When the Red Wolf Hunts (The Red Wolf Trilogy Book 2)

by Kody Boye

  “Tell me you didn’t leave anything behind at Wolf Creek,” Zachariah replies. “By God, Oaklynn Smith—if you left anything there that would implicate you in this, tell me know before I—“

  “I didn’t leave anything behind,” I reply. “Yes, I walked there; but I didn’t go anywhere near the campgrounds. Just the swell in the earth above it.”

  “And it’s been raining,” Jackson replies, “all morning. There’s nothing for us to worry about, Dad.”

  “Oh, there’s more than enough to worry about, son.” Zachariah Meadows settles his eyes on me. “Now we have to worry about suppressing her transformations.”

  I train my gaze on the man in the recliner before me.

  Zachariah Meadows does the same.

  For moments, we simply stare at each other, unsure what exactly is going on. When it comes time for the man to speak, it’s to say, “I need to summon Alecia,” he says, carefully rising from his chair before taking hold of his recliner. “We need to act fast, before the Wolf decides to try anything else.”

  “Why isn’t it fighting me?” I ask as something suddenly dawns upon me. “If it can hear everything I can—and knows everything I do—then why isn’t it trying to make me transform now?”

  “In the beginning, the host body doesn’t have much power,” Zachariah says. “But as time goes on, and as the spirit bonds to your own, it’ll be able to take hold of you more easily.”

  “You didn’t have a choice when you went to the creek,” Jackson then offers, “did you?”

  “I—“

  “It used your anger, your suffering, your rage, against you. Right?”

  “I…”

  “Just admit it, Oaklynn.”

  “I… think you’re right,” I reply. “One moment I was me, then the next I—“

  “Wasn’t,” Jackson says.

  I nod.

  Sighing, Jackson draws forward, then turns his eyes toward the kitchen.

  “What’s going to happen?” I ask as I watch Zachariah speak with Alecia Meadows on the phone.

  “I don’t know,” Jackson replies.

  “You don’t know?” I frown.

  The young man shakes his head. “No. I don’t. This… this has never happened before.”

  “Never?”

  “Not while I’ve been around.”

  A frown tugs my lips down soon after.

  Though I want so badly to say something—anything—I know that doing so will only serve to cause more trouble.

  I screwed up. Majorly.

  Now, the only question is: What happens now?

  Chapter Seven

  Grandma Meadows is set to arrive later this rainy afternoon. Because of this, I am told that I am not to leave the house under any circumstance.

  We don’t know what the Wolf is capable of at this point, Zachariah Meadows had said. For all we know, it might already have a hold on you.

  That fact, combined with the reality of what occurred last night, is enough to leave me breathless, and teetering on the edge of panic.

  I keep telling myself to relax. To remain calm. To maintain my focus. And yet, I can do none of these things.

  In the back of my mind, I can hear, see, feel, and taste everything.

  The wind on my back—

  The fear in their eyes—

  The skin in my mouth—

  The blood on my lips—

  I visibly tremble while Jackson and I sit on my bedroom floor, playing a simple game of catch with one of Belle’s cat toys.

  “Hey,” Jackson says when I allow the toy to slip from my hand. “You stopped.”

  “I—“ I say, then look down at Belle, who has since reclaimed the toy and is currently attempting to disembowel it with her kitty kicks.

  A sigh escapes me a short moment later; and though as hard as I try to keep from shaking, I find myself doing just that.

  Jackson scoots across the floor to seat himself beside me. He tilts his head down, looks into my eyes, asks, “Are you all right?”

  And I, who can only respond with subtle movements, shake my head. “No,” I then say. “I’m… I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what will happen. Of what did happen.” I lift my eyes. “Jackson… you don’t understand. I lost total control.”

  “I’ve heard that can happen when a spirit possesses you. Most of the time, they do it to keep you out of danger—like when I saved you from the fire. But, the rest of the time…” He frowns and shakes his head. “I just don’t know.”

  “Do you know what your grandmother might try and do?”

  “She might try and get rid of it, for one.”

  “Can she?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I mean… I was born with it, so… I think, if she tried to remove my wolf spirit from me, it’d break me in half. But you… you invited one inside you, so… the experience is still new. New enough to where it might only effect you temporarily.”

  “God,” I whisper, and bow my head. “I hope so.”

  “I told you so many times to be sure,” Jackson replies. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  “I was mad, Jackson. You can’t blame me for wanting something to happen to them.”

  “No. I can’t. But… that?” He frowns. “You killed them in cold blood.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Not in cold blood. If anything… I did it to avenge my parents.”

  “But wouldn’t vengeance have been best served cold? With them in prison?”

  “I… I don’t—“

  A knock at the front door cuts me off before I can finish.

  “That’ll be Grandma,” Jackson says, and stands. He considers the world outside my window for a few moments before turning and extending a hand toward me. “Shall we?”

  Though I don’t want to, I take his hand and allow him to haul me upright.

  Then we make our way out into the living room.

  Grandma Meadows doesn’t immediately enter the home. Instead, she drags her son-in-law onto the front porch and speaks with him in hushed and hurried tones. I can just barely hear them—and though I can’t make out anything they’re saying, can gather the severity based simply by their exchange.

