Continuing to work through my DeviantArt Gallery and the plethora of old stories that I've posted there. (There will probably always be more there than here).

I submitted this story for a contest, ages and ages ago. Didn't win anything, but I did get some professional feedback on it just for turning it in, which was really cool. I always welcome comments, feedback, and critique. Every little bit helps me improve my writing in the future.

Enjoy!

Pasting the story down below, for those who don't want to download the file.

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Perhaps one day I’ll understand how it happened, all the hows and whys that led up to that one impossible occurrence, the event that changed everything for me…Today isn’t that one day. Today I just record things that happened, and leave it for someone else to ponder.

I went to live with my grandparents for the summer; they had retired years before to a quiet place in the country, and it had become sort of a tradition that I stay with them. The farm itself didn’t interest me, but the nearby woods, rumored to be haunted and whatever else, always did.
I spent every chance I could get wandering those forests, with or without my grandparents. Every day there was something new to see, and I was careful to record as much of it as I could—more than once, I spent the entire day out there with just my phone, laptop, art kit, and a camera. I only ever used the latter two.
Every night, reluctant, I’d return to the house; the smell of dinner usually eased that reluctance, but it was the smell and sound of Grandfather lighting a fire that really brought me back—fire meant stories, and Grandfather’s stories, told around a campfire, were something magical.
Maybe it was those stories, tales of legendary magic and spirits, and the time they walked the world freely…I’m not sure.
“This world’s a fascinating place,” Grandfather said, poking the fire’s embers. “And anyone who says they understand it is a liar or a fool.” He chortled, leaning back to look at the stars spread out like a glittering blanket above. We always had our fires on the upper deck—that was where the best stargazing was, and a fire without stargazing…just didn’t seem right.
“And just think—if we understood all of the miracles we see every day, they wouldn’t be miracles anymore,” Grandmother added. “That’s why we’re meant to see the miracles, but not delve too deeply into them, so that this world will stay wonderful for as long as it’s our home.”
I never quite knew what to make of their theology; sure, I’d been baptized like a good girl, I went to church…but I failed to see the deeper meaning that my parents and especially my grandparents saw in creation. The days of mysticism and unknowing were over, pushed aside by science.
Was I chosen because of that view? Because someone or something wanted to shake it up? Grandfather only chortles when I ask.

One day, when I was back in the city…I got a call from my parents. That was a surprise—they never called me unless it was something urgent. Otherwise, they sent email…but this was one of those things that can’t be said over email. Text doesn’t have the power, the heart-stopping, world-unbalancing power.
Grandmother was in the hospital—attacked by a wolf when she went to check on the disturbance in the henhouse. By entering the narrow doorway, she had unintentionally cornered the beast, and it had responded, charging the door, claws raking into her chest as it scrambled to get away, a chicken still dangling from its mouth…
My parents picked me up within the hour. I emailed my professors as we drove, to say that I would miss classes for an indeterminate time.
My family arrived at the hospital the next morning, having traded off driving duty to continue through the night. We had just a little time…I never heard Grandmother flatline, just watched the little blips on the monitor grow weaker and weaker…until she was gone and the aides quietly wheeled the shrouded body away.
The family stayed with Grandfather for weeks after that, with me taking my classes online. There were no stories told, no campfires on the roof. The house felt silent, empty, even with the four of us inside and other relatives and friends checking in.
My parents and I managed things around the house so that Grandfather could grieve. I shuddered every time I went out to the henhouse; the blood had all been cleaned away, but I could still feel it, and I imagined a feral snarl, a flash of fangs and fur, every time I stepped into the doorway…
The forest didn’t seem like a good place now. I never walked in it, at least, not alone and never near dusk. I hung on the fringes, the old allure of the place countered by sheer revulsion and fear.

I’m still not entirely certain if that one night was real. I remember it better than any dream, but that doesn’t seem to mean much…maybe the lasting effects are just a hallucination, the result of my grieving mind finally breaking like a pane of dropped glass…
All I know is that I couldn’t sleep, but this was different than the insomnia that had plagued me for days—I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t sad or angry or afraid…I was just staring at the ceiling, trying to find shapes in the moonlight and shadows.
