Falling for a Wolf Box Set

by Mac Flynn

  "Almost, but not quite," he replied.

  Her shoulders dropped and her arms dropped to her sides. She glared at him before turning a smile on me. "Well, to forget those nasty bears we have parties, and we'll have your Welcome party in three days because I am parched for some excitement. Say you'll come and we'll hurry off."

  How could I refuse that offer? "Sure, sounds great." I should have been an actress, or a conman.

  Clara clapped her hands together and nearly hopped out of her husband's grasp. "Wonderful! Our house is the first one down the hill, and dinner starts at six-thirty. Wear your best clothes, no jeans, and don't worry about the food and drinks. We'll get everything ready and have everyone just dying to meet you when I tell them what a wonderful person you are."

  "I don't know if I want you starting lies about me," I quipped.

  Mark barked out a laugh. "Now that's a refreshing sense of humor. Very honest."

  Clara's eyes flickered between Mark and me, and I sensed a large green-eyed monster in their depths. "Well, we must be going. We have so many invitations to send out and a catering company to get a hold of." She grabbed Mark and pulled him back to the car.

  He smiled at her and waved at me. "Be seeing you!"

  I smiled in return and gave them my best princess wave. The strange pair slipped into the car and drove off. I was both relieved and nervous to see them go. Clara tried my patience like the worst editor, but at least her loud voice shut out the quiet that still engulfed my small grove. I grabbed another box from my car and hurried into the house.

  My wish for noise was granted when I heard the first cardboard box on the kitchen counter shake. I paused halfway across the floor and raised an eyebrow at the animated inanimate object. The box shook again, and from the open flaps popped out the head of a squirrel. In its mouth was a cracker.

  "Hey!" I yelled at it.

  The squirrel squeaked and jumped from the box. I tossed my armful onto the couch and chased after the furry fiend. It clung onto the unfinished wood of the cupboards and climbed to the ceiling. In the far corner of the kitchen was a small, dark hole, and the fiend fled into its sanctuary. I climbed onto the counter and glared at the hole six inches from my face. It looked like an entrance to the small attic between the ceiling and the point of the roof. I heard the squirrel's claws scramble across the beams and to the far end of the house. The noise stopped, and I heard the faint sound of chewing. The damn thing was mocking me by eating my cracker.

  I grabbed a towel used to pad one of the cardboard boxes and stuffed the hole. That would solve another unexpected burglary, but I suspected the evil creature had gotten into the attic through a hole somewhere in the roof. I kept my eyes on the towel and unpacked the rest of my things. The cupboards were bare of everything except a really old looking can of beans. I'd save that for an unruly guest, if I ever had any guests.

  My clothes I plopped onto an old, squeaky bed in the bedroom, and I found the bathroom was in need of a woman's touch, or a demolition. Since I was short on demolition money and high on a woman's touch I opted to clean the thing. That was how I spent most of what remained of my first afternoon because there was no way I was going to sit down on a toilet that started out black and ended up the usual white porcelain.

  I was relieved physically and emotionally when I finished the scouring and scrubbing. It was four o'clock, and the sun was low in the sky. The shadows outside lengthened, and I made sure every bulb and light switch in the house worked. The squirrels hadn't decided the electrical was a good last supper and everything worked as it should. After being so long in a bathroom, however, I felt cooped up in the small house and opted for a short walk before mother nature shut off her daylight.

  I wrapped myself in a warm coat and stepped out on the porch. The air had a hint of the chill of night, but the woods were more alive now than earlier in the afternoon. Birds chirped in the branches, and here and there a chipmunk scurried along tree trunk and limb in their search for food. I couldn't figure it out except that maybe a union strike had ended and everyone was back on the job. Whatever had made the animals come back to the woods, I was grateful for the company as I stepped off the porch and looked around.

  There was the pond ahead of me, but my eyes caught sight of a familiar trail to my right. If my memory served me that led to another clearing like mine, but rather than a house there was a small wood cabin. Settlers had built it two hundred years before, but when I had visited with my folks the place was deserted by all but the forest creatures. The trees had grown up all around it and nestled their branches against its walls and atop its roof. I'd scampered through the door in search of treasures and found a few broken bits of pottery and a fork. I kept and treasured those all these years, and now they lay in one of my boxes awaiting unpacking. They were to be placed in the spot of honor on the mantel.