  “Something’s wrong,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Jackson replies. “It… would appear so.”

  I want to laugh—because as ridiculous as this whole thing is, a part of me wants to believe it isn’t real: that it is all just make-believe.

  But it isn’t.

  My life, as inconsequential as it happened to be before, has now been turned within the tides, and has caused the destruction of four other lives.

  All because of the Wolf.

  The Wolf.

  That I beckoned forth. That I let in. That I watched take the place of another who was meant to fill the void in my spirit instead.

  That killed four young men.

  I want to scream. I want to cry out. But I know I can’t, because if I do, I will be seen as insane. Then the wolves will truly come to drag me away.

  The door opens.

  Grandma Meadows steps in, followed shortly by her son, Bernard.

  She approaches me, slowly, then tilts my head up to look into my eyes and says, “Perhaps this was the fire I foresaw.”

  I blink, stunned, and ask, “What?”

  “There are flames in your eyes, girl. Of wrath. Of mayhem. Of destruction.” She pauses. Frowns. Tilts my head up one more. Then she says, “It’s been a long time, old friend.”

  “What’re you—“

  The Wolf surges to the forefront—growling, snapping, attempting to break the link between spirit and body. I find myself reeling, shaking, vibrating with unsung energy. Somehow, though, I am able to hold back the creature and prevent it from taking control, and merely stare at Grandma Meadows.

  The old woman laughs.

  The Wolf inside me snarls.

  I pale. “You… you know it?”

  “How could I not,” Alecia Mead
ows replies, “when I was the one responsible for this spirit’s release?”

  “You mean—“ Jackson starts to say.

  “Yes, Jackson,” his grandmother interrupts. “This Wolf’s spirit used to belong to Terence Matthews.”

  “And if you were too young to remember,” Zachariah Meadows adds, “he was the East Texas Ravager.”

  My stomach twists into knots at the thought. “Oh… God,” I somehow manage to say, and reach up to press a hand over my mouth. “Oh… oh my God.”

  I can’t believe it. I just can’t.

  I’m playing host to a serial killer’s wolf spirit.

  Not just any regular serial killer, I then think. A woman killer.

  The thought makes me want to vomit. But somehow, someway, though, I don’t; and instead, I merely look on at Alecia Meadows and her family with the knowledge that something has to be done.

  But what?

  The look in her eyes is impossible, and the set of her lips and jaw like an unmovable mountain, but her demeanor is what truly scares me.

  Swallowing, I look on at the woman who helped me invite this spirit in, and ask, “How do we fix this?”

  “There’s only two ways we can,” Alecia Meadows replies. “The first would be the easiest, and the least complicated.”

  “Which is?”

  “Killing you outright.”

  “Grandma,” Jackson says, taking a step forward.

  The woman lifts her hand while I stand in silent horror, my heart pounding and my eyes darting about the room. “The second,” she then says, ignoring the looks that both Jackson and I are giving her, “would be more complicated, but would ultimately be less messy, should it go according to plan.”

  “Should be less messy?” Zachariah Meadows asks.

  Alecia Meadows nods. “Yes. should. Because the method I’m about to propose does not guarantee an easy, or painless, fix.”

  “I’ll do it,” I blurt out, then inhale a deep gulp of air a moment later. “Anything to fix what’s going on.”

  “As I said, girl: this isn’t an easy, or painless, fix. What I am suggesting has only been done a handful of times across the generations, and has only been proven to work once.”

  “Once?”

  Alecia Meadows nods.

  “Tell me what it is,” I then say, no longer brazen, but filled with fear. “I’m willing to try anything to fix… this.”

  “The idea is simple, in theory,” the woman replies. “Executing it, meanwhile, is up to the person’s spirit, and the strength of the Wolf inside them.”

  “Are you saying—“ Zachariah Meadows begins.

  “That we invoke another Wolf?” Alecia interrupts. “Yes. I am.”

  “We can’t do it in the woods,” Jackson interjects. “The cops will be swarming them, looking for clues as to who or what kill—“

  “I understand,” Alecia says, then turns her head to look out the window. “Thank God it’s been raining. Otherwise, we might even have a bigger problem to deal with.”

  I think of the cops, my advance through the woods, the possibly the footprints I could have left as a result, and shiver at the thought that this day could’ve started off so different.

  A knock at the door—

  A cop on the porch—

  Me, dragged out in cuffs—

  I shake my head, then, and lift my eyes to face Alecia Meadows—who, with her amber gaze and quiet disposition, looks on at me with a subtle but quiet power.

  All I can say, after looking her straight in the eyes, is: “I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” she replies, before turning her eyes on Jackson. “Your father and I will go downstairs and begin preparing for the ritual. Your uncle Bernard will stay up here and guard against any… unforeseen complications.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Bernard says.

  Within moments, the people are dispersing to their respective locations.

  And me?

  I’m terrified out of my mind over what might happen, over what could be done.

  All I know, in the end, is that I am thankful that I am so headstrong. Because otherwise…

  I don’t know what I’d do.

