My mom died recently. She was out for one of her nightly walks along the woods near her house and got hit by a speeding car. The car was going so fast that she flew thirty feet in the air and skidded on the gravel road for ten more. She was dead at the moment of impact. When the police showed up at my house hours later and informed me, I collapsed and slammed my head on the door frame on the way down. Ten stitches and a dead mom – a banger of an evening.
They never found the driver that did it.
Dealing with mom’s sudden and tragic death was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I was a mess for weeks and still go through waves of grief. Her passing was a profound loss, and I feel it in my soul. There will never be another woman like her, and all I can do is strive to be a tenth of the person she was.
As emotionally hard as the funeral was, it didn’t hold a candle to going to her home and sorting out her things. That was gut punch after gut punch until I had to stop and take a break. When you have free reign in someone’s house and can search every nook and cranny, you discover the person they hid from the world. Everyone has secrets, and my mom was no exception.
I was cleaning out her attic when I came across a small wooden box tucked away in the corner. I’d never seen it before, but it was beautiful. It was a little larger than a jewelry box but what made it beautiful was the designs cut into the box itself.
The four corners were some of the most complex geometric designs I’ve ever seen in any medium, let alone carved wood. The front of the box had what looked like an old English script with the word “vilkus” carved around the keyhole. The top of the box looked like an old-world wood-cut picture of several robed figures standing around a campfire.
“What the hell is this, Mom?” I asked myself. I tried to open it up the lock was firm. Confused about everything, I decided to bring it downstairs and look for a key that would open this thing. When I picked it up, the weight was heavier than I thought. I also heard something inside shuffle. The mystery only deepened.
I placed the box aside and finished clearing out the attic. Almost everything up there ended up in the donate pile, except for the box. In fact, most of my mom’s stuff did. I lived in a small apartment and didn’t have a ton of room for the furniture. Naturally, there were some pieces I kept, but almost everything would find a new home.
That included most of the chickens.
A brief moment here to explain. My mom hated chickens. She thought they were gross. Hated the way they looked. Hated the way they sounded. She used to say the only good chicken was one that was deep-fried. Of course, this meant that everyone had to buy her chicken-themed things. Little figures, kitchen towels, ceramic sugar bowls, you name it, she had it. She never had the heart to throw any of these gag gifts away, so her house was filled with chicken regalia.
Her crown jewel, however, was the crystal chicken I bought her when she finished her nursing program. After my dad died and I moved out, my mom decided to return to school to become a nurse. She had always wanted to do it, and now she didn’t have any excuses not to. I was so proud of her.
When she did her candlelighting ceremony to celebrate finishing school, I surprised her with a crystal chicken. She laughed and cried, and we hugged so tightly. I can still see her face, her eyes red with tears but a smile so bright it could light the darkest night. A memory I often recall to help boost my spirits.
I held the chicken and gently rubbed it with my thumb. I swear I could feel her arms around me in that moment. I sat on the ground and just let the tears fall. I laid down in the fetal position and let the sadness wash over me.
Once I had cried out every bit of liquid in my body, I stood back up and dusted myself off. I had to finish the job, but I wouldn’t be able to do anything unless I got something to eat. Also, and I don’t know why, but for some reason, I thought I should stash the box somewhere. I was afraid one of the relatives might take it before I got a chance to see what was inside.
I knew they were lookie-loos, and they’d search hard for something they wanted. I decided to hide the box back up in the attic. I hid it in a small crawlspace area behind the hatch and climbed down. I looked in the mirror and made sure I was still presentable to the outside world, and headed out the door.
I was only gone for about forty minutes or so, but when I got back to my mom’s house, I noticed the side door was open. I remembered shutting it, and that fact sent up a red flag in my brain. Was someone inside the house? Maybe one of my mom’s friends had come over. Or maybe someone else from the family – I knew a few had said they’d try and stop by to take some things.
“Hello,” I called out. “Anyone home?”
No response. I walked into the living room, and nothing seemed out of place. In fact, every room looked normal. I walked into mom’s closet and finally noticed something askew – to hatch to the attic was pulled down. Why in the world would someone be up in the attic?
I hesitated and then climbed up the ladder. I popped up into the small space and turned on the light. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary up here, either. Not at first. I was about to climb down when I noticed an envelope in the corner of the room.