I got out of bed on a whim; for a while, I thought I was heading downstairs for a snack. I moved, ghostlike, through the hallway, not downstairs, but to the upper deck—to the fire circle.
Grandfather was there, watching the stars in silence. I sat next to him for a while, saying nothing—there wasn’t anything to say. Not out loud, anyway. I remember the conversation quite well, even though it never happened.
Hello, Brix, Grandfather said, acknowledging my presence, unmoving, his face haggard in the light of the moon.
Grandfather, I said, and sat next to him. He had already seemed to invite me, give me permission to join him there. A time passed, unmeasured. Are you cold?
No, he said, and seemed to chortle, just a little. It’s only out here that I really feel warm.
Oh…
I can hear them, he said without bothering to use his lips or tongue.
Who? I asked, but he wasn’t the one who answered—a chorus of howls rose like an unearthly choir from the forest. I shivered, pulling my bathrobe tighter around myself. They killed her…killed her!
Don’t blame them, child, Grandfather said, looking to me for just a moment. They didn’t mean to. Besides, we all die sometime…
But why did it have to be her? Why now? I asked, and felt tears on my cheeks.
Grandfather spared me having to wipe them. It was her time, I suppose, he said, and then the faintest of chortles went through his body, its echo touching the corners of his mouth. In a way, I’m glad.
Glad? I asked, confused.
When it’s my time, whenever that may be, she’ll be waiting for me, and after being apart, the reunion will be that much dearer, Grandfather explained. Not to say the absence doesn’t hurt…but at least I’m not going to try and shorten the wait. Betony wouldn’t want that…
He sighed, deeply. Don’t you have somewhere to be? He seemed to ask, not chastising, merely curious.
Oh—I suppose I do, I said, standing up. I draped my bathrobe over his shoulders, and walked back inside. I meant to head back to bed…but my body didn’t listen. I didn’t move consciously, I just reached my bedroom door and kept going, down the stairs. My mind might have protested, but instead it was wandering, exploring the reaches of thought it had abandoned since Grandmother’s passing.
I hardly even noticed grabbing a flashlight and jacket, or slipping on my shoes.
The cold was like a knife down my windpipe. It woke me from the daze, but not from the dreamlike way in which I moved, frost barely crunching under my shoes. Things were clear—the sparkles of moonlight off the grass felt like razors along my skin. I still didn’t know where I was going, or why.
Consciously, I realized that I shouldn’t even be out of the house this late at night. My body was still deaf to the protests of sense offered by my brain. I realized that I was on a course for the forest; that didn’t inspire any fear or emotion in me, it was a simple fact.
The cries of logic got louder and louder as I neared the trees, now illuminated as though by daylight. There were wolves out there, I had heard them! What was I doing—I hadn’t even turned on the flashlight, or told anyone where I was going!
The irresistible force moving me towards the forest reached equilibrium with reason; I stopped just at the edge of the trees, the place where farm became forest, as abruptly as a line on the map. For a moment, I stood there, silent, unmoving, staring into the trees. I could hear my heart, see the faint wisp of my breath in the chill air…
And then something in the forest moved. I raised an eyebrow, still maddeningly calm. I could feel the dividing line in my mind—part of me that was completely relaxed, and the rest as tight as piano wire, ready to snap at any moment. Unfortunately, the latter part of me didn’t have any say in things at all.
The shape moved out of the shadows, and for a moment, I thought that the moon had come down from the sky and landed at the forest’s edge—if it had, it had somehow changed shape, growing four legs and a tail. I gasped a little as the shape connected with something in my mind. Not a dog: too big, too graceful…
I wanted to scream, but my mouth stayed closed—I felt the corners lift, just a little bit, as though in recognition of an old friend instead of an enemy, a predator. My eyes should have widened until they popped from their sockets, but instead they smiled too.
For a moment, I thought I was falling, my heart stopped, my brain still living from stored oxygen…instead, I knelt, slowly, carefully, in the sparse grass. I looked at the wolf, seeing every curve and angle of its lithe silver-furred body. I found its eyes, two pools of gold in that gleaming face.
