Big, Bad Wolf

by Essex, Bridget

  “That was interesting,” came a wry voice. Nenna? Nel? I couldn’t remember her name. The woman who was Kara’s friend. I blinked and tried to make sense of what I could see. A broken ceiling.

  “I'm here, Megan.” It was Kara. Her deep, soft voice washed over me, and the fear that had gripped my heart began to recede. I could still smell the dead animal, could still feel the tension from finding it. There was heat from the summer sun all around us, and I was self conscious…my dress had holes in it...

  “She's not coming out of it.” Kara's voice was distant, but distraught. “She's going back in.” I wanted to say something, tell her I was here, what was she talking about?

  More water. I was drowning--I’m twelve years old in the mountain stream, and I’m drowning. I breathe in water.

  “Wake up!” Kara shook my shoulders, and from wherever I'd been, I came back. I was cold, so cold...my body wouldn’t stop shaking.

  “Get some blankets.” That was Nedra. Names and places rushed back into my head like waves. I remembered where I was now, when I was. I wasn’t a kid...I sat in an abandoned factory, surrounded by strangers. Friends of Kara’s, I remembered.

  “She's freezing,” Kara breathed, and she snatched up a blanket from the ground, covering my body with it, rubbing my arms, my legs. She normally moved so smoothly, so fluid, but right now fear made her ungraceful, all jerky motions done in quick time. Seconds passed, I saw the way her lips formed a hard line.

  “She'll be fine,” said Nedra then, moments later, when I was swathed in blankets and had a mug of coffee in my hand. I was in Kara's lap, where she sat on the floor. I hadn’t stopped shaking.

  I didn't know what to do, so I asked a question. I asked it with anger in my voice, but Kara's body beneath mine absorbed most of it. It came out sounding soft, quiet: “What just happened?”

  Nedra sat down next to me, then, and I saw in her eyes a vast amount of pure youth. She was not as old as she appeared, with her jet-black hair and deep wrinkles lining a face that could have mirrored my own. What had she gone through, what had she seen to appear so old?

  “You blacked out. I’m pretty sure you have the flu.”

  It would explain everything, but I couldn’t let it go: “No...no. I saw something.”

  She regarded me with hooded eyes. “What did you see?”

  I thought: Big, bad wolves... I was shaking as I stared up at her.

  “What did you see?” she repeated, kinder this time.

  “I don't know...” I muttered then. I didn’t want to speak another word. I was tired and I wanted to go home. I felt too weak to stand, though, so I remained where I was...seated in the lap of a perfect stranger. I looked at her. She wasn't that strange. She was Kara.

  I felt…weird.

  “Try...” Nedra said. I blinked at the woman, this odd, little woman... “It was dead...” I said, then, clearing my throat. I told her what I could.

  “Interesting.” And out of the depths of her sleeves (long bell sleeves the color of blood), she drew an old piece of cream-colored cloth, frayed at the edges, tattered. It was wrapped around a deck of cards.

  I stared at the deck stupidly as she spread the cards in a long line before me, face down on the dirty floor. “Pick three,” she said solemnly, as I sighed.

  The memory was so fresh that I still felt warm from the sunlight, still self conscious (there were holes in my dress). But I drew three cards and handed them to her with a shaking hand because she was Kara’s friend.

  “Interesting,” she said then, and turned them over, one by one. They weren't tarot cards—everyone knows what tarot cards look like. But no, these were different. Something I’d never seen before. They were cards, yes, but they had strange pictures. Bright, over-saturated pictures that bled off the page onto the floor and into my brain.

  “This one,” she pointed to the first, the image of a woman that looked a lot like me. She was standing in a park, in a snowstorm. She seemed to be wandering. Lost. I looked at it, still shaking. “This one, Megan…what do you see in it?”

  “Myself,” something else was working my tongue. The thoughts in my heart came spilling out of my mouth. “I was caught in a snow storm a little while ago.”

