Big, Bad Wolf

by Essex, Bridget

  “Come by the fire and warm your bones,” he said. So I did.

  My grandmother trailed behind us, her hands together, in front of her, picking at spots on her sleeve. She sat down beside me and stared at the fire as she'd stared out the window. Everything was dull and then sharp in my eyes, in my lungs. I quaked, and had brought the blanket, still warm and full about me, but it made no difference, and we all looked at the fire for awhile, as I shook beneath the layers of heat.

  It was strange and silent for a long time. I became dulled to it, almost mesmerized by the fire, by the sound of my own breathing. My lungs were now warm and I could breathe without aching.

  “Are you hungry?” Clyde asked then. I was surprised, for my stomach rumbled in answer.

  “Yes, I suppose,” I said, quiet.

  “I'll fix us something,” he beamed, smile wide across his wide face. I smiled in return as he rose and walked towards the old stove.

  “Megan.” It was a whisper I had almost not heard, but I did, and I was looking back at my grandmother now. There was fear in her eyes; they were wide as the fire flickered. I swallowed, tongue suddenly thick.

  “What's wrong?” I whispered back. “Is it the wolves?”

  “No, sweetheart.” And then there were tears, big drops that cascaded down her eyes and along her nose. She twirled the wedding band on her finger, looking down at her hands.

  “What is it? We're okay!” And I hugged her, feeling her shaking beneath my embrace. I backed away, sat down again on the ground. The boards pressed against my legs and my ankle throbbed.

  “Your boss...” She looked down at me again, even through the tears. I felt my heart quicken. “Is she all right?”

  “No.” The word was small.

  My grandmother covered her face with her hands and turned back to the fire. A log beneath the grate snapped, dark and red.

  “How...” I breathed in and out. “Gramma, how did you know?”

  “Megan!” Clyde's voice was large in the hush. “Do you like baked beans?”

  I nodded without looking in his direction. I heard the sound of pans and a can opener. I breathed in and out.

  “You need to listen to me, and you need to listen quickly.” My grandmother leaned down to me, lips hardly moving, voice low. “Clyde...he's a very bad man, Megan.”

  “I don't understand.” I looked over her shoulder at his bulk moving in the kitchen. He stirred the pan of beans with a small fork, dwarfed by his hands. “He saved you--he saved me.”

  She shook her head emphatically. “No... listen...”

  My grandmother stiffened when Clyde's boots made a distinctive thump, then leaned even closer. Her eyes were huge in the flickering light.

  “Clyde killed Sally,” she whispered. “He was going to kill me--he wants you, Megan.”

  I sat there and listened to those words, staring into the fire. I felt my heart hammer in my chest, and I remembered the dreams and the visions, the waking nightmares, and the memories.

  “That can't possibly be true...” I whispered weakly. “It can't possibly...”

  “It is,” her voice was harsh, pitched. “He's going to keep us here. He wants you...”

  “Wants me?” I didn't understand.

  “Supper's ready!” Clyde bellowed into the stillness. My grandmother and I stared at one another. I shook.

  “Here.” He was handing me a plate of beans, having taken three big steps across the room to us. He had to have heard us--he had to. He would tell us now not to be so silly--he would explain everything. He would. I took the plate and smiled weakly up at him. He didn’t smile back.

  We ate in silence, the sounds of our chewing and swallowing echoing strangely in the vast cabin. I was done first and stood, albeit gingerly. My ankle hurt too much for me to put full weight on it, so I leaned on my grandmother's chair and took her plate from her.

  “We've got to get going, Clyde.” I smiled at him again. His hand was poised halfway between plate and mouth--the beans slipped off his fork. “I really want to thank you for your hospitality, though, and for saving us. It was wonderful of you.”

  “It's blizzarding out there!” he waved his spoon to the window where the snow and darkness still swirled. “You gals can't possibly go anywhere! You'll have to stay.”

  “Really, I don't think we can,” I said, voice high.

  “I insist.”

  There was no harm in this. He was only being sensible. I sank back down to the floor and glanced at my grandmother--my grandmother who had tea with wolves. She must be wrong. She must. She was silently weeping.

