A Tale in the Night

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

“Oh, yeah? And where else would you go?”

“Not there.” I huff. “Listen, can’t we just turn around? It’s getting dark out.”

“That’s why we brought flashlights!” She turns the flashlight on, waving the beam in my face.

“I know it’s on, Wendy. I’m not dense.”

“I wasn’t so sure, Max. Dusk doesn’t mean the day is over.”

“I guess. But it also means dad’s worried sick.”

Wendy flicks her head from side to side. “Not worried sick, he’s working himself sick. He said he’d be home tonight. Just like he did last night. And the night before.”

“Well, see it this way. He’s just trying to keep the lights on. And keep us fed.”

“Well, I’m just fed up with him not keeping his promises.” She sighs, gripping her backpack straps and marching on.

“Wendy, wait! Can’t you just, I dunno, text him?” She flicks her flashlight on and off.

“No” in morse code. 

I groan and follow her. Deeper into the woods. At night. 

Wendy is swift, steady, and certain. I’m stumbling, stuttering, and stuck wondering if she’ll ever listen. 

We walk deeper into the forest. Sticks, stones, and grass dance under our flashlights.

Wendy’s shuffling stops. “Max,” she whispers.

“Wha-” My mouth bumps into her hand. That’s one way to silence me.

I strain my ears, then my nose. Something’s in the air. Smoked meat, bugspray, and idle chatter. An unmistakable combo. Due to my preventable mistake.

“You wanna go see a campfire, Max?” Wendy smirks at me over her shoulder. A glint in her eye. 

“No, I want to go home.” I grip her arm. “We should leave. Now.”

She swipes her arm forward. “Sounds like a you problem. Plus, I’m hungry.” She’s back in motion.

“We have food at home!” I hiss.

“Don’t care. This is fresh.”

Her strides grow stronger, longer. The scents and sounds grow clearer. My breath grows ragged. 

“Wendy, please,” I step in front of her. “Just turn around! I don’t wanna do this again.”

“Once again, Max, ‘You problem.’” She snarls, side-stepping me. Her hair turns gray.

I block her again, gripping her shoulders. “Listen to me. Turn. Around! Go!”

“That’s what dad does. He’ll listen, then turn around and leave. Maybe this’ll get his attention.” Wendy breaks from my grasp. And now she’s running. 

And I’m fed up.

I run after her, shrug off my backpack, and leap on her back. 

“Max! The hell! Get off of me!” She pivots, slamming my back into a tree. 

I don’t let go. She does it again. 

I grip tighter.

Her muscles are thicker now. Her body sprouts with gray, ugly, wiry fur. I claw all over her chest. Anything to slow her down. But she gets closer. Closer until-

“Hey, who’s out there!” Someone yells. “I ain’t messin’ around, whoever you are!” It sounds like a man. Likely bony. He reeks of bug spray. 

And fear. 

All the smells are too close now. Too strong. They blend together too well. Well enough to work up my appetite. I slip off of Wendy’s shoulders. 

She grunts and tilts her head at me. “About time,” she whispers.

“Shut up,” I mutter. “Who are we getting?”

The man unzips his tent, coming around the pitiful structure. “I-I got bear spray! And m-mace! And I know jiu-jitsu!” 

“Him,” I whisper to Wendy. 

She licks her lips and nose. “Perfect. I’m going first.”

Wendy drops to all fours, prowling into the light.

The male balks. “Oh. A w-wolf, huh? Not as bad as a bear, I guess.” He cracks his knuckles, squares his shoulders, and takes a fighting stance. I think that’s what he’s going for. “Bring it on, then.”

Wendy barks. My cue. I drop to all fours and take her side.

The man gets whiter. Only red colors his spindly neck and forearms. 

“Th-there’s t-t-two of y’all?” 

I bark this time, stepping forward.

Just as he whips the mace from his pocket, I stand on my hind legs. 

Then he fires. 

Wendy roars, clapping a paw over her right eye. He sprays his mace again, getting me on my nose. The man cackles as I howl in pain.

I hear shuffling. “Y’all thought you were a match for me? Hah!”

The peppery scent clouds my sense of smell, but not my hearing. 

“Where’d that bastard go?” Wendy growls. 

The man stands on top of a table, waving around his mace. “Y’all ready for round two?” he taunts.

“I pull, you pin,” I whisper to Wendy. “I’ll go around.”

Wendy nods, one eye red, the other yellow. 

The man’s bravado returns. “I told y’all I knew jiu-jitsu, yet I didn’t have to lift a finger! All I needed was my trusty ma-”

I yank the table from underneath him. The man falls on his face, the brim of his hat digs into the ground.

Wendy pounces on him, pinning the male to the ground. 

His neck crunches between her jaws. 

~~~

I finish licking his blood off my paws. Well, they’re between hands and paws. They’re always the last thing to revert back to normal. “Feeling better, Wendy?”

“Mmm, kinda,” she shrugs, rubbing her eye. “I didn’t expect him to actually get us, let alone me.” 

“It’s those jiu-jitsu reflexes, remember?” 

“Whatever,” she scoffs. 

“Really, though. How’s your eye?”

Wendy drops her hand to her lap. “It’s still super itchy. You think he might have eye drops?”

“He might. Let’s look through his tent, shall we?”

Wendy smirks. “Now you’re talking, kid.” She unzips the tent. 

“Ooo, check this out, Max.”

“What’s up?”

She pulls a wallet from a pile of clothes. “Looks like some info about tonight’s dinner. Let’s see if he tips well.”

She pops his wallet open, turns it upside down, and shakes out the contents. Three $100 bills fall to the ground, followed by a credit card and a picture of an old cat. 

A driver’s license also falls out. I pick it up.

“Clayton Simonson. New Jersey. Twenty-seven years old.”

“Damn, that’s a rough twenty seven. He tasted at least forty two.”

“At least he tips well, right?” I ask, pocketing the money. 

“Hell yeah, he does,” Wendy laughs, stuffing the bills in her backpack. 

“So… what now?”

“We go to an ATM, duh!”

I roll my eyes. “I know that, Wendy. But, well, I’m kinda tired.”

“And I’m still kinda hungry.”

“Should we just pull up to McDonalds, looking like this?” 

“Obviously not,” she chuckles, kicking my foot. “Maybe Clayton has some food laying around.”

“Can’t we just hunt some rabb-” 

“Shh!” Wendy holds a hand up. “Do you hear that?”

I swivel my ears. More voices. Some male, some female. 

“Yo, Clay-Mation!” A woman shouts. “We’re back!”

“Yeah! We got some berries! We might need some ointment, though. Harley fell into a poison ivy bush or somethin’,” says a man.

“Look, I didn’t fall in it. It just brushed against my leg!”

I turn to Wendy. She’s smirking at me, gray wiry fur sprouting on her cheekbones, neck, and shoulders. 

I smile back, my teeth growing sharper. 

“You want seconds?” she whispers.

I tap my tail on the ground several times. 

“Yes” in morse code.

The tent unzips.