by Drew Beatty
and I still hadn't put my curtains up. A couple of spare sheets from the linen closet would solve that problem.
The curtain rod was already up, so it was a simple matter of throwing the sheets over it. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would do for a day or two. I pulled over a chair and stood in front of the window, adjusting my grip on the sheet as I jumped up onto the chair. I just managed to snag both sides of the sheet on the rod. Satisfied with my handiwork, I jumped down from the chair to go to bed.
The sheet exploded out as a giant squirrel crashed through my window screen. It landed on my arm and sank its claws into my wrist. I screamed, as much from shock and amazement as pain. I ripped the squirrel from my arm. Its claws left a series of scratches on my arm as I pulled it away. It was huge, at least twice as big as any other squirrel I had ever seen. I could feel large muscles twitching and throbbing under its coarse black fur. The patch of white fur at its throat help me to recognize it, it was one of the littler squirrels I had seen on my bike ride. But it wasn't so little now. It was a monster, as big as a cat. It twisted and thrashed in my grip, it was all I could do to hold on to him. Long, curved claws and sharp teeth snapped at me. I hurled it out the window to the ground below. I looked out to see it racing to the cornfields, heading back to the forest.
My mother was shouting through my bedroom door. “What's going on in there? Are you all right?”
I crossed the room and opened the door a crack. “Sorry mom, “I said. “I was just trying to put a sheet up. I forgot to get my curtains up again.” I was pretty sure that if I told her the truth she would be sending me to a shrink tomorrow, so I left out the giant squirrel attack.
“Well, make sure you put your curtains up properly tomorrow. Honestly, Daniel, I shouldn't have to nag you about everything.”
“Sorry, mom. I'll do it tomorrow. Good night.”
I pushed the door closed before she could say anything else. It's not like she was a nag, or anything, but I just didn't want to deal with anything else right then.
The scratches on my arm were long, but not deep. I would survive, but I had to clean them. I opened my door a crack, peeked out into the hall looking for my parents. Finding nothing, I tiptoed to the bathroom. All of our stuff was still in boxes under the sink; it took me awhile to dig out the antiseptic and bandages. I was just dressing the last scratch when my mom threw open the door.
“Mom, “I shouted, “What the hell are you doing? I'm in here!”
“What have you done to yourself?” she said looking at my bandaged arms.
“What, this? It's from my bike ride today.”
“Daniel, tell me the truth. Are you a cutter?”
“What?” I dropped my scissors to the floor. Considering the circumstances, not the greatest thing to drop.
“Are you a cutter?” she repeated. “Do you cut yourself to feel more alive? Or is this some way to get back at me for moving here? Oprah had a show on it a few weeks ago. It's not uncommon.”
“Mom, seriously, you do not need to worry about me being a cutter. Now can you get out of here so I can finish?”
She walked over, took my arm in her hand. “Here let me help you, you've made a mess of this.” In a minute or two she had my arm dressed properly. I flexed it once and thanked her.
“No problem,” she said. “Daniel, you will tell me if you are having any problems adjusting, won't you?” She held my head in her hands, looking right into my eyes.
“Mom, I promise you that if I ever feel like cutting myself, I will talk to you instead, all right?”
“I just want you to be safe. And happy.”
“I know,” I replied.
“Now, get to bed so you can get up early and hang those curtains.”
“Fine mom.” She gave me a lighthearted swat on the back of my head to send me on my way, but I walked with a heavy heart. My mom thought I was a cutter. I'm not sure if the truth would make her any happier.
I collapsed into bed and didn't wake up until the sun was high in the sky. The sheets did the trick nicely.
I showered and changed the bandages on my arm, threw down some breakfast and went behind the barn to find my bike. The morning was cool, with the sweet smell of corn on the air. I hated to admit it, but it did smell better than the streets of Toronto.
My parents were already busy with work, so I grabbed my wallet and my phone, and headed for the city.
Well, I call it the city, but there is not much to Cageville. The downtown core is a small grid of half a dozen streets, lined with small, faded shops. The center of town held what the locals referred to as the mall, a park with a grocery store, and a gas station. I parked my bike and locked it to a street sign, looping my helmet through the lock. Here I was. Downtown. I could feel the excitement.