I plucked it off the ground. In a script that definitely wasn’t my mother’s neat handwriting, someone had scrawled the word “open.” Not knowing what else to do, I opened it up. Inside was a 3×5 card and what looked like a small patch of dog hair. On the card, someone had typed out, “Do you know the story of little red riding hood?”
That was it. I was confused, and, in fact, I laughed when I read it. What in the world was this? Who had left a cryptic message in an envelope stuffed with dog hair in my dead mother’s attic? None of it made sense. I threw the card and hair away and went back downstairs.
I hadn’t probably closed the door all the way when I shut it, thus, it was open when I got back. As for the card, who knows why it was up there? I chalked it up to some lost artifact my mom had kept around for some meaning lost in time. I must’ve just missed seeing it when I cleaned upstairs. I didn’t give any of it much thought.
As I left my mom’s closet and walked through her room, I felt a presence watching me. It’s hard to explain but imagine your teacher watching you while you take a test. You know the gaze is there, and you’re trying to ignore it, but you can’t totally put it out of your head. That was it.
It might’ve been because I was in my mom’s still intact room. I had started with the other rooms and saved this one for last. I needed to build up to it. Dismantling this room would be the final confirmation my mom was gone. I wasn’t quite ready for it. So I’d come back another day.
I would be in town for a few days to clean up the house before we sold it. I couldn’t sleep in my mom’s bedroom, so I stayed in the guest room. I had moved most of the furniture out of there, so everything was pretty bare, but I didn’t care. I was just going to sleep there. I spent the lion’s share of my time on the couch in the living room anyway.
That’s where I was when I heard the knocking start. I was watching some random cooking show on cable (CABLE!) when I heard what sounded like arrhythmic knocking coming from the kitchen window. It was like a kid learning to play drums. At first, I ignored it, but soon it got so loud I couldn’t. I hauled my tired body to the kitchen and flipped on the lights.
Nothing was out of place. Everything seemed normal, but then I started hearing the knocking again, only this time it was coming from outside the house. The way the house was designed, the side door led out into the driveway. My mom’s car was still there – the sale was pending – and my beat-up pickup was parked behind it. The new knocks sounded like someone was hitting my mom’s car.
I grabbed a knife from the block and flipped on the light in my phone. I opened the door and stepped outside. There was a slight nip in the air, and I shivered in the light breeze. I wasn’t sure what I’d find out here, but I knew I had heard something knocking. I was sad, not crazy.
Just then, I heard something in the tree above me rustle. I pointed my camera up and saw something dart away from the beam. Then I heard two knocks right next to me. I jumped back and flashed my camera where I heard the sounds. I started laughing.
Two acorns had fallen from the tree and landed on the car. The knocking I had heard was nothing more than a klutzy squirrel. I cackled for longer than I should’ve, but I needed a good laugh at the moment. The relief that washed over me was cathartic as fuck.
I walked back towards the door when I heard something large growl nearby. I froze, and I heard another, higher-pitched growl as I contemplated what to do. Then I heard something big dart off and run through the underbrush and back into the woods. Then a second large thing ran off in the same direction.
I ran into the house and slammed the door shut. I locked both locks and dragged a chair under the handle for good measure. I looked up the animal control number and gave them a call. Naturally, they were closed, but I left a message. I went to the guest room and locked that door as well.
I wasn’t taking any chances.
The next morning, I woke up as soon as the sunlight started bleeding through the paper-thin curtains. I wouldn’t say I had the best night’s sleep, but after an hour or so of mindless scrolling on my phone, I finally calmed down enough to doze off. I didn’t hear any more growling or knocking the rest of the night.
I hesitated to walk back out to the kitchen, but the desire to get coffee cranking through my system as soon as possible broke that hesitation. Again, nothing was out of the ordinary. I started making my coffee when I glanced out the kitchen window and saw another envelope staring back at me. Someone had jammed it in the weatherproofing.
In the same handwriting as the note I found in the attic, someone had scrawled the phrase, “Why do you have such big ears?” I quickly went outside, plucked the envelope off the window, and hustled back inside. Once in the friendly confines of my mom’s home, I opened the envelope.
Inside was another 3×5 card with a single typed message on it. It simply read: “The better to hear you, my darling.”
“The fuck?” I muttered. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I was so surprised I dropped the card.
“Probably the family,” I said, assuming the relatives were coming to loot the tomb. I walked over to the door and pulled it open, expecting to see family but instead being greeted by a guy dressed like a Mormon missionary. I sighed.
