Wild Thing

If somebody had told me that this day was my last day as a human, I probably wouldn’t have gotten out of bed.

That morning, I opened one eye, halfway. My godbrother, Jayce, stood over me wearing a dumb grin on his face. We shared a room in my godfather’s house—had for fifteen years—but that didn’t make it okay to yank me out of bed on a Sunday.

“Go back to sleep,” I groaned.

“I’ve been planning.”

“Oh, really?” I said, pulling the comforter tighter.

“I think it’s finally time for Lake Mulligan.”

I groaned and rolled away. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Jayce sighed, then plopped down beside me on the bed. “Today. Let’s do it. It’ll be good for you.”

I refused to move.

Lake Mulligan was a ten-mile, three-thousand-foot hike, promising panoramic views of the entire Kookumchuk Valley. It sounded good, in theory. We’d talked about it for years. But it would require me to leave my bed.

“Alex.” Jayce shoved my arm. “Get up, dude! The weather’s going to be epic. Perfect for hiking. I already got everything packed. Breakfast is steaming in the kitchen. All you need to do is put on boots.”

When I still didn’t move, Jayce touched my forehead. “Are you still feeling sick?”

I’d felt like I was on the verge of getting sick for three weeks. It would fade in and out but never progress into full-blown sickness. I didn’t want to push myself too hard, so I’d been taking every opportunity to rest. That, and I was terrified about the future. Until this point, my life had been on rails. Home, school, home, school. But the rails had ended, and all that was left was normal life. I had no idea what that meant.

Mid thought, the comforter jerked away and I went from perfect to freezing. Goosebumps erupted on my exposed skin. I gave Jayce the stink eye. “Not cool, bro.”

Jayce crossed his arms. “What you need is a strong dose of adventure to reset your brain.”

“Bro,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’m tired, okay? Let me rest.”

“You’ve been resting every opportunity you’ve had for three weeks. It’s not like you. Let’s get out there and hike. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“I regret it already,” I said, leaning upright.

“I’ve even got clothes for you. Voila!” He gestured proudly toward a sad stack of crumpled, mismatched clothing at the foot of my bed.

I blinked at him. “I’m not going to get out of this, am I?”

“Nope.” He turned toward the bedroom door and grabbed the knob. “Dressed. Breakfast. Hike. In that order.” Then he disappeared into the hallway.

I threw on the outfit Jayce prepared for me, then shuffled to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with the mirror.

For a week, I’d woken up each morning with a metallic flavor on my tongue. Brushing seemed to hold it at bay, so I loaded up my toothbrush with toothpaste and raked it over my teeth. After spitting, the metallic taste was still there. Stronger.

I shrugged it off and racked my toothbrush. When I made it to the kitchen, Jayce had already taken his usual seat at the table behind a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs and two mugs of brown joy water, also known as coffee.

“These were warm a few minutes ago,” he said, spooning eggs into a bowl at my spot.

He pushed a mug toward me. I grabbed it and took a swig. The coffee was strong and dark. Also known as perfect. But the flavor was off. Energizing… but unsatisfying.

“Is John still asleep?” I asked. “Did he get that thing fixed at the mill?”

“Yep,” he said between bites. “Took until like two in the morning but he fixed it.” His shoulders sagged.

John was my godfather, Jayce’s father. The closest thing I had to a dad. He worked at the town’s lumber mill. Way too much.

“He said he was gonna do Lake Mulligan with us,” I said.

Jayce stared at the table, chewing his lip. “I got tired of waiting.”

I nodded, forking over my eggs. They were the same yellow mushy things I ate every day, but something about them wasn’t appetizing at all.

Jayce shoveled another bite into his mouth before looking at my still-full plate. “Need salt?”

I looked at him then back at the eggs. “Not really hungry.”

He pointed at me with his fork. “You still angry that I bombed you out of bed this morning?”

“I’m getting over it,” I said, flashing a smile.

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. We’ve talked about doing this hike forever. I thought you’d be happy.”

I yawned and patted my cheeks trying to wake up. “I am. I promise. Just… tired.”

“You slept ten hours last night. How can you be tired?”

I shrugged and stirred the yellow lumps. “We’re all good at something.”

Jayce finished, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then leaned toward me, shifting out his teasing voice for his wise, year-older father voice.

“Dude, I get it. Everybody goes through this the week after graduation. It’s a huge life change. For both of us. But what if we just forget all that and just go get lost in the woods? I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

He chuckled, then went silent. Waiting.

I knew he wasn’t going to leave me alone about it. He’d made up his mind that I needed something, and was now determined to make sure I took the medicine he prescribed. I ran my hands over my chest and stomach. Sure, I didn’t feel great, but I also didn’t feel horrible.

