by Dancer Vane
I had a feast with my two ex-neighbours that night, on the bag of day-old croissants, that we warmed over a fire, and a bottle of milk I had grabbed on my way at the grocery store. Mrs. Betty had some chocolate powder, and we made hot chocolate and drank it slowly with the warm croissants. Maybe not the best nutrition, but none of us had the luxury to care. Any free food was welcome, especially when it tasted delicious.
It was good to see them again, face glowing in the gentle light of a campfire. I guessed we were all due some comfort food anyway.
Then we talked by the fire. I was uneasy with certain subjects… like if there were any nice boy in my life right then.
That made me picture Blake, magnificent in his tight jeans and a straining white tee-shirt, and this was so obviously not a “nice boy” that I swallowed wrong and had to cough and wheeze desperately before I got my breath back. It made them laugh, but they patted my back gently without insisting.
We were close to the road, but cars passing through were few and far between. In the empty trailer park, next to the forest, the Farnwood estate and then more forest, it felt easily as if we had been alone in the world. In some primitive world, maybe, wilder and somehow, safer.
“I’ve met a weird man a few days ago,” I told them. “He said he was the mayor.”
Mr. Burr spat on the ground. Nice. I hoped I wasn’t going to step on that when leaving in the dark.
Really, the mayor wasn’t what was on my mind. The wolf was. But they weren’t picking up the topic, so maybe I would have to be more specific. Or… more honest.
“I think I’ve seen a wolf a few days ago,” I told them.
There was a long sigh, maybe both of them sighing at the same time, maybe the wind in the bushes.
“Where?” asked Mr. Burr.
“On my boss’ property.” I made a vague gesture in the general direction of the lake.
“That would make sense,” Mrs. Betty nodded thoughtfully. “He’s a longtime friend of Farnwood. Knew him before he even moved in here, I think.”
And that says a lot for Bingo and knitting club. Because these people might own one T.V. between the two of them, but they know everything about everyone in town.
“You stay away from these people, my girl.” Mr. Burr was shaking his head. “These are not people you want to be around.”
“Blake did nothing. He wasn’t even there. Anyway, I work at the pastry shop. Can hardly avoid my boss.”
“Work is important,” he admitted.
“I’m renting a small house that belongs to him.” I felt reluctant to repeat “on his property,” because I knew what conclusion everyone would draw if they knew we spent the night on the same acre of land.
“Renting is good. You need a home. But don’t get involved with them. They’re… not like us.”
Mrs. Betty chuckled softly. “I’m sure you mean they’re not poor, my dear. Or old. Don’t you?”
Mr. Burr shot her a dark glance. His eyes were gleaming in the firelight.
“They’re monsters,” he growled.
I felt a delicious shiver along my spine, thinking he was treating us to a scary story by the campfire. But it turned out he meant it, and the growl hadn’t been all special-effect.
“They’re the stuff of legends,” he said. “You know all the things one hears about the Longwood Forest werewolves? Longwood Forest, that used to cover a good part of these mountains, at some point. This trailer park was part of it. The town was a few logger’s cabins. Indians were scarce.”
He sipped his cup of chocolate milk, then cleaned his mouth on his shirt sleeve.
“But they were not cruel, the Indians. They told the white guys why they stayed away from here. The creatures in this valley… Wolves who walked on two legs, they said, and humans who hunted their prey with their bare teeth.”
I looked into the fire, fascinated.
“I think the one I saw was a real wolf,” I whispered.
“I’m sure he was real. As they are real humans, when they’re humans. And I can’t tell you how to spot the difference, because I don’t know much about wolves. But some of the humans in this town, you just watch them and you know. You know,” he insisted.
Mrs. Betty chuckled and shook her head.
I was thinking of Blake, his muscular shape under a white tee; and for once, I wasn’t dying to take off that tee-shirt. I was afraid of what I would find underneath.
A real human, probably. Just… not permanently so.
I thought of the wolf jumping at the two drunks. How hard Blake had held me afterwards.