“I don’t believe in god,” I said, starting to close the door.
“I don’t either,” the pleasant man said.
“Oh,” I said, halting my premature door closure, “then, what can I do for you?”
“First, I wanted to say how sad I was to hear of your mother’s passing. I know that can’t be easy to deal with.”
“It’s not, but thank you. Did you know her?”
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well,” the man started, “I run a small antique shop a few towns over, and your mom used to come by every once and a while and browse.”
“Okay,” I said, unsure where this was headed. “Did she steal from you or something?”
The man laughed. “No, no. Nothing like that. It was actually a mistake I made about two weeks ago. I accidentally sold a piece to your mother that I was supposed to be holding for someone else.”
“What was it?”
“Um, it was a carved little box about this big,” he said, holding out his hands. “Have you seen anything like that around here?”
“No,” I lied.
“Oh, crackers,” he said. “Can I come in and take a look?”
“No. Sorry,” I said with a smile to hopefully back him off.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, pretty sure I don’t want a strange man inside my house.”
“Your mother’s house,” he corrected.
“Well, if this whole thing wasn’t creepy enough, that just clinched it.”
I tried to shut the door, but he put his foot in the way and blocked the door from closing. I could feel my heart start to race, but I held it together. I did not want to show fear. I bared my teeth some and said, “Move your foot.”
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for it.”
I paused. How much was it worth if this guy was willing to pay a thousand dollars for that box? Could I just cut him out and sell it directly for more money? All of these thoughts ran through my head, but I only spat out the question, “Did you leave a note on my window?”
“What?” He said, confused.
“Move your foot, please.”
“Two thousand,” he said.
“I don’t have the box,” I said as I stomped on the top of his foot with my heel. He yelped and pulled his foot back as I slammed and locked the door. I watched him through the little peephole. He swore under his breath (so definitely not Mormon), sighed, and slammed the screen door. I watched him walk away but didn’t see any vehicle. Not even a bike. By the time I moved to the window to take a look, he was gone entirely.
I was a little shaken but not too concerned. Now I wondered what the hell was in that box. I needed to find the key to unlock it, meaning I needed to clean my mom’s room. The time had come.
I walked to her room and put my hand on the door handle. I sighed, twisted the handle, and pushed the door open wide. It creaked as it opened, and I could see all the dust in the air from the rays of light streaming through the blinds. I crossed the threshold and felt a weight on my shoulders. This wasn’t going to be fun.
I first checked my mom’s key ring for anything that might look like it’d work. There was nothing. I paced around the room and made a mental tally of all the places to place a key to a hidden box in the attic. The first stop was the dresser.
I went through all the drawers and was shocked at some of the more racy garments my mom apparently had but I didn’t find any keys. After that, I went to the bedside tables and went over every inch of them. Didn’t see anything.
Same for every other conceivable place in her room. I spent hours taking that room apart in search of the key and didn’t find any trace of it. I even took a break for lunch and came back with fresh eyes. Still nothing. I could feel my frustrations mounting. A thought scratched the surface of my brain and started to take root: she didn’t have a key.
If that was the case, I should’ve just sold that weirdo the box and be done with it. But my curiosity had been piqued. Why did he want this box so badly? What was inside? Why had my mom hidden it? The more I thought about it, the more my head filled with questions with no answers. I was so frustrated. Out of anger, I kicked her bedside table. A second later, I heard something metallic drop to the floor.
I moved the end table and saw a key laying on the ground. It had been taped to the underside of the end table. It looked like the perfect fit for the lock. I couldn’t believe it. I bent down, picked it up, and gave it a once over.
“So there you are,” I said.
I went to my mom’s closet and pulled down the stairs to the attic. I climbed up, clutching the key so tight in my palm it was leaving indentations. But I didn’t want to drop an old brass-colored key onto the brown carpet and start my search all over again.
Once I got to the attic, I walked over to the box and squatted to pull it out. However, something was pulling me away from the box and towards the half-moon ventilation window. It was just a feeling I got in the base of my skull that told me to peek out at the street below. I’m glad I did.
My mom’s house sits on a street that butts up against a small patch of woods. It’s not in the country, but it’s not like a typical suburb either. It’s the bleeding edge of the suburbs, really. The line where developers stopped gobbling up the trees to make identical little boxes. Houses were still spaced out with large yards, and dirt roads reigned supreme. You were technically in a neighborhood but not like the tightly packed sardine can place I now lived.
