the female, the one who understands me, to find my footing, to regain my composure. She is still on the other side of the room, but she is no longer looking at me with respect; her eyes are filled with a mixture of anger and disgust. Quickly her eyes dart from the white one and then back to me, and her lips move to form silent words. I can feel her power; I can feel her desire; I can feel her command.

  This time my howl is filled with lust and wild abandon. Not an ounce of caution or restraint or pity is contained within its cry.

  I turn back to the white creature, one last look before I kill it. I spring into the air, and my ears are bombarded with sound. My own growls, my prey’s cries, and from behind me the sound once again of lightning. All followed by the dark quiet of silence.

  Sounds fracture through the silence like sparks of light piercing a black sky. Fleeting, temporary, and then leaving the sky even blacker than before their arrival. I know that I’m surrounded by people. I can hear their voices, but I can’t speak; I can’t communicate; I can’t make any sound of my own. The only thing I can do is listen and wait. An overwhelming sense of sadness threatens to suffocate me since I think this is how my mother may feel. I pray to God that I’m wrong. I pray that she isn’t trapped within some dark world just out of finger-reach of ours, someplace where she knows she shouldn’t be, but from which she can’t escape. Someplace where she can hear our voices, but knows none of us will ever hear her replies. Someplace where I am right now.

  When I open my eyes, I’m still connected to that other place. Half there, half here. I don’t know how much time has passed. I don’t know exactly where I am for a second because my vision is blurry. Then everything comes into focus. The cabin, the morning light, my father, Caleb.

  I try to speak, but my throat is parched, dry like a burnt twig. Caleb shouldn’t be here. My father and I are supposed to be here secretly, shut off from the world while the full moon loomed in the sky, while we waited to see whether the curse was mere words or something more. I turn my head and can see the sunlight. Whatever the answer is, it’s already been revealed. Whatever the truth is, Caleb shares the knowledge. Quickly, I glance at my arms and expect them to be covered in an animal’s red fur, but they’re not. I look normal. I am normal. But why are my arms tied up with rope?

  I try to lift my arm, but it won’t budge. Neither will the other one. That’s because thick pieces of rope are wrapped around my chest and arms and around my ankles. Twisting from side to side I try to wrench myself free, and despite the rope burning against my skin I don’t stop moving until I feel Caleb’s hands on my arms.

  “Easy, Dominy,” he says.

  His eyes are focused on the rope and they look beautiful and compassionate and scared. Oh God, please no, please don’t let it be true.

  “Mr. Robineau, can I untie her?”

  My father must nod his consent because Caleb’s fingers start to loosen the ropes, and soon my upper body is free. I try to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but he’s avoiding me. He can’t bring himself to look at my pitiful face. In fact he turns his back on me to untie the ropes around my ankles and doesn’t turn around when he’s finished.

  “Here, drink some water,” my father says, taking his place.

  Lifting my head to follow my father’s command, I feel a burst of pain erupt at the nape of my neck and spread down my spine. When it reaches the end of the bone it doesn’t disappear, but spreads out so my entire back feels like it’s a twisted piece of fiery metal. I gulp down some water and lie back down on the couch.

  Now I’m frightened. It’s as if the fear that was living in Caleb’s eyes is an airborne virus, and it’s leapt into my body, infecting me with the same poison.

  “Daddy,” I whisper.

  I don’t have to say another word. My father knows exactly what I’m asking him; he knows exactly what I need to know. I just can’t believe he says it out loud in front of Caleb.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “The curse is real.”

  The fire-pain reaches out from the back of my neck and grabs hold of my throat, squeezing, pressing onto my larynx so I can’t reply
. Then it rises, squirming into my cheeks, my lips, my nose, eyes, forehead, until my entire head is consumed with a blinding ache that no medicine will ever be able to soothe.

  “No.”

  It’s a pathetic word, useless, but it’s the only one I can think of to say.

  I look at Caleb who still hasn’t found the courage to look at me, unlike Archie and Nadine standing behind him. They can’t take their eyes off me. Wait! What are they doing here too? They shouldn’t be here either; I should be alone with my father. He’s the only one who can help me; he’s the only one who can possibly understand. Why the hell did I say anything to those two? I must have been out of my mind to think that confiding in anyone else would be a good idea.