The wolf had sunk its teeth in the leg of one of them. He hadn’t gone for the jugular, nor did he try to kill its victim . It had sunk its teeth in the fleshy part of the leg, away from any artery. That seemed… strange. For a wolf.
Blake trembling in anger as he held me with bruising strength.
“That millionnaire,” Mr. Burr grunted.
“I think he’s a billionaire, dear,” Mrs. Betty chuckled.
“That Farnwood boy, he grew up here. He’s no boy anymore; but there were always rumours about him, always. Deckler, who went to study who-knows-where for years and came back later to open a fancy restaurant by the lake.”
He shrugged. “That boy Blake, the baker, I’ve seen him once. I was going to come inside to wish you a good morning, but then I saw him and I knew. Think of the three of them. They’re the most obvious ones. The mayor, too.”
“Good genes,” Mrs. Betty chuckled. “Well, maybe the mayor not so much.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Burr drawled. “Good genes. The question is, human genes? I’m not so sure.”
“You can’t believe this,” Mrs. Betty soothed him gently. “And you’re going to frighten the girl. She’s still a long way from home. Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me, sweetie? It’s a bit dark for you to be outside alone.”
I made reassuring noises. There were buses until midnight. But yes, it did seem very dark.
I wondered if I should become more familiar with the lunar phases, now that I lived in such a place. Because wether there was a full moon, or no moon at all, made a lot more difference than I would ever had imagined when I lived in the city.
I wondered what else it affected.
And… how safe it was to wait for a bus alone in these parts, when the moon was full.
I remembered the wolf jumping the two men in the alley, though, at dawn, well after the moon had disappeared.
I felt tired. Confused. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Mr. Burr’s accusations. Good genes did explain a lot. Also, the fact that these tall, muscular men were rich.
A doctor had told my mother once that I was small for my age because I was malnourished. That I wasn’t growing because she didn’t feed me properly.
She had spat at him that she was doing her best and he had no right to judge her. She was trembling with rage, and what I already recognised as needing a fix. I wasn’t stupid. I was small, but I had learned to recognise the signs.
What I mean by this is that these men, being rich, have always been well-fed. They don’t dine on muffins and chocolate milk. Blake has a weight room in his house; I’m not snooping, but that amount of windows instead of walls means he’s practically on display as soon as he turns on a light.
Not that I ever watched — ever. I only saw the room empty and dark, looking for all the world like a shop window. I would bet Farnwood has a similar gym in his place, if it’s as huge as people say.
I’m not into gossip, but I do work in a coffee-shop. A small one. It’s impossible not to hear people talk.
So, yes, I could see why money would produce tall, muscular men, who walked as if the Earth belonged to them. No need to invent legends about it.
But I remembered the wolf. His thick pelt. Golden eyes.
Wolves were real after all, nobody denied that. Not a species that would haunt back alleys, though, not when looking so well-fed themselves, but definitely real.
The flames wer
e dancing in front of my eyes, getting blurry.
“A bit more milk, darling?” offered Mrs. Betty softly.
Rich men had the luxury of taking care of themselves. And wolves did exist, plain as day. Nothing strange in either of these facts. But… it was just a tiny bit too much.
That the wolf would bother saving me. That the mayor would fix his beady eyes on me and talk to me, when there was no reason in the world why he should even notice the waitress.
That Blake would have not even mentioned the wolf that night, but shrugged it away as “a large dog.” Blake was nowhere near stupid and if it was clear to me it wasn’t a dog, there was no way he would be confused about it.
That a wolf would walk within his property, instead of running away from houses and humans. Not to mention dumpsters. That wasn’t a coyote or a fox. That beautiful wolf didn’t feed from dumpsters.
No certainty. Not even a real link between these legends, and the man who paid my salary. But… tiny touches, like brushstrokes in an impressionist painting. Tiny sparkles of doubt.