As my eyes scanned the tree line, something out of place caught my vision. The guy who tried to buy the box was standing back in the greenery. He was holding a pair of binoculars and staring out at my house. Instinctively, I leaned back a bit from the window, hoping he wouldn’t spot me.
He seemed to be talking to some other unseen person. I looked around but couldn’t see any other person near him. Who was this guy? Why did he want this box so badly? As I pondered, I watched as he took several steps back into the treeline, and I lost sight of him for good.
Then I heard glass break downstairs.
The person he was talking to had just broken a window in my house. I assumed they would be entering shortly. I cursed myself for not having a weapon, especially after the earlier encounter. I knew I didn’t want them to know I was up here. I quickly but quietly padded over to the open attic hatch and pulled it closed. I was trapped, but I was out of sight. I only hoped they wouldn’t come looking for me.
After an agonizing few seconds, I heard the kitchen window open, and the screen get kicked in. The person climbed in, rather clumsily from the sounds of it, walked over to the side door, and opened it up. He was letting in someone else to help him. I assumed it was the man from earlier, but I wasn’t sure if it was just him. What if there were more? What if they were armed?
What if they wouldn’t take no for an answer?
I decided I needed to hide the box somewhere up here where they may not find it. My original spot was fine, but you could see it if you looked. I needed something better. Glancing up, I saw some pink insulation that had pulled away from the wood beams. I stuffed the box in there and pulled the insulation back over it to hide it. It wasn’t elegant, but it was the best I could do at the moment.
In the house below me, I could hear at least two people talking, though I had a hard time making out anything concrete. I wanted to press my ear to the floor to see if I could catch snippets, but I was afraid I’d give away my position. If they came up here, there were only two ways out: fight them and scramble down the stairs or punch out the half-moon window and jump. Neither sounded feasible.
They were slowly making their way through the house. From where I was standing, their conversations sounded like grunting. I glanced over and found a small length of pipe no larger than my forearm and grabbed it. It wouldn’t be much, but it’d be something.
My heart was pounding like a tom-tom when I heard the two of them enter my mom’s room. They were so close I could make out their conversations now. I leaned in close, carefully balancing myself to avoid making any noise.
“What happened in here?” a gruff, unknown voice asked.
“Someone gave this room a good toss,” said the pseudo-Mormon that had been at my door.
“Do any of the other clans know about this?” asked the gruff voice.
“Not that I’m aware of, sir,” said the Non-Mormon.
“Fucking hell,” the gruff voice said, “you’re supposed to do a thorough vetting process before anyone can join. How did you fuck this up?”
“I’m sorry. She was my nurse and…and she seemed like a good fit for….” His voice trailed off.
“Did you hear that?” the gruff voice whispered.
“Did it come from,” the Non-Mormon started, but the gruff voice cut him off.
“Yes. Follow me,” he said as quietly as possible.
I pushed myself back up and watched the attic hatch like a hawk. I cocked the piece of pipe back and waited for the hatch to open. I was going to brain the first person that came up those stairs.
But the hatch never opened. Instead, the two men moved out of my mom’s room and back into the living room. Then one of them yelled, “What are you doing here?!”
Someone threw something, and then there was a struggle. I didn’t know who was down there, but the fight got more intense the longer it went on. I heard crashing and smashing and screaming and growling. Whatever was going on downstairs was brutal.
Then the howling started. Whatever was down there started howling so loud that I dropped the pipe and covered my ears. I was afraid it was going to rupture my eardrums. I didn’t care that the pipe dropping could give my hiding spot away. The noise cut through me like a saw.
Over the fading howl, I heard people rush towards any exit from the house. There was yelling and screaming and threats, but then there was silence. I waited about thirty minutes in a crouch - my knees were screaming in pain - before I decided to go down and check what had happened.
I was greeted with a monumental mess. Furniture was flipped and torn open. Glass was shattered. The back door was left open. There were streaks of blood on the floor and walls. Whatever happened here wasn’t pretty.
There was something odd, though, about the mess. In the middle of the chaos sat the little crystal chicken. It looked perfectly okay – no cracks or broken pieces. What was odd was I had left it on the bookcase in the other room yesterday and not in the middle of the kitchen floor. The bookcase hadn’t been tipped over, so someone had to pick the chicken off the shelf and place it on the ground. Who the hell would do that?