  “Get out!” I shout.

  My voice has no power, and no one moves.

  “I said get out of here!”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Archie replies.

  “Daddy, please . . .”

  It’s hard to speak with tears streaming down my face and a twisting pain in my throat, but I have to fight back. I grip the side of the couch to lift my body up to a sitting position. Maybe this way I won’t look so feeble. Maybe this way they’ll listen to me.

  “Please, Daddy, make them leave.”

  Begging gets me nowhere except on the receiving end of more pitying expressions. What in the world happened? And do I even want to know?

  “You heard what Archie said,” Nadine interjects. “We’re not leaving; we’re staying right beside you.”

  I don’t want you here! I don’t want anyone to see me like this. My words must be silent because no one responds to my commands. Fine, if they’re not leaving, then I am.

  Swinging my legs off the couch I try to press my feet into the floor, but I feel like I’m paralyzed from the waist down. No pain, no feeling, no nothing.

  “What’s wrong with me?!”

  “It’s the aftereffects of the Taser,” my father explains.

  The what? My stunned expression is all that’s needed for my father to continue speaking.

  “I had to, Dom. It was the only way to get you to stop.”

  I have to ask. I don’t want to, but I must. “Stop me from doing what?”

  “Killing Archie,” Nadine replies.

  What?! I have no memory of what I’ve just been told, but I understand everything.

  “The curse . . . the curse turned me into something that wanted to kill Archie?”

  “Yes,” my father confirms.

  First Jess and now Archie. I’m not a werewolf; I’m a murderer.

  “Once the full moon appeared,” my father continues, “you were turned into a werewolf.”

  Why aren’t they laughing at my father? Why aren’t they telling him that he’s crazy and needs to book an adjoining room next to my mother at The Retreat?

  “I tried to keep you here,” my father explains. “I used the Taser on you, but I didn’t have it on its highest frequency, so it only knocked you out for a few moments.”

  Once again I try to remember what I’m being told, but no memory returns. I have to give in to blind faith and trust that what I’m being told is the truth. Just as I have to trust that my father’s ripped shirt and bandaged arm are the result of my attacking him.

  “We ran after you, but lost you until we heard . . .” Something catches in my father’s voice, and he can’t continue.

  “Heard what?” I ask.

  “Until we heard you howl again,” my father adds. “We caught up with you just in time.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “I really turned into . . . an animal?”

  It’s more of a question because I can’t comprehend that something so supernatural, something that should only exist in books and movies is actually real.

  “Yes,” my father answers.

  “Well, we didn’t see you turn into anything,” Archie says, tilting his head toward Nadine. “But we saw you turn back.”

  Clutching my mouth, I’m not successful in preventing my cry from being heard; the second escapes me and invades the room. I have never felt more disgusting and exposed and vulnerable in my entire life. My father, my friends, and my boyfriend saw me in the most repulsive, incomprehensible state imaginable. How can they ever look at me the same way again?

  “We brought you back here,” my father recounts. “And put you in the cage. After a few hours you transformed back.”

  “It was pretty amazing, Dom,” Archie adds. “Like watching one of those time-lapse movies where they show a plant growing, but speed it up really fast so it takes a few seconds. You went from wolf to human in about ten seconds.”

  Ten seconds of witnessing something no human being thought they would ever witness.

  “But, you know, when we realized you were naked,” Archie says, “we looked away.”

  “I was naked!”

  “Your father was prepared, Dominy,” Nadine offers. “We had your clothes ready, and the boys went in the other room while we dressed you.”

  I grip my knee to stop my hand from shaking. This girl I have known for roughly six months dressed me while I was naked and unconscious.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” she adds. “I’m used to doing it as a volunteer.”

  I know her comment is supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Archie says, “Caleb peed himself, which is why he’s wearing the sweats I brought with me to sleep in.”

  Glancing at Caleb I see my boyfriend turn his head away from me. I doubt very much that he can’t look at me because he’s embarrassed that he wet his pants.

