Chapter One:
It occurred to me that I could be going insane. Of course I had no way of corroborating this suspicion, not unless I took up drastic forms of behavior, like my great-uncle Rex, who had one day just started barking. Everyone knew he was insane and great uncle Rex himself was comfortable with the thought. Otherwise, the nearest psychiatrist resided in Anchorage, and I doubted I would ever be able to return there, even in the direst of circumstances. Until that day, should it ever arrive, I would have to resign myself to the new and somewhat arresting habit of hearing a persistent wolf’s howl.
In an uncanny response to the run-away train of my thought process, the mournful and melodious whoop of my personal spook rose from somewhere far away in the forest. It wasn’t that hearing a howl here and there was particularly threatening in of itself. The only spot of civilization amongst miles of what I liked to call an altar to the earth, the small and frigid town of Carrigan, Alaska, was no stranger to wolves. Or moose or bears for that matter. No, the problem with this howl in particular was its habit of reaching my ears only. Accustomed to the calls of predators, I hadn’t paid attention to the sound till a few days previous, when I’d commented on the length of the howl, only to receive blank stares in response. Since then, I’d listened to every howl I heard and made note of them. A few sounded natural, but then I would hear the one I’d come to recognize. It belonged to the same wolf, that much I was sure of. What I was less sure of was whether or not that wolf actually existed anywhere outside my brain.
I’d stopped shivering at the sound of howling many years ago, and I looked out the window as the howl tapered off into the stars. While it was always a little unsure and tinged with sorrow, I couldn’t help but notice the oddly intelligent threads of what could only be described as rage wound throughout the sound. As always, I waited for a response from another wolf. As always, I was met with nothing. Setting down the handful of cash I had been flipping through, I limped across the chipped tile floor and pressed my face to the cold glass of the window. A waxing moon, rather undermined by the faint flicker of the aurora borealis, shone over the tops of the trees. I half-hoped to see the shape of my wolf illuminated somewhere, although in a more logical sense I was relieved to see a clear night, untouched by movement. While I didn’t frighten easily through the sounds of predators, seeing one at night ten minutes before beginning a walk home was a far different matter. While no one around here had been attacked in well over fifteen years, it would be a poor decision to pretend it could never happen.
Returning to the cash register, I finished totaling up the accounts, and locked the money away. Pausing by the counter, I looked around the store that doubled as a gas station, and ran through my mental checklist. Floor swept, bathrooms wiped down, backroom locked. I nodded, and rolled the store key around on my finger before wrapping my coat over my shoulders. A blast of frigid September air sent questing fingers over my face and down my neck as I pushed through the glass doors. Locking them behind me, I shoved the key into the pocket of my jeans and patted the lump to satisfy the voice that always whispered its anxieties in my ear. I tugged my gloves over my hands and leaned down to rub my right knee. The cold had a habit of creeping into the thing and stiffening it up more than it already was, which did nothing to help the pain. I grimaced at myself in the moonlight, knowing I had to be the only person untouched by gray hair and wrinkles to limp about groaning dramatically like an aging war hero.
Pulling my hood tight over my hair, I shuffled down the crater-marked sidewalk. Carrigan was dark, as it usually was by ten o’clock. Only a few yellow lights could be seen, sparkling from the windows as I passed houses and businesses alike. I didn’t know why the owner of the grocery, known only as “Sour Mike”, liked to keep it open so late. He paid me enough to work closing that I never questioned, and I didn’t think I would ever would. His nickname was no exaggeration.
There were few places to rent in and near the town, and a woman named Mollie Palenta had monopolized the business long ago. She owned several trailers around the edge of town and a small hotel, where one could rent a meager one room apartment for dirt cheap. I was one of those dirt cheap renters, and I didn’t mind too much. The rest of the renters were a quiet lot and I spent little for what I considered reasonable facilities.
Climbing the stairs to said reasonable facilities, I heard brisk footsteps pounding up the steps behind me. Assuming it was an impatient neighbor, I shifted closer to the railing and continued my climb until the steps quite abruptly fell silent. I made to look over my shoulder when a wizened hand landed on my other shoulder with a viselike grip and I screamed.
“Goodness girl, you’ve got the nerves of a street cat,” Mollie Palenta said, squinting at me as I flattened myself, gasping, against the wall. I knew the older woman had a nasty habit of sneaking about but I never knew she was that good at it.
“Sorry,” I muttered, pushing my hood off my head, “What’s going on?”
“I’m making sure you’re alive, that’s what’s going on!”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Whatever animal’s been snooping around close to town has gotten a bit too close again,” she said. I frowned,
“More livestock?”
“A dog. The Smithers shepherd. They heard it barken’ and next thing they knew, it was laying on their lawn, its insides become its outsides.”
I winced,
“That...that’s graphic.” I didn’t bother asking how she’d found out so quick. Mollie knew more than the sheriff.
“I knew you was out and about this time of night and was waiting for you to get back.”
I stared at the woman, touched. From our previous interactions, I hadn’t known if she would do more than sneeze if I keeled over dead directly in front of her.
“That’s kind of you, thanks,” I said, for lack of a better response. Mollie hadn’t changed her brusque expression,
“I know you’ve got no one else girl, and after your parents, I told myself I’d see to it that you weren’t mauled by a wolf.”
“Specifically just a wolf?”
“Maybe a bear,” she waved her hand, and turned around, “Get to bed then, I’ve seen what I need to see.”
