The unfortunate person who became the loup- garou remained human by day but shifted form at night. The spell could last as many as 101 nights—that’s more than three months, Gina thought with a shiver as she did the math in her head. However, the spell could be broken if someone drew the loup-garou’s blood when the enchantment was in place.
Afterward, both people involved must be careful never to speak of the incident—or they would both turn into the loup-garou.
Someone must have had lots of time on their hands to make up stuff like that, Gina thought, shaking her head.
Gina opened the door to her room and groaned inwardly when she saw the floor littered with various odds and ends, including a pair of rolled-up dirty socks, her favourite sweatshirt, the paperback novel she was currently halfway through, and—
She sighed.
Gina fired the dirty laundry at the white plastic clothes basket in the closet, one piece at a time, from different parts of the room, pretending she was playing basketball. She watched a pair of socks land within the confines of the basket and raised her arms in victory. Poirier’s hot tonight. Shooting fifty percent from the floor, she imagined an announcer’s voice saying. She wadded up a dirty T-shirt and arced a shot toward the target. It hit the rim and flopped into the closet. Gina shrugged. I’ll get it later.
When the dirty laundry had been dealt with, Gina tossed her book on the end table, stuffed a couple of articles of relatively clean clothing into her dresser, and piled an armful of odds and ends she didn’t know what to do with in the corner of the closet.
There, she thought. That should pass inspection.
She’d just turned on the bedside lamp and settled in to read a few chapters of her book when she heard a tap-tapping on the window. Gina frowned, listening. No, not a tapping. The noise sounded more like a scrrrritch, as though someone were drawing their fingernails along a chalkboard.
Annoyed and afraid at the same time, Gina padded over to the window, peering out.
Two enormous yellow eyes looked in.
The eyes blinked.
Gina staggered backwards until she felt the bed behind her.
A big grey dog—no, make that a big grey wolf. A huge grey wolf. Gina opened her mouth to holler for her mom and dad when she noticed a glint of yellow, reflected by the nearby streetlight, around the wolf’s neck.
Wolves don’t wear jewelry, she told herself.
She tiptoed closer, craning to see but cautious not to get too close.
Yes, she was right. Around its neck, the wolf bore a gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant that dangled under its chin and bumped against its chest as it shifted anxiously.
Gina leaned closer. The wolf had something clenched in its jaws. As Gina watched, the wolf fumbled with the object, then pressed it against the window glass with its right forepaw. A jagged-edged piece of boxboard, maybe from a cereal box, Gina thought, intrigued. On it was written something, although the handwriting looked childish, as if penned by someone just learning to form letters.
Still, Gina could clearly make out the word written there. HELP.
Gina straightened her shoulders and stood statue- still for a moment, warring with her fear.
This could be just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, she thought as she walked over to the window. Well, maybe not so dumb, she told herself. I think I recognise that necklace. Gina undid the safety catches and turned the crank to open the window.
With one smooth leap, the wolf jumped into the room, and Gina cranked the window shut.
With a gesture of her trembling hand, Gina motioned toward the necklace.
The wolf nodded.
Gina reached out and grasped the heart-shaped pendant in her right hand. She turned it over and leaned forward to read the inscription. To Katie. Love, Mom and Dad.
Gina stepped back and struggled to reconcile what her eyes told her was real with what her mind told her was impossible.
The wolf watched her, yellow-eyed and panting nervously. Gina eyed the long teeth warily.
“Can you talk?” Gina said, breaking the silence.
The wolf shook her head.
“Katie Comeau?” Gina whispered, feeling incredibly foolish.
The wolf whined, low in her throat, then nodded once, slowly.
Gina stood for a moment, thinking, arms crossed.
No wonder Katie felt ill. If this is happening to her at night, it’d be hard to sleep, for sure—
Another thought, unbidden, sprang forward. If I don’t help her, I’ll get to play centre on the top line—
Gina blushed bright red under the wolf’s quiet scrutiny. No, she thought. If I were in her shoes, I’d be desperate for someone to help me.
But how?
The Internet had said something—what was it? To cure someone of being the loup-garou, you had to take some of their blood—cut them, for example.
The idea made Gina feel dizzy. She always felt faint when she saw blood. She remembered the time at one of Maurice’s games when there’d been a fight and blood from a player’s nose had splashed onto the ice. Gina had almost passed out in the stands.
Besides, she hated hurting anything. When she found a spider in the house, she usually captured it with a tissue and placed it outside. What Katie was asking her to do—
“I can’t,” Gina said, spreading her hands. “You’ll have to go somewhere else.”
The wolf stepped forward, then cocked her head and looked toward the door. Seconds later, Gina heard a noise.
Footsteps, in the hallway.
Gina motioned toward the closet. The wolf leaped in, and Gina could hear her burrowing under the clothes on the floor.
Gina closed the closet door behind the wolf. Seconds later, a knock sounded on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” Gina said, hoping her mother didn’t notice the hoarseness in her voice.
“I came to say goodnight,” her mother said. “Hey, it looks great in here. You did a nice job.” She paused, rubbing her bare arms and shivering. “Did you have the window open?”