  Chapter Eight

  I have no idea what I’ll do if this goes wrong.

  To know that I have something so horrible—so monstrous, so completely and utterly demonic—within me is beyond anything I could have ever comprehended.

  To think, I muse, that this is all because you were angry. Because you were scared.

  “Because you were selfish,” I whisper, and close my eyes.

  Sitting here, on my bed, in my room, waiting for their summons to arrive, I try with all my might not to succumb to what is undoubtedly the worst panic I have ever experienced, but feel it creeping in on me regardless.

  I want to scream. I want to cry out. But I can’t.

  No.

  To expose my weakness now—to let my guard down in light of everything that has happened—would be to expose myself for what I truly am.

  Afraid.

  Afraid of what might happen. Afraid of what I’ll do. Afraid of how I’ll feel, what I’ll think, how toward others I might respond. The truth of the matter is that I have no idea what might occur, and for that reason, a part of me understands that there is no real way to prepare.

  Which means that anything could happen.

  Anything.

  And that’s what scares me the most.

  Outside, Jackson and his uncle, Bernard, wait for Alecia and Zachariah Meadows to complete their preparations—ensuring that I, by way of isolation, will not cause anyone further harm.

  Or will you? a voice asks.

  I shiver as the creature materializes in the corner of the room. Its red eyes come first, flashing into existence as if they are flood lamps illuminating a forsaken shore, then its fur follows, like water washing paint free from a wet canvas. I try, with little success, not to tremble, but find myself doing just that regardless.

  The only think I can ask is, Why?

  Why… what?

  Why didn’t you tell me what you were?

  Surely you would not have let me in had you known my past?

  No, I then say. I wouldn’t have.

  The Wolf laughs. I knew that would be the case.

  It stands, then, and begins to walk forward, slowly but surely making its way across the room toward me.

  My heart pounds. My breaths come in short and fevered gasps. My body, though, responds, and in a way that I could have never possibly imagined.

  It takes only a moment to realize why I feel this inevitable pull toward the spirit.

  It wants to be connected, I realize. It wants me to allow my soul to be bound to this strange and violent being. It wants to be consumed, fulfilled, dominated. It wants all of this, and more.

  But I don’t.

  I stand, slowly but surely attempting to outmaneuver the creature as it continues forward.

  “Jackson,” I say, raising my voice in the hopes that he will hear. “Are you still there?”

  No one responds.

  “Jackson,” I say again, louder this time, and with more insistence. “I need you in here.”

  “What’s going on?” I hear him reply.

  “Jackson! Please! Open the door!”

  “I—“

  The lock on the door clicks into place.

  I freeze.

  Jackson tries to enter. “It’s locked,” he says, jiggling the doorknob to confirm his point. “Oaklynn, why are you—“

  “It’s not me,” I say. “It isn’t me, Jackson! Please! Open the door!”

  “I’m trying! I—“

  The wolf’s eyes blaze with light.

  It opens its mouth.

  Snarls.

  Then, it jumps toward me.

  And all I can do is scream.

  As Jackson tries to pound the door down—yelling and crying out that something is wrong and that Oaklynn needs help—I find myself succumbing to the predator that l
ies within me.

  My vision twists.

  My nostril flare.

  My heartbeat slows to a dull thud.

  Then, I’m opening my eyes, and seeing the world through lenses that are not my own.

  There, the Wolf says, its cruel laughter seeping into its voice. Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?

  Let me go! I cry, even though I know it is no use. This isn’t your body!

  It is now.

  I find myself—and the Wolf who has commandeered my physical form—turning —

  Just just in time for the door to be broken down.

  The wolf turns and snarls, likely expecting Jackson.

  Instead, it finds Alecia Meadows—her hand thrust out, a glittering object of some kind snarled within her fingers.

  “Begone, foul thing,” the woman says. “Release the girl you hold hostage.”

  “Wretch,” the Wolf replies. “You hold no power over me.”

  “Watch me.”

  I see Belle’s fleeting form run out the bedroom door, and am powerless to stop the Wolf as it stalks toward Alecia Meadows.

  I can’t stop it! I say—hoping that, somehow, someway, she is able to hear me. Alecia! Stop it! PLEASE!

  The Wolf growls.

  Alecia Meadows holds her ground.

  It attempts to charge—

  But is stopped by a force neither of us can see.

  It yowls—a long, ugly sound that instantly pierces my thoughts—and bares its teeth at the old woman who, though seemingly frail, holds more power over this creature than I could ever possibly imagine.

  “You hold no power here,” Alecia Meadows says. “Relinquish the girl, now, and you will not suffer.”

  “Suffer?” the Wolf asks. “I think it is you who shall suffer.”

  One moment, it’s standing its ground.

  The next, it’s turning and lunging toward the window.

  Glass shatters.

  The frame collapses.

  Then, we are running—

  Running—

  Across the road and toward the woods.

  Who shall we kill first? the Wolf asks as we bound across the dirt, through the grass, the rubble, then into the forest beyond what was once my home. Shall we go for someone innocent? Someone pure? But oh, the guilty taste so good.