I waited till I’d closed the door of my apartment behind me before letting a shaky breath go. Though it had been five years since the plane had gone down close to Anchorage, I still hated to hear anyone mention my parents. I’d been in California when the news had reached me, in my third year of my degree, but for a strange reason, I always felt as though I’d been there watching the plane go down.
Unsurprisingly, and undoubtedly connected to my thoughts before I’d fallen asleep, I dreamed of the crash again. It went as it usually did. I crunched through the frozen top layer of snow, weaving through trees and bushes that I had never before seen in waking life. My hands, gloveless, were crumpled into fists and tucked into the pockets of my coat. One earbud was tucked into my left ear, an old-timey song filtering through with a tinny sound. My parents liked to listen to it, my mother especially.
“Saturday satan, Sunday saint,” I mumbled the chorus into the cold, a little off tune. Nodding my head in time to the strumming of the guitar, I began to notice a strange humming noise weaving into the song. Stopping, I flicked the ear bud from my ear. The tune still faintly rose from where the bud hung, but my attention rose to the sky where the mysterious humming grew impossibly loud overhead. My breath hung in misty clumps above me as I tilted my head back, and the miniature clouds framed the metal clad bird that droned with panic as it spiraled through the sky. Planes weren’t supposed to go that low, and neither were they supposed to release noxious clouds of thick black smoke. I tried to push my feet through the snow, but they refused to move, as though the snow had transformed to concrete. The most I could do was follow the crash with my eyes, desperately hoping for some kind of miracle. As always, the plane disappeared behind a line of trees, and before I could hear a crash or any decisive ending, my eyes were open and staring blearily at the slanted sunlight on the blue wall of my apartment.
I forgot about the dream by the time I got to work, as I usually did. Dreams always disappear in the light of reality.
“Will that be all for you?” I asked without looking up. I shifted my weight onto my good knee and pulled the cash register open.
“Mm-hmm, here’s a twenty.”
I accepted the crumpled bill from the grimy hands of one of my regulars, and handed his purchases of beer and beef sticks back to him.
“Let me get you your change,” I muttered, counting out the bills and coins back to him. With several more exchanged pleasantries, he disappeared out the doors and I heard his old truck backfire as it pulled out of the parking lot. Late afternoon was always slow, and seeing as how I’d already caught up on cleaning and stocking for the day, I found myself with nothing else to do but lean against the counter and stare out the window.
The howling had left me alone for today, but then again I would never hear them til night. I chewed on a bit of dead skin that hung off my lip, and considered the recent news of a predator attack. People were pretty sure that it was a wolf, judging by the damage that had been done to a cow and two goats. Now the dog as well. They usually left us alone, but living so close to the wilderness never gave us the luxury of a guarantee. My eyes roamed over the trees that encroached on the edge of town, hiding several trails and roads that wound up through the foothills to the mountains.
The doors jingled as a man pushed through them, and I peered out the window. A sleek, but tough looking black vehicle sat at the nearest gas pump. I didn’t recognize the car, and turning to the man, I saw I didn’t recognize him either.
“Hello,” he said, flashing a pleasant white smile from underneath a mustache.
“Hi,” I smiled uncertainly in return, watching him move down the aisles. I didn’t pride myself on knowing every occupant of Carrigan, but I knew most by at least sight. He wore snow boots and jeans, regular enough attire, but the waistcoat that I could see underneath his overcoat was certainly not.
“Cold out there,” he said, setting some engine oil and dog treats onto the counter. I nodded and began ringing up his purchases,
“It’s warmer than yesterday though, gotta take the wins when you can get them.”
“A beautiful sentiment, although I don’t think I could ever consider any Alaskan weather a win,” he made a false shiver, and winked at me with an intelligent blue eye. He was a pleasant enough looking man, probably somewhere in his forties with a build that leaned both toward tall and thickly built.
“You aren’t from around here, then?” I asked, pleased that my detective skills had proved correct.
“No, I’m touring around the state.” He handed me a credit card and looked out the window, “I might stay here for a bit though, it’s quite a pleasant little place.”
“Not many people say that,” I said, swiping the card and handing it back to him. His hands looked well manicured but calloused.
“Too cold?”
“Too remote.”
“Hmm. Some could say remote is a benefit,” he remarked. I shrugged, unsure of how to respond, and tucked his purchases into a bag.
“Don’t freeze,” he joked as he pushed out the door.
“Good luck with the weather,” I replied, tossing a wave after him. I watched him drive out of the parking lot, finding myself slightly intrigued without exactly knowing why. Although I regretted it, I wondered if I would see him again.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly enough, and per my usual ritual, I finished locking up and sorting the money by ten o’clock. Pulling on gloves and coat, I headed down the street, keeping an awed eye on the crisp sky above.
A howl caught my ear and I listened to it fading into the dark. It came from far in the trees, and although just as haunting, it didn’t sound the same as the one I had come to deem mine. The cold felt more biting than usual, and I moved as quickly down the street as my leg would allow. With relief, I saw the tall form of Mollie’s complex come into sight, and I allowed myself to think of a hot shower. But then, as though some sick god of tricks had decided to frown on me, another howl froze me to the ground. It was my howl-the one I heard every night, angry and mournful. There was just one difference this time. Rather than from miles away, it came from what sounded like the very edge of the forest. Worse than the howl, a new sound set my blood to turning to cubes of ice, and my skin crawling. A scream, as human and terrified as anything I’d ever heard.
