The Wolves at My Door

She knew what she wanted now. It had all become clear. Awake, listening to the sounds of the night. It was that time of year. Owls were midst courtship. The female with her familiar shriek that sounded as if she was saying ‘To-wheat, To-wheat, To-wheat,’ the male answering a deep melodic ‘Whoo hooo whoo, Whoo hooo whoo.’ The vixen screaming for a mate. Sounding like a call for help. As if she was under attack. She knew what that felt like. The dog fox tentatively replying with guttural barks. There were other vixens around to reply to. Then there it was, the haunting howl. It drowned out and stopped all the others. It made the hairs on her neck rise and her heart quicken. But she had no idea why. It was as if a Maestro had just walked onto the stage, rolled up his sleeves, and picked up his baton. ‘Awooooo, Awooooo, Awooooo, Mournful and beautiful. She instinctively went to the cabin door and opened it wide. She was not afraid. There was nothing out there to scare her. The thing she dreaded and feared the most was the sound of a diesel engine. She breathed in the chilly night air. It filled her lungs too fast. She coughed and the Maestro went silent.

In the morning, she put on her snow boots, her thick coat, gloves, and hat. She needed to fetch more logs. The footprints in the snow outside told her that Maestro, as she had begun to call him, had visited. He had circled the cabin several times. She quickly put the logs in the bucket. You would not want to hang around too long outside and went towards the cabin. A twig snapped making her turn, her gaze wandered looking for whatever, whoever. The tree line was just that, trees. If there was something out there, it was hiding. Back inside, she built up the huge open fire, the only source of warmth she had. Homemade muffins for breakfast baked in the little Dutch oven by the side of the fire. A rare treat. She seldom felt like baking anymore. The coffee from the pot heated by the fire, strong and black. Not through choice, but she was used to the bitterness now.

She had a name, but nobody called her by it anymore. When he came with supplies and for what he would greedily take without permission, he never spoke to her. That was how it had been since their parents were killed in a freak accident. This had been her father’s hunting cabin. Where he came to shrug off the corporate world. She never agreed with his motives to indiscriminately kill for pleasure. To kill to survive she understood. The trophy heads that had adorned the cabin walls always made her skin creep. Long gone now. She had buried them deep in the woods after the thaw came. Pleased that their eyes no longer watched or judged her. But he was furious with her. His father's legacy destroyed. The scars he left reminded her of the betrayal.

She reached for her notebook and fountain pen. She had enough books and ink hidden away to last her the rest of her life. How long that would be, down to him. He had told her so. But she could write her own destiny. There were no locks to keep her here. There was nowhere to go to. The cabin was in the middle of a vast forest. Few people knew the place existed. It was not on any trail or map even. Which was the reason her father had bought the plot. Just wildlife and trees. She didn’t mind that though. It was the perfect place to draft her stories.

One thing she loved to do was explore the forest. She had been going out and mapping the trees, the plants, waterfalls, and animal tracks. Anything of interest she would note. That was how she found him. He had injured his leg in an old trap, just a cub but still wary, still defensive. She managed to free him and wrapping him tightly in her coat, took him back to the cabin. She gave him some food. He was ravenous. She wondered how long he had been trapped for. She told him how lucky he was that she found him before another predator did. She cleaned his wounds but trying to dress them was pointless. In a few seconds he had ripped it all off. The wolf cub had calmed down the moment she wrapped him and held him against her. The beating of her heart and her warmth welcome. She kept him in the cabin with her, only locking him in the shed when her visitor came. She would sneak out the back door quickly, not trusting what he would do to the cub. When he was old enough, she would release him she thought. But that day came too soon.

Her visitor arrived one day whilst she was outside gathering berries. The young wolf running around her chasing birds and stalking rabbits. She had been getting him used to being out in the woods. As they made their way back, she saw his truck in the distance. The wolf’s hackles rose, growling like he had never done before. He walked stealthily by her side, slunk low to the ground. She was impressed. He was being a wolf! She bent down and ruffled his ears. ‘You need to go,’ she said, ‘You cannot come with me, it’s dangerous!’ They looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, and then he was gone. She watched him disappear into the woods, and sighed. She had lost her only friend.

That had been two or was it three years ago? Time had no meaning to her anymore. She had recently discovered an Elder Tree in the woods, growing by itself in a small clearing. She knew the tales of the Elder Witch that inhabited the Elder Tree. It made her think. If you made offerings to the Witch, she would give you good health. If you cut into her wood, without asking permission, then you would suffer bad luck. There was a rhyme that you could recite but she couldn’t remember how it went. For months now, she had been leaving small gifts by the tree and asking the Witch for help. To help free her from her torment. She just wanted to run through the forest, barefoot, at one with the creatures and the fauna, and for him to stop visiting.

It was a bright sunny morning. It was well into spring and the birds’ morning chorus was more effective than any alarm clock. She had tried to get her legs out of bed, but they seemed heavier than usual. Her whole body felt different somehow. Maybe the mushrooms she’d had for breakfast yesterday were not mushrooms? For the first time she noticed how hairy her arms were. How odd. As she stood up, every muscle in her body felt electric. She stretched and yawned. A low grumble came from her throat. She put her hands to her face as she looked in the bedroom mirror. ‘That isn’t me’ was her first thought. The second is unprintable. She had grey fur all over her face, and her ears now sat erect on top of her head, white tufts poking out of them. Her face was changing shape, her nose and mouth elongated into a muzzle, full of sharp teeth. Her legs now muscular and furry sported an enormous fluffy tail between them. This was not how she had envisaged her day to start. With so many thoughts racing through her head she did not hear her visitor arrive. He walked in, saw a grey wolf standing by the bedroom and grabbed the gun leaning by the door. Before she could move, he was knocked to the ground, and a huge male wolf tore out his throat. The wolf, shook his head, walked towards her, and looked deep into her eyes. She was free.