I decided I needed to call the cops. I had little hope that they would solve the case, but I thought I might need a record of the break-in. Thirty minutes later, a squad car rolled up. Two cops got out and greeted me. They were nice enough, listened to what I had to say, and wrote some of it down. They asked if anything was stolen, and I said I wasn’t sure but didn’t think so.
About ten minutes later, one of the cops headed back to the cruiser, but one hung back. He was handsome, with his youthful face and big bright eyes. He shot me a warm smile, and, for a moment, I forgot my general negative feelings toward the police.
“We’ll look into this but, to be honest, there isn’t a lot here to go on,” he said.
“Can’t you test the blood?”
“They won’t, especially if nothing was taken.”
“Great,” I said.
“I know it’s been hard for you in the last couple of days.”
“What?” I said, startled.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said softly, “I was the one that got the call about your mom.”
“Oh,” I said, “thank you.”
He took a step closer to me. “Did you know that she was alive when we found her?”
“Wh-what?”
“Oh yeah. It was supposed to be a clean hit, but she moved last minute, and the car didn’t get her as solidly as I would’ve liked.”
“The fuck?” I balled up my fist and was ready to punch.
“I told her that she couldn’t hide from us. You can’t either,” he said with a grin.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I whispered, my legs trembling.
“We’ll be back when it’s dark,” he said, “You won’t see us, but we’ll see you, darling. It’s why we have such big eyes.” As he said it, his pupils flashed from brown to yellow.
“Roddy,” his partner yelled, “we got a robbery in progress nearby! Let’s hop to it.”
“You can lock the doors, but it won’t matter,” he whispered. Then, like a robot flipping a switch, any sinister vibes drained from his body, and he was back to the regular guy he was minutes earlier. “Have a good night, ma’am.”
I turned and ran back into the house. I decided that I needed to go. I grabbed my car keys and ran out to my car. I put my key in the ignition and turned, but nothing happened. I tried again and again, but the engine was dead. I popped open the hood and saw that someone had sliced a bunch of wires inside. My mom’s car was the same way.
I was trapped.
I ran back inside and, despite the cop’s warnings, I locked the doors. I grabbed knives and hid them around the house in case I needed one. I kept the butcher knife on me. I thought about running, but if they were watching me, they’d see me leave, and I assumed they’d catch me. They seemed to have some kind of magic or something. It sounded crazy, but I didn’t know what else to call it.
Finally, I went back up into the attic and grabbed that box. It was time to see what the hell was inside. I pulled up the stairs and locked myself up there with my knife. I retrieved the box from the insulation and laid it in front of me.
“Here goes nothing,” I said as I slid the key in and turned.
A tinny music box song started playing as I pulled open the lid. I didn’t recognize the tune, but it played the entire time the box lid was open. Inside, the box was stuffed with papers. Some were brand new, and others were yellowed with age, but each one looked alike. It was just a list of names, like a roster.
“The hell?”
The dates on the pages were varied. One from 2022. 1983. 1947. 1892. 1849. 1781. What was stranger still was that some of the names were on every roster. Some of these names I knew – some everyone in the world knew. If this information got out…the entire world would change. Here I was, the daughter of a late-in-life nurse, holding evidence that proved a myth real. Astounding.
My brain was having a hard time comprehending all of this information. Were these…werewolves? Was that possible? More to the point, how had my mom gotten caught up in all this?
She really did live a life I had no idea about.
Someone started screaming outside my house. I ran over to the half-moon window and peered out. I saw the non-Mormon standing out there. He pointed at the window, and I knew I was fucked. He was aware of where I was.
“I know you’re in there, and I know what you have. You may not know what you’re holding but trust me when I say that I will do anything to get it back,” the man yelled. “Give it to me, and I leave, and you never see or hear from us again.”
I tightened the grip around my knife. My best guess was my mom had someone get a hold of this, realized what it was, and was planning on exposing it. They didn’t like that, and they killed her. My god, they killed her! Now they wanted the box, but even if I gave it to them, they’d have to clean up the mess. They’d have to kill me, too.
“If you don’t, well, then you’ll get to discover what I have these big teeth for,” he said with a laugh. “But I’m already full, so be a good sport and just hand over the box.”
Not a fucking chance, I thought.