  My heart leapt when I thought of what other treasures I could find in that bare cabin and proudly display on my mantel. I didn't have any friends to show off the things, but it would still be neat to search and dig up lost treasures. I hurried down the path with my thoughts full of hidden teacups and pitchers.

  Chapter 5

  The path itself was surprisingly well-used, and I guessed the hunters and their prey traveled along the trail regularly. No branches tapped my head, and no brush brushed against my coat sleeves as I walked onward. The trail wound its way up a slight incline, and the trees off the path were so thick that I quickly lost sight of my cabin. Onward and upward I went as the day threatened to turn into night. I'd forgotten how far the old settler's cabin was from mine, and after a half hour and no clearing in sight I paused to assess the situation.

  The air was thinner up there, and I doubled over and gasped for the precious life-gas. As I stood there gasping my eyes caught on something stuck to a nearby bush. I grasped the tan, soft object and held it up to the dwindling light. It was a clump of fur like a dog's, but as soft as a down pillow. It could have come off the dog of a hunter, but the fur had been trapped on was three feet above the ground. The dog must have jumped at something to get its fur stuck that high.

  There came a faint thwack as metal met wood. I pocketed the fur in my coat jacket and whipped my head from left to right. Nothing on the sides. The noise echoed through the trees again, and I realized it was ahead of me. I tiptoed forward and just around the bend was the meadow I'd been dreaming about with its quaint settler cabin.

  Unfortunately, my dreams were dashed when I saw that the area had been cleared of all its trees thirty yards from the cabin. The culprit of this atrocity to my childhood memories was a handsome man of thirty who stood near the path. He wore a thick woolen shirt, boots, and dirty jeans, and his unruly brown hair was short and matched his eyes. Everything would have been perfect but for his long hair and unruly bear. In his hands was the tell-tale ax, and in front of him stood a tree a foot thick, but with a chewed triangle at the base of the trunk where his ax had bitten into its flesh.

  At the sight of such carnage my heart sank. My childish dreams were shattered, and all because of this handsome man. This stranger could have been an angel, a god, or other celestial-beings-that-he-was-not. I grudgingly admitted that he was nearly all of those things, but because he had shattered my childhood memories he needed to die. Or have a talking to because I was pretty sure some of this damage was my property.

  I balled my hands into fists and marched up to the ax-wielding fiend. Then I remembered he was an ax-wielding fiend and stopped my march five yards from him. "What do you think you're doing here?" I growled.

  He paused in his destruction, shouldered the ax and smiled at me. I swear his teeth shimmered like in those toothpaste commercials. "People generally call this tool an ax, and I use it to clear the land around my cabin," he told me.

  I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest. "You're cabin?" I repeated.

  "Well, that's what the deed says," he replied.

  "Well, I have a deed that says this cabin is on
my property," I insisted.

  The man leaned his ax against the half-cut tree and clapped his hands together. He offered one of them to me. "You must be the other owner of the Johnson property. My name's Adam Smith. A pleasure to meet you."

  I ignored his hand. "What do you mean 'other owner?'"

  Smith dropped his hand, but not his smile. "Mr. Johnson's land had two parcels. I wanted this one, and he sold the other to you," he explained.

  "How do I know you're not just a squatter trying to lay claim to my cabin?" I questioned him.

  "If I had a phone I could call up Mr. Johnson, but since reception isn't that great up here I'll go get my deed." He turned away and strode into the cabin. My eyes flickered between the ax and where the man had gone. I pondered running away with his weapon and calling the cops, but he reappeared. In his hand was a folded slip of paper, and he walked over and held the paper out to me. "Here's my proof."