I bought an energy drink from a dusty convenience store and walked across the street to a park. There were some benches, places to sit in the shade and enjoy the day.
The benches were the highlight, really. There were no record stores, no comic book stores, and no clothing stores. There was nothing here for me. I belonged on Queen Street.
I started pouring out the dregs of my drink when a voice behind me said, “That's a pretty big waste of carbohydrates, you know.”
There is a typical shot in movies that always makes my mom laugh. The young hero looks up to see a beautiful girl framed by the shining sun, so she looks like an angel or something. I used to laugh right along with my mom, it was such a cliché, but here, seeing it happen live, I understood why so many directors used it. I looked into the dark eyes of a sun-framed angel. She stood above me, looking down with a sweet smile.
“Also, that stuff is not very good for the grass. It totally kills it.”
I stopped pouring it out and nodded my head. “You're right. I wasn't thinking about how I might affect nature's beauty.” I indicated the dried, twisted weeds beneath me. “I don't really see how it could get much worse, actually.”
“You're new around here, huh?” she asked. I nodded. “There aren't a lot of people who hang out downtown that I don't know.” She hopped around me and sat down on the bench. “I'm Star,” she said, sticking out her hand. I shook it.
“Star?”
“I know, it's stupid. My parents are like these hippie farmers. They moved out here in the 80s to start a new life. So, I'm Star. Can't fight it.”
“Nice to meet you Star. I'm Danny. And you're right, I'm new around here. We just moved up from Toronto.”
“Wait, did you move into the big yellow house?” I nodded. “I love that house! It's like the yellowest house ever.”
“It sure is yellow, “I agreed.
“It's pretty close to the were-squirrel nest, though, isn't it?”
I dropped my bottle. “The what?” I asked.
“Well, we don't really know what they are, but we call them the were-squirrels, the kids in town, I mean. We noticed them in the spring when we were hiking. Bill Reynolds, he's in grade 12, he camped there one night and these crazy squirrels attacked him. It was a full moon that night, and he said they looked huge, like monsters, so we just called them were-squirrels. They sure aren't regular squirrels.”
“You're kidding me, right? This is some sort of joke you pull on the new kids?
She shook her head, tossing her hair back and forth as she did so. “There haven't been any new kids before. People don't really move in or out of Cageville much.”
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and brought up the calendar app. “It was a full moon last night,” I said. I put my phone away and rolled up my sleeves to show her my arms. “One of them paid a visit to me.”
“That's so messed up.” She grabbed my arm and pulled it close so she could get a good look at the scratches under the bandages. “I've never heard of them leaving the forest. Did you tell your parents?”
I looked at her blankly. “Because they would totally believe a story about were-squirrels attacking me.”
“Maybe they're just rabid?”
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“No, they would be dead by now if they were rabid. And the squirrels I saw in the day were not rabid, they were creepy.”
She dropped my arm. “So, what do you do now?”
“What do I do? I don't know, bike home. Have supper. Watch a movie. What do you mean?”
“I mean the were-squirrels. Last night was just the first night of the full moon. Two more nights. They might be back.”
“I didn't think of that.”I replied. “What kills werewolves? Silver, right?”
She nodded, making her dark curly hair bounce in a way that made butterflies invade my stomach. “Do you have a gun?”
“No. I'm just thinking. Silver I can get. A gun, or even bullets, not so much. I’ll have to improvise.”
“Some of the best things in the world have come from desperate improvisation,” Star said with a smile. Across the street, a heavyset bearded man pulled up in an antique pickup truck. He tapped the horn twice and Star jumped up. “That's my dad,” she said.
“The hippie?”
“The gentleman farmer, now. I gotta go. Will you be around tomorrow?”
I shrugged. “Depends on how well my plan goes.”
“Good luck, Danny from Toronto,” she said, backing away with a smile on her face.
“Thanks, Star from Cageville.” I watched her run to her dad’s truck, sliding in beside him. He glanced at me as he drove away, a question in his eyes. I waved and smiled, trying to put him at ease.
I tossed my bottle into a garbage bin and walked over to the general store. I will say one thing for the country, the first