“I caught a spider,” Gina said, squirming slightly at having to lie. “I let it out.”
“Well, as long as you locked the window back up.” Gina’s mother smiled, then took a step toward the closet. Gina froze. Uh-oh, she thought as she watched her mother reaching for the knob.
“Uh, Mom,” Gina said, stepping forward. “I—uh—I may have just thrown a few things in there, to get them off the floor. I’d rather you didn’t look.” She paused, then added, in a rush of words. “I’ll straighten the closet out tomorrow. I promise.”
“Well—all right,” Mom replied, smiling as she dropped her hand back to her side. “Good night, then,” she said, her gaze lingering on the book on Gina’s bedside table. “Don’t read too late, okay? Big game tomorrow afternoon.”
“I know,” Gina said, stretching and yawning. “G’night, Mom.”
Gina waited until her mother’s footsteps had retreated down the hall, then raced to the closet door.
The wolf poked her head out from her hiding place. “That was a close one,” Gina whispered.
The wolf nodded, then padded along the carpet to the foot of the bed. She stretched, then shook herself with so much enthusiasm that a few hairs floated free.
“Hey!” Gina protested.
The wolf hung her head, though her eyes remained fixed on Gina.
Back to the problem, Gina told herself, though she found the yellow-eyed gaze distracting, particularly when the wolf began to pant again, showing her teeth.
“Look,” Gina whispered. “You need to trust me. I need to draw blood to break the spell.”
The wolf gave a low growl.
“I don’t like it either,” Gina replied. “But how can we do it?”
And will I have the courage to get close to those teeth?
Gina opened the top drawer of her desk, pulling out her jackknife—one of Maurice’s old ones, a hand-me-down. She’d used it to whittle sticks, b
ut this— Gina shook her head, panicking.
The wolf whined to get Gina’s attention. When Gina turned to face her, the wolf pointed with her nose at an empty pop can lying on the floor next to the trash container.
“Yeah, maybe,” Gina said, thinking of the time she’d accidentally cut her finger on a similar can. “We could nick one of your paw pads with it.”
The wolf lifted her right front foot. “Better use the other one,” Gina advised. “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”
The wolf switched paws.
“Here goes,” Gina said. She moved the can until the razor-edged opening sat against one of the grey paw pads. She pushed. Nothing happened.
Harder, Gina told herself. She gritted her teeth and twisted the can, pushing as she did so.
Droplets of crimson blood oozed out of the paw-pad.
Then, suddenly, it was Katie and not a wolf sitting in front of Gina, with a dollop of blood rolling down her pinky finger.
“Bandages in the bathroom,” Gina mumbled. “Next room over.” Then she passed out.
* * *
Gina woke up to find Katie peering down into her face.
“Found them,” Katie said, lifting her left pinky finger so Gina could see the bandage wrapped around it. “All good.”
“We can’t talk about this. Ever,” Gina whispered.
“Fine by me,” Katie replied. She hesitated. “Look, I know I haven’t been the best teammate—”
“Forget it,” Gina said, waving her hand. “I could have been better, myself.” She paused and bit her lower lip. “Maybe tomorrow’s game can be a chance for a new start.”
Katie nodded. “Friends?” she asked, extending her right hand.
“Friends,” Gina agreed firmly, reaching her own hand out to shake Katie’s.
* * *
The next morning, a rapping on the door woke Gina up.
“Come in,” she said drowsily, blinking as she checked the time. 9 a.m. I slept in.
“Breakfast is ready,” Mom said.
“I’ll be right there.”
Gina swung out of bed and grabbed her robe.
What a weird dream, she thought, shaking her head. But it felt so real.
Gina looked at the carpet at the foot of the bed, noticing a bit of fluff on the floor. She bent down and picked it up.
Animal hairs. Grey ones.
Gina glanced out the window and gasped. In the soft earth under the window, she could clearly see paw-prints mingled with marks left by running shoes.
Gina smiled as she made her way down the hallway toward the kitchen. Nothing to stop Katie from showing up for tonight’s game.
To her surprise, Gina felt happy about that. Sure, that likely meant she wouldn’t get to play centre on the top line.
But she’d gained a new friend. That counted for something.
* * *
A resident of Simcoe, Ontario, Canada, Lisa Timpf enjoys creative writing, bird-watching, and walking her Border Collie, Emma. Her writing has appeared in a variety of venues, including Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Very Good, Very Bad Dog, Third Flatiron, New Myths, The Martian Wave, and Outposts of Beyond. She has self-published a collection of creative nonfiction and poetry entitled A Trail That Twines: Reflections on Life and Nature.
Jamie ran down the wooded path, whacking tree trunks and slicing through leaves with the thick branch he carried. He was pretending it was a sword, swooping it down on his imaginary foes, crying out in triumph as each met his untimely end. It was his favorite time of day. School had ended, and the afternoon stretched ahead of him, waiting to be filled with video games and cookies.
“Watch out!”
He turned in surprise at the voice to find his classmate Ingrid standing just off the path beside him.