I couldn’t tell how long we looked into each other’s eyes; my body had gone numb, my heart quieted down so that I couldn’t hear it. It might have been all year that we stayed there, the world frozen solid around us; it might have been a sliver of an instant. It didn’t matter.
The wolf, on some unheard signal, decided that it was safe to approach me. I was calmer now; this was not an attack, a threat. It wasn’t stalking me, trying to creep up; it knew I had seen it, and it had been given permission to approach—just as Grandfather had given me his wordless permission an unmeasured eternity ago. Somehow, some way, I had allowed the wolf to approach.
Once the wolf was arm’s length from me, it—she, I sensed—stopped and settled back on its haunches. I did the same, sitting down on my heels. We stared into each other’s eyes again; I saw every line in her yellow irises, every flicker in the depths of her pupils, and I know that she studied my brown eyes with equal scrutiny.
Again, permission was exchanged between us—this time, she also gave me her agreement for something. I leaned forwards, the wolf stepped closer…and we embraced. I wrapped my arms around her neck, just like hugging a big dog; she leaned her head on my back and shoulder, and wrapped one foreleg around me.
At first, I was too astounded by this to process anything, my mind was simply blank from shock. Then I began to process the smell and feel of her fur, the warmth of her body…I felt her pulse against the side of my neck, and realized that both it and her soft breathing, were exactly matched to my own.
Slowly, like watching a picture take form on paper, I felt something new trickle into my mind. The flow increased until a river of thought expanded into being, like my silent conversation with Grandfather only so much more…There were no words, but the flow touched all of my senses and set them alight with things I had never seen or heard, smelled or tasted or felt…
In that moment, I knew, beyond all question or doubt, that this was the wolf who had taken Grandmother’s life. I felt that shimmer along the river connecting me to the wolf, and I knew that she understood my life, my thoughts, just as I understood hers.
She felt my grief at the loss of my family, and she grieved with me. She “told” the story of losing her pups to a winter previous, and I grieved with her over that.
The night passed us by as we sat there; we weren’t a part of time or space anymore, just of each other.
Hey—what’s going on? I said as my skin began to itch. I tried to pull away from the wolf, and that was when I saw her silvery-white fur expanding, sliding to cover both of us.
Uff? The wolf replied, as surprised as I was. We tried to pull apart, only to feel our muscles join together, and then our bones and organs…
What the heck? I said. I was on all fours now, but it didn’t feel clumsy. My senses had changed…I stood up, a little awkward, but able to stand on my hind legs… So we…are one being now? I thought, even though there was no “we”, only “me”. The bathrobe felt odd, the pants were too tight and too short; fortunately, I still had my fur.
No, wait, hang on a minute—we’re just one in body, we should keep our minds separate, I thought, and then answered myself with How?
Well, you’re the wolf…or am I?
I’m not sure that it matters.
It does to me!
If you insist, I suppose. We’ll just assume you’re the human.
Okay, I agreed, and examined my/our new body. We had melded into the classic Hollywood werewolf…
What’s that? The wolf asked, and I explained it to her as best I could, conveying the memories directly to her. She seemed a little perplexed at the concept, but moved on. Her entire collection of memories surged into my mind, showing me everything she had ever done, felt, or seen.
Wow… I said, head spinning from the experience of an entire life in a few seconds. I could feel and hear blood surging through my body, excited by the thrill of the chase, the impression of a pack of wolves running through the forest…
Yes, the wolf agreed, pleased. What wonders can you show me of your kin?
Well, I don’t know, I replied, and I felt ideas, impressions, flit across the mental link. How about we start with…food? I suggested, and she agreed.
I/we sat down on the cold ground, turning our focus inwards. Together, we ran as a wolf through the depths of my memories, following a scent. Taste and smell flooded our senses—the experience of a cheeseburger and fries a last time I had eaten out.
Agh! Hot! The wolf yelped. Owwww!
Okay, so not that, I said, pulling away from the memory. The wolf whimpered, panting and rubbing her/our hands/paws to ease the burning. What about the taste though?
