The Wolf Tree

They say that between midnight and dawn, at the stroke of the witching hour on Halloween night, the ghost of a wolf rises from its grave beneath the holly tree in the churchyard that rests near the ocean. Every year, vicious snarls, growls, and other unearthly sounds ring through the night in a horrible cacophony that rivals the worst thunderstorms, and the air becomes unusually warm for a mid-autumn night. When morning comes, the land is mostly untouched, but a jagged, pockmarked trail of scorched earth from the ocean to the church always appears.

Each year, the children of the village gather in secret behind the stables and dare each other to sneak into the churchyard and see the wolf, and to bring back a branch of the holly tree as proof. And each year, once the witching hour struck, and those horrible dins shook the earth and sky, the poor souls foolish enough to take up the dare ran back, pale-faced and crying, not even catching a glimpse of the wolf ghost.

One year, minutes before the witching hour of Halloween night, when the air was still and calm, and the moon and stars lit the blackened sky, a girl no older than fifteen crept up to the churchyard fence. Unlike the other poor fools, she was the biggest one of all.

A girl younger than her had drawn the short straw in the children’s gathering, and begged and pleaded not to go, collapsing to the ground from panic. The others would’ve dragged her to the grave site had the elder girl not spoken up. For the first time, someone chose to see the wolf ghost. She couldn’t say what force compelled her to do such a thing, and she soon found herself standing at the entrance to the church’s graveyard.

The biggest fool indeed.

The sight of the ashen gravestones shrouded in the darkness of the trees made the girl’s legs feel weak and shaky, as if she were standing at the edge of a precipice about to crumble. The holly tree stood atop a small hill, looking like a crooked hand with withering flesh as the last of its leaves started to fall.

The girl braced herself against the gate, forcing herself to breathe, and shivered as the light zephyr brushed against the cold sweat on her skin. The night's tranquility made the pounding of her racing heart echo even louder in her ears. The longer she stared at the tree, the more it seemed to move away from her.

Just grab a branch and get out, she thought to herself, too afraid to say it aloud. Grab a branch and get out.

With what little courage she had, slowly, stiffly, she entered the churchyard.

A resounding gong from the church bell tower shattered the silence, making the girl freeze, her heart nearly stopping with fright.

The witching hour had arrived.

A strange, eerie sound, like a rasping screech of a dying raven, arose in the distance. All the hair on the girl’s neck stood on end, her chest tightening, and her blood ran cold. The sickening sound drew closer, and she soon heard crackling fire and running hoofbeats. The air grew hotter with each second until she felt as if she were standing in a kiln, and a putrid stench made her cough and gag, as if she had smelled death itself.

Spinning around, she shrieked at the terrifying sight.

Charging out of the sea and toward the church, leaving a scorched path of earth in its wake, was a monster of unspeakable horror. A single-eyed horse with a skeletal humanlike form fused to its back like some disfigured centaur, baying, snorting, and wailing unholy shrills. Its skinless body writhed, its exposed and pulsating muscles dripping dark red blood, and foul green fire and smoke spewed from its crimson mouth and eyes, burning the grass as it touched the ground.

A demon of the sea.

The girl fled as it approached, its thundering hoofbeats and bone-chilling cries closing in on her fast. She raced through the graveyard, but the noxious fumes and heat from the demon invaded her lungs and distorted her world. Her coughing turned to choking, and she collapsed on the ground.

The creature reached out its wicked hand towards her.

The church bell tolled a final third time, and a strong, melodious howl of a wolf resounded across the earth. The demon stopped and staggered back.

The air began to clear, and the girl’s suffocation subsided. Ahead, through her blurry vision, she saw the holly tree alight with silvery tendrils like the full moon above. They flowed swiftly from the tree and gathered to form the shape of a massive creature. When its paws touched the church’s holy ground, it turned into a large canine creature. Its fur was as black as night, its eyes as golden as the sun, and a white light surrounded it.

The wolf of the holly tree.

With a vicious snarl, the wolf pounced, sailing over the girl and toward the demon. The demon let out an ear-piercing wail, spewing forth more fire and smoke. The girl’s breathing became labored again as the air fluctuated between toxic and clear.

With the deafening sounds of combat rattling her bones, the girl’s world faded to absolute blackness.

The next morning, when the first sliver of the sun peeked over the horizon, the girl woke up, feeling something soft and warm surrounding her. Dazed, she looked up. She was under the holly tree. A gentle breath brushed against her cheek. She turned her head and found the wolf’s face close to hers, its big tail wrapped around her like a blanket. Her first instinct was to scream and run, but her voice and body were too weak, and when she gazed into the wolf’s shining eyes, her fear vanished. The wolf lifted its head and plucked a branch off the tree. It placed it in the girl’s open hand and gave her a gentle lick on her cheek.

The girl blinked. In an instant, the wolf was gone, leaving her leaning against the trunk of the holly tree, clutching its small branch.