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The Wolf Girl
I glance anxiously up at the sky as I struggle through the harsh forest undergrowth. Almost midnight. Intense moonlight streams through the canopy, covering the ground with a silvery sheen. It’s cold for a summer night, and I can feel the goosebumps slowly working their way up my arms.
I’m so stupid. All the other campers are indoors by now, snuggled under warm sheets, creating shadows on the wall with their flashlights, giggling, whispering dirty jokes to their bunkmates.
I wonder if there is a search party out for me.
Probably not, I think.
Probably they didn’t even notice. Or they’re happy about it. They’re just like Dad, leaving Mom and I behind. Or Mom, sending me off to summer camp just so she could have some quiet time.
Well, I’ll show them. I’ll show them I don’t need them either. My eyes scan the area around me for a shelter. Surely some sort of cave, or hollowed-out tree . . .
But there would be wild animals in a tree or a cave. A hole in the ground was out of the question as well.
On impulse I take out my anger by planting my foot in a random tree.
Instead of relief, I end up with five jammed toes. Clutching my throbbing foot, I stumble, fall backward – and roll straight down a slope into the stream. Slime embraces my head as I enter the muddy water with a terrific splash.
I sit up, spitting water out of my mouth and cussing furiously at the same time.
That’s when I hear it.
A distant screech, echoing above the canopy. Followed by a low, menacing growl.
Some sort of owl, or something?
I remember yesterday around the campfire. One of the consolers told some sort of crazy story about a wolf.
Only not a wolf – a werewolf. A girl that ran into the forest a long time ago and never came back out.
Who the heck am I kidding? There aren’t any damn werewolves in this forest.
The screech is closer now, though.
Something deep within me tells me to get away. I turn and run as quietly as I can, floundering through the stream.
The screech grows higher-pitched, more frantic. It sounds like an owl, sort of, but there’s something oddly human in it too. Like a crying child.
The air is getting colder now. Dear Lord, what is that thing? I feel panic deep in my chest, pressing me on.
Faster. My feet drag in the mud.
A cold, living body rams into my back, knocking me over.
My cry is stifled by the mud and I struggle to breathe. I fight frantically and twist around on the ground; as I turn over, I see her. Her face is pale as frost, although it’s smeared with mud and blood. I see those inhuman claws stretched out to scratch me, the bloodless lips stretched wide in a soundless, fanged snarl.
The first scratch stings and burns, but the pain is oddly numbed by the coldness that has now filled my entire body. I shut my eyes tight to avoid the sight of my own blood leaking from my arm. Another scratch, this time on my shoulder. I fight frantically, kicking, punching, yelling.
My eyes snap open and I see the glitter of fangs as she rears her head back to bite me. Her eyes glint as they meet mine. They’re huge and golden, fierce and wild. Something within them reminds me of myself.
We remain there for almost a full five seconds. Her mouth is still gaping, her big furry body weighing down on my chest as she sizes me up.
I no longer struggle. Shivers wrack my body. My vision blurs, threatening to go black completely.
Then my body warmth floods back into me as the weight is somehow, inexplicably removed. I don’t have the sense or the strength to get up. My arm and shoulder are throbbing uncontrollably.
“Natasha!”
A dozen worried voices surround me. I feel hands, helping me stagger uneasily to my feet. The camp consolers are there, along with my best friend, April. Everyone’s bombarding me with questions.
My ears are numb. I squint my eyes to reduce the feeling that the world was spinning around me.
“Come on, Natasha,” someone says, gently shepherding me forward. “Let’s get you back and take care of those scratches . . . you’re going to be fine.”
I walk robotically, hardly aware of all the people around me. April walks beside me, her lips trembling, staring in her shy, frightened way.
I shut my eyes as I walk, recalling the image of the wolf girl: her pale face, her wild claws, her fierce, haunting eyes. Part of me wants to forget it, but part of me strangely wants to remember it for as long as I live.
“Nat?”
April’s quiet voice cuts into my thoughts. I open my eyes and look at her.
“Nat, I was really scared,” she whispers, wincing at the imminence of one of my usual sarcastic comebacks.
I open my mouth to snap at her, but for some reason it won’t come out. The night, it seemed, had shaken some of my previous bitterness right out of me.
“Thanks, April. So was I.”
April continues to stare, but I smile at her, and some of the anxiousness leaves her eyes.
Dawn flushes the sky as I exit the forest and feel the light of day on my face once again.
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