Unnatural…what was that? She asked, and I felt her mild disgust.
Okay, never mind on the food…we cook most things, so they’re going to be hot. Um…how about we head inside, I can show you a few things in there… I said, pulling completely out of memories and loping towards the house.
I know that humans live in these things… The wolf said. I don’t much like them…
You don’t have anything to be afraid of, I reassured her gently. Everyone else should be asleep, I said, opening the door and dropping down to all fours to walk inside. I closed the door as quietly as I could, and then loped into the living room. We can make it light whenever we like, I said, flicking on a lamp and wincing at the sudden brightness.
Owww! The wolf cringed. I knew your kin could do that, but I never saw the need.
Oh…I suppose not, I sighed, clicking the lamp back off and blinking the spots from my vision. I wanted to show her something that could compare to the sensations of running through the woods, surrounded by my pack, of howling at the moon…
Technology was out, school was definitely out…had I seen or done or thought anything that a large predator would consider remotely worthwhile or interesting?
What’s this—something in your memories? The wolf said, and opened it up to show me—one of the many times I had spent in the forest with my drawing pad. This particular time, I had been approached by a doe and her faun, and managed to escape their notice long enough to get a basic sketch done while they grazed and rummaged… What are you doing? The wolf asked, and I felt her excitement at being so close to prey animals, unnoticed…but also her interest in the drawing itself.
Oh, that, I said. I felt a slight pang—it had been a long time since I drew anything. But that was just lines on paper, nothing worth… Wait, you’re interested in that?
Yes, the wolf said, hardly paying attention to me. She watched the artistic process through my eyes, a dozen memories all playing out at once… Can I see more? With my own eyes? She asked.
…Okay, I agreed. I dropped to all fours to slink my way up the stairs as quietly as I could, and from there into my room.
You don’t sleep as a family—together? The wolf asked.
Not often, I replied, closing the door and turning on the light to give the moonlight just a little bit of help. From there, I pulled out my drawing book, thumbing clumsily through the pages—werewolf fingers weren’t meant for dexterity.
I have seen these places, the wolf said, fascinated with the pictures. …But not that one.
That’s because that one isn’t real, I explained. It wasn’t me drawing what I saw, I just came up with something that looked neat…
So this…drawing…it lets you show others what you have seen, and also what you have thought? Things that were, things that never were, shown to everyone… The wolf was fascinated by the idea. Can all of your kin do this?
Draw? No. But…basically everyone can express their ideas somehow…we write, we talk, we design and build stuff… I said, thinking of books, engineers. The wolf’s fascination continued to build.
This isn’t important, she said, indicating my laptop and the desk lamp. These things aren’t the accomplishment of your kin—they are its demonstration! You can create, make new things and ideas, and show them to the rest of your kin! And that is a wonder!
If you say so, I replied.
She was barely listening to me; she picked a book off the shelf at random and opened it, eyes scanning the lines with my knowledge of how to read.
By the first few lines, the feel of the leather cover, I knew the book she had chosen. That’s the Bible, I said, surprised at her choice. Look, you don’t have to believe everything you read…
I know that, the wolf said, irritated at me distracting her from the text that she was, no pun intended, wolfing down with her eyes. But this is true, even you believe so…or you used to? What do you mean by that?! Truth is truth!
I…well, that is… I stammered, suddenly not having the words to answer her. I sent a few ideas her way, but they were weak, crudely formed, and she ignored them.
The world has an order to it, Brix, she said, using my name for the first time. The seasons, the days, the moon cycle. The wolf eats the deer, the deer eats the grass. Pups have traits of their sire and dam, not of others, so Order and Life cannot be birthed from Nothingness, sired by Chaos!
I pulled away from her tirade—even if they’re in your head, an angry wolf is never a good thing to trifle with. She sighed, relaxed, and turned back to the Bible in her/our hands.