  “When it was clear you weren’t going to transform again,” my father continues, “we brought you out here . . .”

  “But tied me up just to be on the safe side,” I finish.

  My father can’t even reply; he just nods his head. So Luba’s curse isn’t just an idle threat; it’s real. And the little bit of humanity that it didn’t destroy has now been crushed. Not only am I frightened and disgusted, but I’m humiliated as well.

  Luba. This woman I’ve never known, this woman I’ll probably never meet, has taken my life and callously and cruelly damaged it beyond repair. If she wanted revenge, why didn’t she bring my father to the police, demand justice for the accidental shooting of her husband? Why didn’t she do what a normal person would do? The answer is so simple, it terrifies me.

  Because evil exists.

  “So all of it’s true,” I say. “I’m a werewolf because of some Indian woman’s curse.”

  Heartbroken, my father can only muster up the strength to bow his head.

  “And I’m the one who killed . . .”

  I have to say the words out loud once and for all.

  “I’m the one who killed Jess.”

  This time my father finds the strength because he knows I’ve lost all of mine.

  “Yes.”

  The sobs overtake my body so quickly I’m not prepared for them. Next the screams come, and I feel something hitting the side of my head. I think it might be Caleb or Archie or Nadine, but it’s me; I’m hitting myself, punching my face wildly, without caring what part I touch, as long as I inflict some pain. But I know that I can punch myself from now until the end of time, and it won’t equal the pain I inflicted on my friend, my Jess, who I considered my sister, who I loved as much as she loved me.

  My father’s arms are the first ones I feel around me. I’d know his touch anywhere, his unconditional love and compassion; without it I would be lost, more lost than I feel right now. Doubling over in exquisite pain, I hold on to my father, secure in the knowledge of one thing—that he will never let go. He will never let me fall.

  “What have I done?!” I scream. “I killed her!”

  “No,” my father whispers.

  “Oh my God, Daddy, I did it, I killed Jess!”

  “No, no!” This time my father bellows, his voice loud and sure. “You didn’t do anything.”

  “It was her.�
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  Archie’s voice is like a siren, cutting through the cluster of sounds in the room to create an abrupt silence. I turn to him, but instead my eyes focus on Nadine staring at me. Archie’s words repeat in my head: It was her. Nadine?

  “It was that woman,” Archie continues. “It’s Psycho Squaw’s curse, Dom, so it’s her fault!”

  Angrily, I flick tears from my eyes. The feeling is starting to come back to my legs, and I have the need to move. Slowly, I get up, swiping at the air when my father and Archie shoot out their hands to help me.

  I need their help, but I don’t want it.

  I lurch forward and grab onto the arm of the couch until I feel steady enough to move on. Wisely, no one comes to my aid; they just watch my struggle, knowing as I do that at some point, I’ll be in control of my body again. Finally, I’m able to stand upright, leaning my hip against the table just in case I need support. Now what I need are answers.

  “Why are you two even here?” I say, jutting my head in Archie and Nadine’s direction.

  “We thought we might as well camp out in the small cabin for the night,” Nadine says.

  “And, you know, rag on you in the morning when you didn’t transform into a wolf,” Archie concludes.

  I can’t help but smile.

  “Guess the joke’s on you two,” I reply.

  As expected Archie is the only one who laughs.

  “And you?” I say, pointing a finger at Caleb.

  Immediately his eyes look away and then slowly return to take in my face. “I told you I thought you were here with Napoleon,” he informs me.

  A vague memory latches onto my mind, and I remember Caleb’s yelling at me, accusing me of cheating on him with Napoleon. And then I remember my father hitting Caleb with his gun, but then there’s only darkness, a dark, blank slate.

  “Is that when I transformed?”

  In response to my question, my father has one of his own. “You don’t remember?”

  I feel like I’m in geometry and I’m being asked a question about the previous day’s lesson. I hope that information will miraculously fill in my head, but instead my mind starts to wander. I think about what I’m going to wear tomorrow, what color nail polish I should try next, the last funny thing Jess said to me. Jess. Why did I remember her screams and not Archie’s?