  She looked up at me quickly, eyes flashing, but just as soon her face was downcast once more, staring at the cards. “And the next one?” she murmured.

  It was the image of two women, their backs to us, striding forward down a long, winding path.

  “Myself and Kara,” I muttered before I could stop myself. “Happy. In love.”

  “And this one?” she didn’t miss a beat, didn’t skip it. She turned over the last card, and I let out a rush of breath.

  It was a great black wolf, staring off the stiff paper with deep patience and wide, dark eyes filled with power. Her great, shaggy pelt was speckled with white, and she was tall and lean and lank. I knew her well. After all, she’d never stopped haunting my dreams.

  “The wolves. The big, bad wolves,” I whispered, then. My eyes were full of tears, and soon they’d start to fall, and I was too weak to resist it as the sobs began, shaking my body like a dog shakes a toy.

  “You think too much in your head, Megan,” Nedra said then, clucking her tongue. I straightened up, tears still on my cheeks, feeling the fever blaze through me. But I was outraged.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked angrily.

  “This card.” She pointed to it. “It shows a wolf, yes?”

  “Wolves have haunted me ever since I was a little girl,” I said resolutely. “They are in my dreams every night, and I see them…I see them all the time.”

  “Why do you think they are bad?” she asked then, letting the question sit between us. Beneath me, Kara stiffened—I could feel her at my back become tense.

  “I’m…I’m very tired, now,” I said, confused.

  “This wolf represents something good in your life,” she whispered, words hard. “It would be best for you to try and found out exactly what that is.”

  ---

  Kara helped me home. She half-carried me all the way back, me draped in her arms, her slight frame holding me up like I weighed nothing at all. She must have looked so beautiful, walking down the sidewalk with the streetlights flickering overhead, how strong and tall she must have looked, proud.

  I thought of how she'd climbed the stairs to my apartment, taking them slowly, carefully, helping me up each one as the fever pounded through my head. How she fished the keys out of my pocket, trying one key in the lock and then another until the final one fit (that's the way it always works), and then swinging the door open. And then she helped me gently on the couch, and stretched, placing long fingered hands at the small of her back. And then she sat down beside me, staring absentmindedly at my closed off features, lost in thought.

  She never told me what she was thinking, though. I just thought of it after I woke up--who knew how many days later--and I was in my own bed, and she was sitting next to it in an uncomfortable armchair. She hadn't changed her clothes, and her hair was messy. I wondered if she'd even left.

  Not that I did that much thinking, mind you. I lay like a good girl and stared at the ceiling as my brains leaked out of my ears. Or that's how I felt, anyway. It was the worst hangover feeling in the world, but it was the flu, and it was supposed to feel like you were dying, after all.

  “You're awake,” said Kara, leaning forward, gripping my hand tightly. There was a little sob in her voice, and I turned to her. Tears stood brightly in my eyes.

  “Yes,” I whispered. I didn’t have the strength to say anything else.

  Kara came to my side, cup of water in her hand. “Here, drink this,” she said, her tone encouraging. I stared up at her for a long moment, and then the memory (or was it a dream?) came back, and I stared at her with wide eyes.

  What exactly had happened to me?

  “You really must drink it,” she said, this time with a soft edge to her tone as she stared down at me with wide e
yes. I gulped down the water, closing my eyes, “do you want to eat something?” she asked me quietly. I was too tired to respond.

  We sat in silence for a time. She on the edge of the bed with an empty cup in her hand, myself securely tucked beneath the covers, flat on my back, staring at the inside of my eyelids. What had happened to me? Had I dreamed it all?

  “Do you remember what happened, Megan?” she asked, then, surprising me. I opened my eyes and stared at her. There must have been disbelief on my face, for she smiled and leaned down, kissing me soundly on my cold lips.

  She was delicious, warm...sweet. I lay there and let myself be kissed, caressed and gentled by her body and hands. She touched my cheeks softly and twirled her fingers in my hair. She sat up after a moment and gazed down into my face, searching my eyes.