I’m sorry to yell at you, she said, fumbling until she turned the page. She hmmed thoughtfully. Your kin were created, placed in charge of everyone and everything…and then you rebelled against the creator? I suppose it’s only natural to continue that pattern, use your inventiveness to invent a new history. A history that makes humans the most sophisticated beings known, that doesn’t hold you accountable to a higher power…
It’s not like that! I bristled.
The wolf thought for a moment, her mind bubbling like storm clouds on my mental horizon. Why not? She asked. Was it science that changed your mind, convinced you that God isn’t real?
Well, if anything does…shouldn’t it be knowledge? I asked.
Theoretical knowledge. Constructed ideas, the wolf replied. “You shall be as gods” all over again—”You shall believe yourself supreme in the world which you have not made.”
But—it’s just different! I said, painfully aware of the emptiness in my words.
Why do you cling to a future without hope, without a maker, where you may be a superior being, but you’re still just a randomly assembled collection of chemicals, the product of a million years of death and destruction? The wolf asked. You have the truth, and in the truth there is hope—but also responsibility. A purpose you were made for.
I collapsed against my bed, tail curled between my legs, hands on my head. It’s hard… I said. Everyone thinks it’s silly to believe in that stuff…
Not everyone, the wolf advised. Your family, several of your friends…Me. Why do you run from hope?
For everyone I know who believes in God, there are two or three that don’t, and however many more that I just…don’t know and don’t want to ask… I said.
So ask, the wolf said. This is too important to leave unsaid.
I suppose… I said, shifting uncomfortably. …It’s going to be morning soon… I added, glancing at the clock on the bedside table.
I need to return to my pack, the wolf said. And yours wouldn’t understand a werewolf in their daughter’s bedroom.
Right—but how do we separate? I asked, trying to pull away from the parts of my body that were wolf…as she pulled away from the parts of her body that were human.
Something like this, I imagi— she said, and then our heads were separate, and I was looking into her soft golden eyes as our respective bodies flowed like water, her fur pulling away from me to reveal human skin underneath. Our muscles and bones separated as well, until at last our hands and paws were the only place still touching.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered softly.
And I you, she replied, and that was when I realized that the link was still intact between our minds. But I suppose we’ll always be connected.
But how? I asked, standing up a little unsteadily, feeling acute differences between werewolf paws and human feet; for one thing, my shoes had apparently come off the first time we changed. The floor was cold under my toes.
I don’t know, the wolf replied, walking to the door. I followed her, opening the doors just wide enough for her to slip out and me to follow. We reached the front door in silence. Goodbye, Brix Human-kin, the wolf said, nuzzling me as I opened the door to let her out.
Goodbye…what should I call you? I asked. “Wolf” doesn’t seem terribly endearing…
She seemed to laugh and shrug. It’s your kind that names things, not mine, she said, edging out the door and into the frost-covered lawn, where the first rays of daylight were replacing the moon—except for one silvery sliver that flowed along the ground.
Goodbye, Moonlight, I said. The wolf acknowledged her new name, and then dashed away into the trees, where she vanished in moments.
I stood there for a while, listening for the sound of a howl; I never heard it.
“Hey,” Grandfather said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t heat the outdoors—that’s what the sun’s for,” he said, and I saw a twinkle in his eyes.

Was it a dream, a hallucination? Was I really visited by a wolf with fur that gleamed like moonlight, and did we really merge our thoughts and even our bodies into one? I don’t know.
Everyone’s noticed the change in me; they say that I’m more alive, quick-thinking. More confident and graceful. They chalk it up to whatever they want to—but I know the truth.
I read my Bible more now, seeing things I never did before. I believe it, I talk about it. It’s a choice, it may not be true—but I choose to believe in and strive for hope, because hope and truth already believed in and strove for me.
I can still hear Moonlight, particularly on nights when the moon is full. Every time I go down to Grandfather’s place by the forest, we meet and we talk. Maybe it’s a hallucination—but I’ve noticed that Grandfather’s eyes get that special sparkle whenever Moonlight and I share an evening together.
If we understood all of the miracles we see every day, they wouldn’t be miracles anymore. That’s why we’re meant to see the miracles, but not delve too deeply into them, so that this world will stay wonderful for as long as it’s our home.