“You see these walls around the Farnwood mansion?” Mr. Burr added, after a silence so long, I thought I was the only one still thinking about it. “A man like that, he’s not afraid of trespassers. He would shoot them down with everyone’s blessing. No, the walls are not meant to keep people out. They’re meant to keep the wolves inside.”
I arched my brows:
“Prisoners?”
“No, not prisoners. Safe. On a full moon, you see the cars coming inside, down this road right here, and leaving in the morning. He might say he had a party, if anyone asked, but nobody ever asks. Men like him don’t have to answer questions. But they come to his place, before the moon rises, and they leave at dawn. Two, maybe three cars. Only old men like me are up early enough to see them past, in their big cars.”
“Now,” Mrs. Betty said chidingly, “We’re back to the big classic of gossiping about the neighbours. Mrs. Casswell at bingo says he’s having sex parties. Like she would know. Don’t be an old fool, Mr. Burr. We’re going to scare the girl.”
“She needs to know. To be safe, she needs to know what to stay away from.”
I gave him a tight smile. I was sure he was right about staying away from rich, entitled men, who were used to taking what they wanted. However, these people would never give me a second glance, so I was reasonably safe. Girls like Lianne should stay away from people like them — and Lianne seemed to be Farnwood’s lover, and didn’t strike me as a victim.
I wondered if I could ask her. But why would she tell me the truth? We didn’t know each other. We weren’t friends. The two frail people in front of me were my only friends in the world.
And they were both looking out for me. In their different ways.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, looking at Mr Burr. I didn’t know if any of it was true - it seemed possible in the dancing flames of a campfire, but would surely seem ridiculous the next morning, by daylight. But even so, he believed it, and he was trying to protect me by warning me.
I could do with someone, anyone, waving a red flag in front of me, because if I was starting to realise something about Blake, it wasn’t that he was a monster. It was that I was falling fast, and not seing the bottom yet.
“You sure you’re getting off here?”
“I live here. Well, not far.”
The bus driver was an older black man, and he had kind eyes.
“There’s nobody lives here. No house.”
Someone on the bus let out a loud sigh.
“There’s a house,” I told him. “You just can’t see it from the road.”
“Fine. You keep safe.”
I thanked him and got off the bus. The night air smelled clean and green, and I breathed in deeply. In the trailer park, I had had to focus on ignoring the stinky pile of ashes, that mix of melted plastics and whatever noxious material had been in my walls when I lived there. I was glad I could breathe again deeply.
The gate was locked, and I could see the alarm blinking. I used the little box Blake had given me, and beeped it open, like a car. I closed it well and saw the little light become a steady red again.
I walked to my house. Since lunch, all I had eaten had been two croissants and a bowl of chocolate milk, and that had been early in the evening. It was now past midnight, and my stomach rumbled.
I had some milk in the house, and instant coffee. But I was thinking of the muffins.
When he invited me to ring the bell, though, Blake didn’t imagine I would come home so late. He would be in bed by now, and getting up in a couple of hours to go bake something in town. I couldn’t wake him up.
But the kitchen had a back door. It might not be locked.
No. Bad idea. The last thing he needed in the middle of his short night was the alarm going on.
I could probably beep it open with my little box, same as the gates. He had only one of those on his own keyring, so it might work for both the gate and the house.
I opened my own door. I should just go to bed.
I felt wide awake, though, and not just because my stomach kept rumbling. I was thinking of wolves, and… men. Well, one in particular, but it was high time I put an end to that. Thinking of him as anything other than my boss was going to land me in trouble. Great trouble, including maybe losing my job. And that, I couldn’t afford.
Leaving my handbag in the kitchen, I slipped the keyring in the pocket of my jeans — a great find from the charity shop, even if I wasn’t big on jeans usually — and walked out again.
I took a few steps on the terrace outside, looking around for the wolf. I was a bit scared, because I didn’t want to end as some wild creature’s dinner. But twice it had been friendly.