  “What happened, Kara?” I asked then, afraid. My head felt full of holes, but I knew there was something important. Something I had to remember.

  “I took you to the factory, remember? Where I live,” she picked up my hand and lovingly traced the back of it with her hot fingertips.

  “I remember the factory, but...” I trailed off. Things were hazy. I bit back frustrated tears. “I can't really remember what happened. If you could just please tell me...”

  “You fainted, Megan.” Her voice was solemn, but her eyes were burning. “From the fever, from the flu…you don't remember fainting?”

  Could I? I tried, but nothing appeared in my head as I desperately tried to remember

  “Kara...”

  She cocked her head and glanced my way in surprise. “There's no need for that,” she said softly, gently, then, as tears spilled from my eyes. She stood suddenly, seemingly to hunt for a tissue. She found one and knelt down beside me again, gently wiping away the tears from below my eyes.

  “What do you remember?” she whispered, tracing a finger over my cheek. I didn’t look at her, I looked at the ceiling.

  “Wolves,” I said, flatly. “Big, bad wolves...that's all I remember.”

  “Wolves?” She took my hand again, down on her knees by my side, her eyes wide as she stared at me.

  “Gramma...” The words twisted in my throat, and I had to spit them out, almost choking in the process. “Gramma Molly--she's the woman who raised me... I've told you about her, haven't I?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was quiet.

  “She sees wolves all the time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She sees things that aren't there, Kara. All the time. They say she's mentally unstable. Delusional.” The words were choking me, but somehow I had to get them out. “She sees them all the time.”

  “Don’t you…don’t you remember what Nedra said…?” she asked, but then she swallowed. She looked at me with clear eyes and watched as she silently wept, the tears tracing down her cheeks, but she said nothing.

  I shook my head, continuing: “I'm afraid and ashamed,” I said then, bitterly. “I'm afraid that I'll end up just like her. Crazy.”

  Once it came out, there was no taking it back.

  Kara’s face was expressionless. Somehow, I felt like I’d failed her, but didn’t yet know how.

  ---

  I woke up when it was light out. I didn’t know what day it was, what time. My bedroom door was closed, and as I struggled to a sitting position, there was a polite, soft knock at it.

  Kara pushed it open a little, stuck her shaggy head in.

  “Come in,” I croaked.

  “I left you this morning,” Kara explained, “when did you get up?”

  “Just now,” I told her, my voice still croaking.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Let me make you something...”

  She did a surprising thing, then. She helped me out of bed. I was wobbly, but my feet stayed under me as she helped me take small steps to the kitchen. I hadn’t expected to start feeling better so soon—I thought the flu lasted a long time?

  I sat at the table, head in hands, as she busied herself in my kitchen. Pots and pans gently clinked, and there was the sound of running water, spoons against metal, and then, somehow, there was a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of me. I stared at it for a long moment, and she had to say “eat,” before I remembered she was there.

  I did. I took the utensil she gave me and forked sticky grains into my mouth. I chewed them and swallowed. They stuck in my throat.

  “Megan.” She sat down next to me, but felt a million miles away. I took another mouthful of the oats.

  “Megan,” she repeated softly, quietly. “You're okay,” she told me, reaching across the space between us to gather my hand in hers. Her eyes were shining. She repeated, slowly, softly: “you're okay.”

  “Am I?” I asked, then, tongue as wooden as I felt. I needed her to say it again, needed to hear it from someone outside of myself. I needed to be told that everything was all right.

  “Yes.” She said it with conviction, but her eyes wavered, and I saw it, and she knew I saw it. She swallowed and looked away, “If…if it’s not okay. I want you to know, I would help you. I would always help you. I kept you safe, didn’t I? I always keep my word. I think…I think you know that.”

  Help you...I blinked and stared at my bowl of oatmeal. Bits and pieces of the previous days were coming back to me. I remembered fires and circles of people, and a strange violin, music spinning in the dark.

  I remembered a dress in tatters, and I remembered a dead deer.