“What do you want?”
She pointed at a mound of dirt near his feet. It was tall, almost as high as his knees. He squatted down beside it to get a closer look. It wasn’t a mound of dirt at all. It was more like a sandcastle, with tiny towers, a carved gate, and teeny little windows.
“Did you make this?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s a fairy house. You have to be very careful not to damage it. They get real mad if you do.”
“Fairies aren’t real!” Jamie said with a laugh. “Only babies believe in fairies.”
He lifted his branch high.
“No! Don’t!”
Jamie swung the branch with all his might and pulverized the castle, sending the dirt flying across the path.
“There. I told you. They aren’t real.”
Ingrid shook her head, backing away, her eyes wide. “You’ll be sorry.”
He laughed and kept running down the path, swinging his branch the whole way home.
* * *
That night, Jamie thought of Ingrid again as he was getting ready for bed, picturing her frightened expression as she backed away from him on the path.
“Fairies,” he muttered, kicking his dirty jeans and T-shirt across the floor into his closet. “Who still believes in fairies?”
He crawled into bed and turned off his light, still shaking his head as he fell asleep.
* * *
Morning was Jamie’s least favorite time of day. It was the longest possible amount of time before more video games, and he’d nearly cleared the eleventh level last night. He knew he’d get it on the next try, and that was hours and hours away.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and went to his closet. It smelled funny this morning, all damp and moldy like Grandpa’s basement. He reached for a pair of jeans from the top of a folded pile on the shelf. They were wet. How could they be wet? He dug through the pile, but every single pair of pants was wet, even his shorts. He reached for the dirty pair he’d kicked into the closet last night, but they were wet too.
All of his shirts were wet, even his socks and underwear. But when he ran his hand along the wall, it was dry. The carpet was dry. Only his clothes were wet.
“Jamie! Hurry up, we’re going to be late!” His mother’s voice rang all the way up the stairs from the kitchen.
Oh no. What was he going to tell his mom? He could hear her already stomping up the stairs. She pushed open the door and looked him over.
“What is taking so long? Get dressed!”
“Uh …”
His mother pushed him aside and went to the closet. She reached for a pair of jeans, her hand jerking away as soon as it touched the wet fabric. “What?” she reached for a different pair, then another, and another. She ran her hand along his T-shirts then turned back to him, her face red. “What did you do?”
* * *
Ingrid Bella didn’t look up as Jamie crept into class and handed the tardy note from his mother to the teacher. His sneakers were still damp despite their time in the dryer with the rest of his clothes, and they made small squeaking noises as he trudged to his desk.
He stared at her, hoping she’d glance over at him, but her eyes remained glued to the teacher.
“Pssst.”
Nothing.
She sat two rows ahead of him and refused to turn around, even when he tried getting a friend to pass her a note. She wouldn’t take it. She ignored the tapping on her shoulder until his friend gave up and passed it back to him with a shrug. All he could do was glare at the glossy black braid hanging down her back.
* * *
“Hey! You!” shouted Jamie.
Ingrid looked up from her spot on the swing set as Jamie strode across the playground toward her at recess. He’d been held back by the teacher, who wanted to give him a handout he’d missed at the beginning of class.
“Do you know how much trouble I was in this morning? I’m grounded! From video games! For a week!” He stared at her, but she only looked confused. “I was about to beat the eleventh level! Do you know what that means?”
She shook her head. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what’s going on. Yesterday I knocked over a pile of dirt, you to
ld me I’d be sorry, and today I’m grounded. Did you sneak into my house last night and soak all my clothes?”
Understanding dawned on Ingrid’s face. “Oh.” She gave him a weird look. “You think I broke into your house? I don’t even know where you live. I tried to warn you, remember? I told you not to.”
“Not to what? Knock over a fairy house? Fairies aren’t real. Everybody knows that.”
She shrugged and moved to get off the swing set.
“Wait! Fine. So, let’s say they’re real.”
She sat back down and began to swing, kicking her legs.
“How do you even know about fairies anyway?”
“I don’t, not really. But there are duendes at my auntie’s house in the Philippines, and my mom says fairies are a lot like that. If you show them respect, then they give you blessings. If you don’t, then they curse you.”
“How do I make them stop?”
“I don’t know. Try leaving them an offering. Tell them you’re sorry.”
Jamie nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.” He had to do something. Maybe if what he offered was nice enough, they would help change his mom’s mind, and he could play his video games again.
* * *
It would have been a good idea to ask Ingrid what to offer the fairies, but Jamie hadn’t thought about that. And anyway, he still wasn’t totally sure he believed they were real, so he tried begging his mother to let him play his video games, but she refused. He offered to do the dishes in exchange for just an hour of gaming, but she said, “No deal.”
He even agreed to play a board game with his sister, hoping his mom would see how worthy he was of his video games. Nothing worked. Fairy bribing it was.
That night before bed, and after checking that the house was locked up tight, he brought a plate of cookies up to his room with him. He figured if he liked them, maybe the fairies would too.
The Monsters Hiding in Your Closet Page 3