Maybe someone had raised a wolf like he would have a dog, and that was all there was to it. Your friendly, neighbourhood pet. Yeah. That hadn’t looked like a pet at all, but after meeting it twice, I didn’t really manage to feel afraid of the wolf.
Famous last words.
I walked on the path that led to the house through the undergrowth. It was narrow, but flat and comfortable enough, even in the dark. I didn’t even try the front door: I had no intention of crossing the whole house in the dark, and maybe get shot by the homeowner, or… attacked in any other way. Ludicrous idea, but I couldn’t stop it from crossing my mind.
I took the path around the house. I would go directly to the kitchen, and if my key fob let me in, I would turn on the light, grab my muffins and let myself out, turning the light off at the last minute, just in case he heard me and believed I was an intruder.
If he woke up — I really hoped he wouldn’t — Blake would maybe remember my food and and understand I was coming back late. I really hoped he would sleep on undisturbed, though.
I turned the corner of the house, walked three steps more watching my feet, and froze.
There was a pool of light at my feet.
I took a step back, glancing up at the kitchen and living room window, and swallowed.
We were on the lake side, so I imagine neither of them had any reason to close the curtains, and it’s possible there were none, but… I stood there in the dark, in the narrow path among the bushes, looking at two very beautiful, very naked people in Blake’s open-plan kitchen.
The woman I had never seen before. She was tall, skinny, a girl with her ribs showing and yet big boobs, and a glass of something amber in her hand. The man I knew only too well.
Too bad I froze. Too bad I didn’t turn around and run.
Because once I saw this… I just couldn’t move.
The open-plan kitchen and living-room windows, a full wall of them, gave only to a small patch of shrubs, and then the glittering expanse of the lake. The two people inside knew nobody could see them. The carriage house was on the other side of the house and I had no reason to turn up here.
Maybe I should have tried the front door.
But I stood there, rooted in place, stunned, a second too long.
I didn’t hear a sound from what went on inside, not with the double or triple-glazed bay windows. Thank god for small mercies. But the woman was stark naked, a long slender figure in golden skin, and exposing her throat when she laughed, amber glistening in her glass. Her long, sleek platinum hair danced when she moved. She was naked and comfortable like someone who had just had sex. Good sex. And my boss looked… predatory.
And not like someone who had just had sex.
Something stroke me as false in this scene. Well, apart from my obvious jealousy. Something was wrong because it wasn’t me, maybe. That was kind of a hard awakening. Floating in my dreamland, I had not realised that he was bound to have women in his life, and sex, and not count on his employee for that.
No, something else was wrong. His face, his expression — dark, tense, but not… kind.
Well. Not really my business, was it? I needed to turn around and leave. Like, right now.
Because he had looked kind, in my fantasies. In them he had looked fond when he watched me, but this was real life and in real life, he didn’t even look at me.
It wasn’t wrong, that he would be touching this girl, taking a sip from her drink when she offered. It was just real. Just real life not conforming to my dreams. Go figure.
The woman sat down on the edge of the kitchen island, her back to me, and he moved smoothly to take place between her legs.
I kept my eyes studiously averted, but it was too late: when I first saw them, I did see his cock, rigid, heavy, and there was no doubt about what he was going to do. Or no doubt that he looked splendid, naked and erect, and that my body reacted in all the right ways to something that felt wrong. Involuntarily so, but still, after the first second of frozen shock I didn’t have an excuse.
Get out. Now. Run.
I couldn’t run, though. I needed to walk back the way I had come, as silently and discreetly as I could. And without wasting any more time.
Even as I told myself that, as my brain knew I had to leave, I watched in fascination as he pushed her softly on her back on the marble island.
She shivered when her skin connected with the cold marble, and I shivered in sympathy. She grabbed each corner of the island behind her back, and drew her legs up until they were widely parted for him. She looked like a kind of giant spider now, spread-eagled over the white island. She parted her legs wider so they fell on each side of the island, her crotch on the edge, and my eyes went wide. She must be a dancer, because that was practically the splits. No way could I ever give him such a show. Not that he would think of asking.