  Clyde was harmless. Of course he was harmless.

  Yet…one thing nagged in the back of my mind, as the minutes wore down, it had nagged louder and louder until it was all I could hear.

  “Clyde,” I murmured, breathless--then breathed in and out and said a bit louder: “Do you remember when you came down to visit me at the library?”

  “Yes.” His face was expressionless.

  “Do you remember my boss--Sally?” Beside me, my grandmother stiffened, but I continued. “Clyde, she died tonight.”

  “That's horrible,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Yes,” I stared at him as he took another mouthful of beans.

  Outside, the wind howled. Or was it wolves?

  He was still wearing his boots--they leaked wetly onto the floor. There were stains on his pants, stains on his boots. Dark, deep red stains. The water that leaked onto the floor was pinkish.

  “If it's just the same with you,” I whispered with a dry mouth. “I would like to leave tonight.”

  “You can't,” he said simply.

  “We will.”

  He stood up--he towered over me--had always towered over me. He shook his head as he walked past. “It's too cold out in that storm.”

  I stood up and walked purposefully toward the door. My ankle smarted each time I put the smallest amount of weight on it. When I got there, I tried it…it was locked. There was a keyhole I could see, but no key--it was locked from the inside.

  A large hand fell onto my shoulder, and I turned, wincing. The firelight flickered, and all I could see was the grim line of his mouth, the eyes that didn’t blink, as he stared down at me. “You can't go out tonight, Megan--this is for your own good,” I smelled whiskey on his breath, and shrank back.

  “Clyde, you're being ridiculous.” That was my grandmother, and though her voice shook, it sounded nonchalant and clear. “We need to go.”

  “No one,” he growled, “is leaving. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, biting my lip, wondering if this was a dream. But how could it be? My ankle ached, I smelled whiskey, my skin crawled. I could hear my grandmother breathing. This--this couldn’t possibly be a dream.

  “I've waited such a very long time for this,” he was saying.

  If this was a dream, then this would not matter. If this wasn't...then I would know. I looked up into his face, watching his eyes in the firelight.

  I said: “You killed Sally.”

  He didn’t move, only continued breathing. I watched his face closely, watched it for any change. Eventually, he turned away, moving toward the fireplace. He sat down quietly on the chair. My grandmother was standing, I was standing. We looked at one another--she was still crying.

  “Clyde?” I whispered, voice small.

  “I've waited for this for a very long time,” he said finally, staring into the fire, hands clasped. “For years and years and years, Megan. Do you know how long that is?”

  My heart was in my throat and I found that I couldn’t respond.

  “Now, now it's all over. Because you're here,” he looked at me then, and I saw that his eyes were shining, and I needed to be sick. But all I could do was stare. I was frozen.

  “Clyde, you're frightening her...” my grandmother muttered, looking at him in disgust.

  “I'm not frightening anyone,” he smiled. His face darkened like the woods. “Don't you even realize how much I'v
e done for you?” he was standing and striding for me then, and I shrank back against the door, quaking. He towered over me, blocking out the light.

  “Clyde, please don't hurt her...” that was my grandmother, and though her voice sounded small, it was strong. “Please, Clyde...”

  There was a howl again. This time, Clyde looked up, anger in his eyes. “It's those damnable wolves again,” he muttered: “they just won't stop.”

  “Wolves?” I whispered. This was a dream. It had to be a dream.

  “Nothing will ever get done with distractions,” he said then, delicately. “Molly, you get to go and see if that storm is as bad as I said.” He took my grandmother's arm, and he had a key in his hand. Before I understand, fully, what he was doing, he had her through the door and was locking it again behind her, after he’d shoved her out of it, out into the snowstorm. He squirreled the key away, and I was beating on the door with my fists, then, screaming for my grandmother. There was howling on the other side--and if it was wind or wolves or her voice, I couldn’t tell, for suddenly I was being pulled backwards by my arms. Clyde was dragging me away.