  I snatched the paper from him and unfolded it. The slip turned out to be a deed exactly like the one I owned that was safely tucked in an unpacked box. There was Mr. Johnson's shaky signature beside one that read 'Adam Smith.' He had an incredibly epic John Hancock, what with its long scrawls and smooth lines. I cursed him a thousand times for having proof of ownership, and another thousand for his beautiful handwriting.

  "I guess you're telling the truth," I mumbled as I handed the deed back.

  He pocketed the deed and held out my hand. "So can we start over on the right foot?"

  I tucked my arms into one another. "I'm left-footed, so no," I shot back. His eternal optimism never wavered. He snatched one of my hands from my arm and gave it a hearty shake. "Hey!" I yelped. I jumped back and clutched my injured fingers. He had a hell of a grip. "That's assault, you know!"

  He laughed and shook his head. "I didn't, so I'll have to plead ignorance of the law."

  His laughter was almost infectious, but I kept my lips pursed. "Well, it is, so don't do it again!"

  "Why don't we discuss these latest nuances of the law in my cabin?" He gestured to the old settler's cabin, and I had to admit he'd fixed it up without ruining the natural aesthetic. The logs had new gray chink between them, and the original door stood once more on shiny new hinges. A stovepipe stuck out the roof and a puff of smoke sailed into the sky.

  I turned away back toward the path. "I just remembered I have an important appointment." Probably with a squirrel gorging himself on my food. I hurried down the path angry and disappointed. Never a good combination for a tired and hungry woman.

  "Can I at least have your name?" he called out, but I ignored him and kept on my way.

  I know what you're thinking, that he didn't deserve the treatment I gave him and how I was a terrible person. Well, after careful consideration I think you're right, but at that time I was a woman disappointed and careful consideration was a long time in coming. I marched down that path and rammed my foot down one at a time. My hands were jammed in my coat pockets and I glared at every twig and branch wishing they would wither. My mutterings broke the silence around me.

  "Damn him acting like he didn't do anything wrong. How could he go and wreck all those trees!"

  I paused and frowned. There was that eerie silence again. I turned around and looked for the cute woodland creatures, but like their noises they were gone. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard any noises in the clearing around Smith's property. Maybe he was the source of the Twilight Zone phenomena, but I couldn't see how that was if we only just met. That is, unless he was stalking me without my knowing.

  I clutched the neck of my coat in one hand and my eyes flitted around the silent, dark woods. The sun had only thirty minutes to live, and I hoped I had longer. I glanced behind me at the corner around which was this Adam Smith, alias Aspiring-ax-wielding-murderer, but he wasn't in sight. Still, a girl couldn't be too careful and I dashed down the trail. My feet pounded the dirt. My heart pounded my chest. I flew across the ground and covered the thirty-minute distance in under ten.

  I broke from the head of the path and stumbled into my clearing. Relief and exhaustion battled for domination, and exhaustion won. I stumbled to my house, stepped inside, and slammed the door behind me. My back slumped against the door, and I flipped on the switch. The porch light turned on. Wrong switch again. I flicked on the other one and the cabin was illuminated with the bare-bulbed light of the incandescent marvels.

  I found my towel in the corner ceiling was still in place and my food in the cabinets was untouched. I used my epic cooking skills to microwave a small pizza and gulp it down in a few bites. The sun set and the interior of the cabin grew noticeably colder, somewhere between too-cold and have-my-toes-dropped-off. I went to work on making a fire in the fireplace, but firemen had nothing to fear from me. Though I had a box of kindling and a stack of dry logs at my disposal, I couldn't start a fire with a coal from hell itself. The paper wouldn't light, the logs wouldn't light. Hell, my lighter wouldn't light. It was out of fuel. I'd have to make a drive down to the general store or I'd freeze off my assets.

  Without fire there was nothing to do but put on a warm set of pajamas and dive beneath the thick pile of blankets I stacked on the bed. I snuggled my pillow and dreamed of warm days swimming in my pond or typing out my latest column on my porch.

  Chapter 6

  My sweet dreams were interrupted at a god-awful hour by the bay of a large dog. I sat up and my bleary eyes refused to open. My first thought was one of my apartment neighbors needed to shut their dog up. Then I opened my eyes and remembered where I was. My new thought was that I needed a gun because I didn't have any neighbors that close and that sure as hell didn't sound like a chihuahua howling at a fire siren.