“Alright. Let’s go be kids.”

Jayce grinned then slugged me in the shoulder.

“Ouch,” I muttered, rubbing the permanent knot on my shoulder. To Jayce, a punch meant affection. I’d learned the more feeling I lost from a punch, the more affection. It made sense. To Jayce, at least.

I dragged my feet to the garage and dug my hiking boots from last year out of a pile of garage garbage. You know the kind. When I tried to shove my feet in they were too small. Of course. I’d had several growth spurts lately that left me feeling stretched and awkward.

I scanned for an alternative and found it. “Jayce! I’m taking John’s boots. Don’t tell him.”

John’s boots rattled on my feet like clown shoes, so I doubled up my socks. Last thing I needed was a blister eating my foot ten miles from civilization.

We strapped on the backpacks Jayce had shoved to the brim with camp crap, then stepped out into the cool morning air.

The Kookumchuk Valley Trail snaked its way from the town of Rockport past John’s house, then up the valley floor between the mountains to a high ridge. Just beyond that ridge was Lake Mulligan, our destination.

I strolled beside Jayce, lost in songs of birds when something inside my stomach twisted. Not painfully. More like a moving warmth. Intestinal, maybe? I’d never felt anything like it before.

Jayce noticed I stopped. “You alright, bro?”

I pressed my hands to my stomach and the feeling subsided. “Yeah.”

Jayce examined me, raising one eyebrow unnaturally high. “Think you can keep going?” The eager expression on his face was his non-verbal form of begging. Dogs wanting food could take lessons from Jayce.

I twisted right and left, trying to shake the feeling. I didn’t want to get sick. Not now.

And I didn’t want to disappoint him.

“I’m fine,” I squeaked.

My face betrayed me. He knew. And he knew I knew he knew. I expected a punch in the arm, but instead he rested his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I looked at him funny. I fully expected him to pull back and punch, but he put his hand on my head and aggressively flopped my hair around.

“C’mon, bro,” he said, plodding away. I laughed through my nose and followed.

The smell of pine sap warming in the sunlight flooded my senses and I breathed deep. The woods were still. Cool. Fresh. Jayce was right. I needed this. We followed the trail up the valley. The path crested to a large flat area with a prominent sign: Entering Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. Caution: Wildlife.

Jayce read the sign and snorted. “I’m half surprised they don’t have a Bigfoot sign.”

“Sasquatch, bro. Get the name right.” I paused. “You did bring the bear spray. Right?”

He faked a nervous look, then pulled a canister from his pocket. “Never used this and never will. You know everything in these hills is more scared of us than we are of it. Sasquatch included.”

“Still,” I said.

Jayce scanned the clearing around the sign. “This is as good a place as any. Let’s eat!”

He stowed the canister and pulled out lunch. Ham sandwiches on white bread. Jayce tore into his. I held mine.

Jayce paused mid bite. “Mum-fing wong?” he said, crumbs falling from his face.

The sandwich and I were locked in a staring contest. And I didn’t know why. Nothing about it seemed appetizing. I peeled back the bread and carefully extracted the meager slices of meat. They didn’t seem as vulgar, so I took a bite. The flavor was off.

“Is this meat… good?”

“Dad brought it home yesterday after work. Should be fresh.”

“Huh,” I said, turning it over. I sniffed the last bite before I put it in my mouth. Part of my brain begged me to keep it simple. Keep it raw.

Raw?

Goosebumps ran down my spine. Jayce’s eyes flashed toward me. I forced myself to stay still. I was pretty sure wanting to eat raw food was diagnostic criteria for some mental condition. Best if Jayce didn’t know. He’d just baby me even more than he already did. I shoved the uneaten slices of bread into my pack then stood. Blood rushed from my head and I overbalanced, catching myself against a rock.

Jayce moved quickly, then stopped. He watched me closely, face frozen in a concerned frown.

No. Not doing this now. Man-up mode engaged.

“Come on, bro,” I said, waving for Jayce to follow me.

Jayce’s brow was low and his eyes never left me. He stood, chewed his last bite, then followed.

The climb beyond the sign got brutal fast. We’d seen a few other hikers; some we overtook, others coming back down. But from here forward, we saw fewer and fewer. The ones we encountered seemed to be the serious type, often looking at the two teenagers trekking uphill with amusement.

The path turned into a series of tight switchbacks that zigzagged uphill. The movement in my stomach returned and breathlessness invaded my chest. I wiped my face with my sleeve, trying to keep the sweat out of my eyes. Jayce flashed worried looks at me. More than once, I saw him open his mouth, trying to form words. But then he’d close it and refocus on the trail.

With less than a mile to go, we could hardly turn back now.

Could we?