  “She's just a distraction,” he said with soothing noises, drawing me close to him. He squeezed me against his bulk in a hug, even as I struggled--I couldn't breathe when he held me like that, and after a moment, I went limp.

  “They'll kill her,” I repeated, over and over. He took me by the hand and dragged me to the bedroom. I couldn’t see as the tears washed my eyes, as the sobs took hold of my lungs. He pressed me into the room and followed, locking the door behind him. I was trapped.

  “Here, now,” he said again, trying to soothe me. “We're together. I've waited... well, you know how long I've waited,” he was beaming from ear to ear, his grin huge. “Megan, I've loved you for so long.”

  “I don't understand,” I whimpered, sinking to the floor. He stepped toward me, and I cowered away. He was on the floor in an instant, hands out to me, smile never wavering.

  “Please, please don't be sad,” he said. “I've loved you since you were a tiny girl. I knew we were always supposed to be together.”

  I pressed against the edge of his bed--it was as far back as I could go. I was shaking.

  “I'm going to go now,” he smiled--he never stopped smiling. “In a moment, I'm going to come back in, and we'll be ready to begin.”

  I didn’t need to have it explained. He left the room, and I beat against the door, anger moving through m as fast as the fear. I couldn’t breathe.

  I ran to the window--it was made of small plate glass, built around metal. Even if I could break multiple panes before he returned, he would hear me, and I could never get through them. I pressed my fingers to the cold glass and my forehead, too, willing my Gramma to be there, to show herself to me. I peered out into the swirling snow, and thought I saw a moving shadow. It was too low to the ground, too dark, to be my grandmother.

  It stopped, as I stared at it--stopped and turned, looking at me with glowing eyes.

  A wolf.

  I moved away from the window just as Clyde reopened the door. He strode into the room and gazed at me, standing by the window. He was moving forward again, and he had me by the shoulders. “I've done so much for you, and you'll never know or understand--how could you?”

  “Please let me go,” I whimpered. He towered over me, his bulk pushing me back and on the bed. “Please, Clyde...please let me go.”

  “If you're good, I'll go out and get your grandmother,” he murmured as he forced me down onto the bed. I stopped struggling as the harsh reality filled my heart. Would he keep his word? Was my grandmother already dead? How could she be? How long had it been?

  He worked his hand up under my shirt, and his fingers were so cold. I struggled, then--I couldn’t let him touch me... couldn’t. “This should have happened a long time ago,” he was saying, as he pressed me down with his monstrous bulk. “Remember the blizzard, when you were lost in it? Remember the truck that passed you? That was me. You were supposed to be mine that night, but I lost you in the snow.”

  My head spun as he pinned my hands down, and I couldn’t struggle against him. I couldn’t make a sound as his other hand pressed against my mouth. I thought I would suffocate and die…I couldn't breathe as he brought his lips to the skin of my neck.

  There was the sound of breaking glass, of thousands of small pieces hitting the floor, and the screech of twisting metal, and suddenly the room was so cold I gasped. Clyde rolled off me, and there were shadows, and I didn't understand what was happening, until I sat up in the bed and saw Clyde on the floor, and a gigantic wolf gripping his shoulder in white teeth.

  I stared at the thing stupidly, stared at it and realized I must be dreaming again. Clyde yelled mightily and yanked his shoulder away from the beast. There were many heads of animals in his living room and a large shotgun placed strikingly across the mantle. I realized as he got heavily to his feet, as he crossed the room toward the door, that this was what he was going for. The wolf made as if to spring at him again, but stopped, turning.

  This was a dream. It was a gigantic wolf. The big, black thing that had haunted my nightmares for as long as I could remember. I stared at it as if not seeing as Clyde's hand struggled with the key and lock and door. The wolf looked to him, then back at me...and changed.

  One moment, it was a great black beast, the next it seemed to grow smaller, smaller...my eyes flickered with the power as the light above me flickered, and then Kara was there, crouching naked in the middle of the floor, lips up and over her teeth in a snarl. She looked at me wildly.