  I flung aside the heavy multitude of covers and tiptoed across the cold, bare floor to the window. It looked out on the left side of the cabin toward the path leading up to Smith's place. I peeked through the panes, realized they were too dirty to see through, and wiped my hand across the glass. That gave me limited visibility, but I could see the dark shapes of trees and brush outside. Nothing stirred, not even crickets. I was trapped in the Silent Zone again.

  The air was so cold I could see my breath. It puffed out in small wisps of clouds that drifted past the cleaned pane, and blocked my view for a second. One particularly puffy cloud from my mouth fogged over the pane, and I reached my hand up to clean off my breath. I swiped my hand over the glass and behind my palm, a foot from the window, stood-something. It had soft yellow eyes and a brown snout. Its terrible breath poured over glass and blocked my view.

  That was just fine with me. I didn't want to see any more. I screamed and stumbled away from the window. The creature ducked beneath the window and I heard something crash through the brush. I dove into the bed and mummified myself in the thick covers. Suddenly gang wars and high-rises looked better. My teeth chattered from the fear and the cold, but thankfully that was the only noise I heard. My scream must have scared the beast off.

  I don't know when I fell asleep, or how I managed to do it sitting up, but I awoke with a start and a crack of my back. The morning sun shone through the dirty window and cast its warm glow on the bed. I could still see my breath, but I threw on some clothes and stepped into the living room with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and ready for the world.

  What I wasn't ready for was the mess in the kitchen. The towel in the corner lay atop the cabinets, and half the cabinet doors lay open. Their contents were strewn about the counter tops and shelves. There were torn cereal boxes, cracker boxes, and even my chocolate bar had a nibble on the corner.

  That did it. Nobody messed with my chocolate and got away with it, especially when the culprit stared back at me from the counter with its squinty little devilish eyes. The squirrel had a piece of my chocolate bar between its little paws and was in the process of consuming it when I entered. He looked miff at my intrusion. I let out a screech and dove at him. The squirrel let out a high-pitched squeak and dove for its hole. I dove for him and the tips o
f my fingers brushed against his tail. He had soft fur for a demon from hell.

  The squirrel slipped from my grasp and I heard him scuttle across the attic beams. I jammed the towel into its place, did a quick clean of the counters and shelves, and grabbed my purse. If the squirrel wanted war then war he would have, and I would be the victor. First, though, I needed the right ammunition. That meant I needed traps, poison, and a small ladder.

  I stepped outside and was calmed by the morning air. There was a chilliness that warned of winter, but the sun stood over the tops of the trees and shined down to warm me. I heard the sounds of birds and squirrels scurry their way to breakfast. Whatever dark cloud hung over the forest was gone.

  I got into my car and bounced my way along my driveway and past the gate. It was eight in the morning when I dropped over the hill and glanced down at the Vandersnoot mansion. Someone exited the house, and I wrinkled my nose when I saw it was Mrs. Vandersnoot and not her better half. She clopped her heels on the paved driveway and slid behind the wheel of the corvette. I pressed my foot on the break. There was no way I wanted that vehicle with that driver in front of me. My choice turned out to be the right one as she tore down the driveway and out into the main road. I was close enough her dust cloud drifted into my car and obscured most of my vision.

  I drove through the cloud and saw her dust disappear around the next corner. My little car puttered around the bend and I was just in time to witness her harass my current Enemy Number One. Adam Smith walked on the right side of the road with his back turned toward me. He had his arm out and his thumb extended in the universal pick-me-up signal. A backpack lay across his back. Clara in her corvette cruised past him and covered him in dust. He didn't even pause as the thick layer of dust settled on his person, turning his dark coat and jeans to a tan color.

  I came up on him and for a moment my foot hovered over the gas pedal and I thought about leaving him in my own dust. Unfortunately, the Good Samaritan inside me told me to stop or she'd never forgive me. Also, I didn't want to look in the mirror and see a clone of Miss Snooty staring back at me.