At sunset, we arrived at the ridge and dropped our stuff. Jayce stood on the ledge overlooking the valley, which was bathed in deep purple as stars peeked out above us. The spot was as good as any, although I didn’t pay much attention to the view.

Jayce noticed.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, stretching.

“You sure you’re sure?”

My upper lip pulled back as I shot him a glance. “Dude. I’m fine.”

But much to my own annoyance, I was anything but fine. My head felt like it was floating an inch above my neck. If I passed out up here, he’d probably try to carry me back down.

“You look clammy,” he said.

“No I don’t,” I said through clenched teeth. I felt the blood drain from my face. He must have seen it because his expression changed.

“Alex. What’s going on?”

My heart palpitated a few times before steadying. A wave of nausea passed over me followed by a sense of heat. As much as I wanted to fake being fine, I realized I wasn’t.

“Jayce. Something’s wrong.”

“Oh really?” He put his hands on his hips. “Talk to me.”

I pressed my hand against my chest, then my stomach. “Something… inside… feels tight. Restrained. Like I need to stretch.”

Jayce’s brow furrowed. “Like when you wake up?”

“Kind of.”

I stood and raised my hands. The feeling inside got exponentially worse. Then the world tilted sideways and I collapsed.

“Alex!” Jayce rushed over and put his hand on my back.

I pressed my fingers into the ground. The dirt felt different. Deeper. More... alive?

I turned a hand palm-up and my heart skipped a beat.

My fingers were changing. Dark, raised ridges bloomed from my skin where fingerprints had been.

“What the—” I stammered, but my voice was changing too. Deeper, more gravelly.

Jayce’s hand went rigid.

My fingers were changing. Getting shorter. Wider. New tendons began to form beneath my skin.

Then a new sensation: stretching in my spine like someone had stuck my entire body in a taffy puller and yanked me head to toe. It touched that need to stretch.

I tried to raise my arms, but I couldn’t move—my muscles weren’t obeying me.

My pulse shifted from a beat into a low thump that shook the ground through my hands. Blood surged through the veins in my arms and legs.

My ears pounded, then a sharp crack and the volume of everything around me became painfully loud. Jayce’s mouth. The wet sound of saliva when he’d open it. The clacking of jaw cartilage when he’d clenched his teeth. All that high-pitched, wet noise. Sounds you’d never want to hear. I heard them. Intimately.

Jayce’s hand began to tremble. I couldn’t see his face, but that’s when I started to smell it: a sweaty-fear smell. Things in my gut felt bouncy. Wrong. Muscles changed, molded, swelled unevenly, pushing each other out of the way. My legs kicked out as muscles contracted then lengthened beneath my skin. My torso, arms and legs kept getting longer. Flashes of horror movies I’d seen snuck into my mind.

What’s happening to me?

Nothing made sense. Everything was moving. Skin. Bone. Muscle. Ligaments. Parts of my body went numb while others exploded with alien sensations.

Amidst all of this, a deep satisfaction like an exhale after held breath tingled throughout my body. A pressure behind my cheeks surged, the bones of my head popped and crackled in my ears. My head. My neck. Every muscle clenched hard.

I held my eyes shut as alien sensations pushed and pulled and prodded every part of my body.

And then it stopped. I kept my eyes closed. Waiting for the bad dream to end. But every sensation in my body was different. I didn’t want to move. Too weird.

When I finally opened my eyes, everything was different.

I could see clearly. So much farther and in greater detail than ever before.

I was warm and comfortable, the way you’d feel after a massage.

I tried moving my elbows, but they bumped against my sides awkwardly.

I lifted my head, which felt heavy and wrong, and looked for Jayce.

I saw him, hand still on my back. Trembling. The terror in his eyes said he didn’t recognize me.

My brain tried to put the pieces together. All I could guess is that I’d changed somehow.

Absurd. Impossible. But I felt it.

We sat there, not moving. Barely breathing.

The remnants of daylight faded into darkness. His hand trembled violently. I kept expecting him to run. Maybe he was too afraid to move?

My mouth felt different. Alien. I licked the roof of my mouth. It felt long. Wrong.

I crossed my eyes and saw a golden snout where my nose should be.

“Oh mah,” I said. My voice emerged from whatever was on my face with a thick lisp.

“Jaace?”

I flexed my cheeks—what should have been my cheeks—and spoke again, trying to enunciate clearly. It worked only slightly better.

“Yoo ohkay?” I asked.

Jayce’s hand jumped, then pulled back, still trembling.

“Nope,” he said. “Definitely not.”

“Caan you tell… ooat jus’ ha’ened?” I asked.

My mouth refused to obey me.

“Yep,” he said.

“I’nn… di’erent… aren’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“Hoow di’erent?”

Jayce was quiet for a moment. “You’re kind of a lion, dude.”