I was going to go down with the ship. I didn’t have any way out of this mess. I decided that I wouldn’t go down without a fight. I’d honor my mom by fighting her fight for her. She didn’t raise a sissy. Werewolf or not, I was content to fuck one of them up or die trying.
Before I could go downstairs, though, I heard a howl. Then another. And another. I walked back to the window and saw three wolves circling the non-Mormon. He looked frightened – these were not his friends.
“You’re going against the way!” he screamed. “Your clan will be all of our downfall!”
Then they set on him.
I backed away from the window and shut my eyes. The sound of three wolves tearing into a man is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard. His screams have nested in my brain and will never leave. I hope never to hear the wet slap of meat being slammed into the ground again.
Minutes later, I heard a howl. I opened my eyes and stood back up. I peeked out the window and saw the three wolves in the middle of the street, howling together. Whatever was left of the man was gone, save for a message written in his blood. It read, “You’re safe.”
For some reason, I believed it. These guys had killed the man threatening me. They wouldn’t have done it if they wanted to hurt me too. I decided to head downstairs.
I clutched onto the knife and the box with my life as I went down the ladder and through the mess in the house. I walked to the front door and opened it. I could feel the cool night air blowing my hair back. I looked out to the street, and where I had previously seen three wolves, a lone man stood under the street light. He waved to me.
I walked to him.
He was so big and bulky. Not fat but fit and as tall as the day is long. Easily over six-four. His brown skin seemed to shimmer unnaturally in the street light. But his face was warm and inviting. As I approached, he gave me a pleasant smile.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.
“I shut my eyes,” I said.
“Probably for the best.” He eyed the knife in my hand, “I’m not here to hurt you. None of us are.”
“You’ll forgive me if I keep holding it. Not to be rude or anything.”
He nodded, “I understand.”
“Are you…”
“Yes,” he said before I finished asking.
“Holy shit,” I said in a whisper.
“We’ve been around for a long time,” he said. He pointed at the box in my arms and said, “But I imagine you know that already, seeing as you opened the box.”
“How did you know I opened it?”
“We heard the song. We all did. That’s how we knew we were needed.”
“Is it like, I dunno, a bat signal or something?”
He let out a deep bass-filled laugh. “Something like that, yes.”
“Was my mom….?”
“We failed your mother,” he said in a regretful tone, “for that, I can only apologize. I’m sorry you’ll never get to see her in her natural form again.”
I started crying. The finality of everything just struck. I felt dumb for crying in front of this hulking stranger, but I couldn’t stop myself. Instead, he leaned over and hugged me. I dropped the knife and hugged him back. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe.
After collecting myself, I looked down at the box and into his eyes. “Does this belong to you?”
“No,” he said, “It belongs to all of us. We’re just tasked with keeping it safe.”
“Then, you better keep it,” I said, handing it over.
“Thank you,” he said, bowing towards me.
“Am I safe? There were others….”
“They have been taken care of,” he said, nodding at the blood on the ground. Message received.
“Will more come?”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but there will always be someone watching over you. Believe me.”
I nodded, and he turned and walked back into the woods. After a minute, he faded into the darkness altogether, and I stood alone in the middle of the street. A weight was lifted from my shoulders. I felt calm, eerily so.
A week passed, and I managed to clean up and ship out everything in my mom’s house. I had one last thing I wanted to do before I left all of this madness behind and returned to my wonderfully boring and normal life. I had to see her grave.
My mother’s final resting spot is one worthy of her beauty and grace. It sits on a small hill shaded by a blooming Magnolia tree that gently shakes in the constant pleasant breezes. The view of the sunsets are amazing. If she were still around, I think she’d agree it was perfect.
I came to say my final goodbyes and left her a little gift. On her headstone, I placed the crystal chicken. I couldn’t think of a better place for it. It was hers, anyway. I kissed my fingers and put them on the headstone. I whispered my goodbyes and then walked towards my waiting car.
When I turned around to get one last look, I saw what I thought was, at first, a dog move to the headstone. But on closer inspection, it was clearly a wolf. Suddenly, the big stranger’s words came back to me. I wouldn’t see her in her natural form…but someone was always watching over me.
I locked eyes with the wolf, and she sat on her haunches and lowered her head. I knew it was her. Though my brain was screaming for logic, my heart shushed it to sleep. Then, as gently as a mother cradling a baby, she took hold of the crystal chicken in her mouth and darted off into the woods.
“Bye, mom,” I said and let the tears fall.