  I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath. I felt her squeeze my hand, felt her wrapping long fingers tighter around my own. I felt her lean forward, and then I felt her sweet, soft warmth as I was embraced. It was so comforting, her body against mine, and for a moment, I felt like everything would be all right.

  “You're okay,” she repeated. She whispered the words into my ear, and they were soft and loving.

  Okay.

  I breathed in and out and leaned my head upon her shoulder.

  I was okay.

  I don't know why, but I wanted to believe her. So I did.

  ---

  “Welcome back, Megan!” Sharon put an arm around my shoulders, steering me away from my car, the parking lot, toward the library. My purse dangled at the crook of my elbow. “How have you been?” she asked me.

  “All right. Sort of. Actually, I haven’t been that well,” I murmured, still cold. “But I’m better now.” My car hadn't warmed up on the drive here. It was a bitterly cold day, the kind where your nose freezes if you breathed through it. I couldn't stop shaking.

  “Oh! Have you been sick? There's something that's been going around lately—how terrible to get sick on your vacation!” She patted my arm but took an exaggerated step backward as she grinned at me.

  “I'm fine now, Sharon, really…it was the flu, but it’s gone.” I lifted my key and unlocked the library doors.

  Rob arrived a bit later, and Sally last of all, making her way hurriedly through the stacks of books and then locking herself in her office.

  “How have things been?” asked Rob, a little late in the afternoon, after all of the books had been shelved. He’d been trying to decide what new books to order for the children’s department, and was taking a break. “More importantly,” he told me, leaning on the counter with a single brow raised and a big grin, “how have things been going with Kara?”

  “They've been good, and--” I trailed off, smiling a bit, wondering how I could possibly ever describe the events of the past week. “…odd.”

  “But good?” He waggled his eyebrows and I sighed, eyes heavenward

  “Good,” I replied with a small smile. But then Sharon needed him for something, and I didn’t get a chance to recount the “odd” parts.

  I wasn’t even sure what I would have told him.

  Chapter 7

  If I’d thought my nightmares had been terrible before, I had obviously not understood how terrible they could become.

  I did, now.

  I hadn’t bee
n sleeping that well, not since the trip to the factory, since the flu. When I slept, my eyes would close, and big, bad wolves would run across my vision, shaggy pelts, wet with snow, noses frozen, eyes burning, black pelts seeming to blot out the light. Their paws were larger than dinner plates, as they galloped across the snow-bound earth.

  I would wake up, then, and my blood would be rushing, and I would find, more often than not, that it seemed like I didn’t have enough air in my lungs. So then, I would take in big gulps of air, and I would turn on my bedside lamp, try to burn the demonic image from my heart. And I would find that I couldn’t.

  So every night was terrible. There was no reprieve from the monsters. When I slept, I dreamed; when I woke, I was exhausted... if I didn’t sleep, I stumbled through life, too tired to be of much use to anyone. This couldn’t go on, I knew this couldn’t go on. But there was nothing I could do.

  Wasn't there?

  That night, before my date with Kara, I found myself picking up the phone. I found myself dialing a well-worn number. And I heard my grandmother answer after the third ring.

  “Megan.” Her voice was gentle, though distant. “I haven't heard from you in awhile, sweetheart.”

  “I'm sorry, Gramma…” Just hearing her voice made all of the tension seem to drain from my shoulders. I sat down at my table. “Things have been...pretty weird...”

  “Same here,” she grunted. And then there was silence.

  “Listen... Gramma,” I gulped in air, and then I was blurting out the truth: “Gramma... I'm afraid.”

  “Of what, honey?”

  Where was the phone cord when I needed it? My fingers made spirals in the air beneath the phone, wishing they had a cord to become tangled in, to help me think better. “Do you...have you...seen the wolves, lately?”

  “Often,” came her confident reply. “They’ve been very good to us, Megan.” And then, as if that hadn't mattered: “but what's wrong?”

  “No...nothing,” I gulped down my tears, and got up, leaning against the kitchen wall.