  “Kara,” I said--my lips and tongue formed the word, but I couldn’t believe it, not really. After all, none of this was real. This was only some horrible, half formed dream. A nightmare.

  “Megan, did he hurt you?” Her eyes were wild, and she looked manic. She leapt towards me, taking my hands in hers as I shrank back. “Megan, did he? Did he?” she shook my shoulders, and it was gentle, and her breath was hot on my face.

  “Get away from her, wolf.” Clyde was in the door, and the shotgun was aimed at Kara. She stood slowly, staring at him across the space. Even though she was naked, she radiated pure power as she stared at him, leaning forward. Again, her lips were curled up and over her teeth. As I watched, her nose appeared to lengthen, until he shook his head.

  “Don't,” was all he said. “She already knows what a monster you are. Let's not make it worse.”

  “Kara,” I whimpered.

  Her eyes flicked to me, then back at Clyde. “If you get rid of me,” she said levelly, softly, “there are many, many outside to take my place. It’s over.”

  The wind and snow blew through the window, and with it, I could hear high pitched barking, and then a howl that was joined by many voices. I felt the hair on the back of my neck crawl, found myself staring at Kara. She looked at me, and her eyes were sad.

  They were also slitted.

  “Wolf,” I breathed.

  Clyde pulled the trigger.

  It was all too quick, too slow. One moment, the shotgun was in his hand, the trigger was pulled, and Kara was shot--she must be, for the scent of blood filled the room, and a red puddle grew from where she'd been, but she was there no longer. Instead, she was leaping through the air at Clyde. The shotgun spun out of his hands as a gigantic black wolf plunged her jaw into his neck.

  There was a strange moment of grappling. Again, the lights overhead flickered from the storm. The shotgun came to rest beside me. I slid out of the bed and took it into my shaking hands, flipping back the catch, placing my hand on the trigger. It was ready to fire again when Clyde put his meaty fingers about the wolf's neck--when he began to choke her. She held on for a long moment, and then her jaws loosened. He banged her shoulder against the wall. The sound was loud in the silence.

  “Let her go,” I whispered, as he made to do it again. He dropped her, and she lay on the floor, bleeding from a gaping hole in her chest. She panted for a long moment before she began t
o change shape again. This time I watched as the hair retreated, as her snout grew smaller, thinner... she was Kara again, kneeling in her own blood on the floor, naked and white in the darkness. She placed a hand over her heart where the blood seeped from. I swallowed, and swallowed again, keeping the gun trained on Clyde.

  “What are you doing, Megan?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “Don't you see who’s the monster here?”

  “I'm not sure,” I whispered, realizing that tears were blurring my vision--that I wanted to breathe, but couldn't... that the sound of howling had grown stronger and fiercer outside the window.

  “Megan...” This was Kara, and she had a hand stretched toward me--it was covered in blood. She was crying now, too, tears falling down her skin silently. I watched her cry, I thought of what she had said. I was trying now to put everything into context and failing utterly.

  “Megan, I love you,” said Clyde into the stillness. “All that I've done, I've done for you. I don't know why you can't see that.”

  Kara stared at me, long and hard, not taking her gaze from my body, from my eyes. All of my greatest fears, all of my nightmares...they had all been her? I didn't understand, though I wanted desperately, too. The gun was wavering in my hands, and I knew at that moment that I would not be able to shoot anything or anyone.

  Clyde knew this, too, and stepped forward.

  “No,” I screamed, as he grabbed Kara.

  One moment, she was standing on the ground; the next, he had his thick hands about her neck and had pressed her back against the logs of the wall. She changed into a wolf, and back to a human again as he began to choke her. She writhed beneath it, making wet sounds as I heard bones snap, as I saw his great bulk press down against her small one, as I saw him killing her. I stared at that for a long moment and raised the gun up to my shoulder.

  I pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened. I stared at it for a long heartbeat, then threw it down and went at Clyde, beating against him with my fists and nails, kicking him, screaming. He didn’t even seem to notice, but tightened his hold on Kara. He was too large and too powerful and completely unstoppable. I sobbed, found that I couldn’t breathe, and let out a great wail.