THE WOLF’S CURSE

Chapter 7

Alec

The fire crackles softly, its flames casting flickering shadows across the clearing. I sit cross-legged on the soft grass, a small pot of water balanced over the hot coals. The water is starting to simmer, tiny bubbles rising to the surface, and I drop the tinfoil packet of food into it. The label reads Beef Stew with Mashed Potatoes and Peas, and I can’t help but smirk at the simplicity of it.

I stir the packet gently with my spork, watching as the contents heat through. The smell of the food starts to waft up—rich, savory beef, creamy mashed potatoes, and the faint sweetness of peas. It’s not gourmet, but it’s warm and comforting, the kind of meal that feels like a small luxury out here in the wilderness.

When it’s ready, I pull the packet out with a stick, careful not to burn my fingers, and tear open the top. Steam rises in little wisps, and I take a cautious bite. The beef is tender, the potatoes smooth and buttery, and the peas…

The peas.

I pause, my spork hovering halfway to my mouth. Peas. I used to hate them as a kid. I’d push them around my plate, hiding them under my mashed potatoes or feeding them to the dog when no one was looking. But Dad always found a way to make me laugh about it.

“You know,” he’d say, leaning across the table with a mischievous grin, “peas are like tiny green marbles. If you eat enough of them, you might just roll away.”

I’d giggle, my resistance crumbling, and before I knew it, I’d be eating them just to prove him wrong. “See?” he’d say, his eyes twinkling. “Not so bad, are they?”

I smile at the memory, the warmth of it spreading through me like the heat from the fire. Dad had a way of making even the smallest things feel like an adventure. He could turn a plate of peas into a game, a hike into an expedition, a rainy day into a treasure hunt.

I take another bite, the peas soft and sweet against my tongue. I don’t hate them anymore. In fact, I kind of like them now. But it’s not the taste that gets me—it’s the memory. The way Dad could make me see things differently, the way he could make me laugh even when I didn’t want to.

I miss him. God, I miss him.

The fire crackles softly, the sound pulling me back to the present. I sit there for a moment, the packet of food in my hands, the forest quiet around me. Being an only child, I don’t have siblings to share these memories with, no one who understands what it’s like to lose him. It’s just me, me and Mom, and as much as I adore her, it’s not the same.

Dad was my anchor, my guide, the person I could always count on to make sense of the world. Without him, everything feels… unbalanced, like I’m stumbling through the dark, trying to find my way.

I finish the meal, scraping the last bits of stew from the packet, and set it aside. The fire is starting to die down, the coals glowing faintly, and I toss a few more sticks onto it, watching as they catch and burn.

The warmth of the fire and the food in my stomach make me feel drowsy, but I’m not ready to sleep yet. My mind is still racing, the memories of Dad mingling with the strange encounter by the stream. The woman’s face flashes in my mind—those luminous yellow eyes, the way she tilted her head as if studying me. The memory is so vivid it feels like she’s standing right in front of me again, her gaze piercing through the darkness.

I shake my head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingers, stubborn and insistent. Who was she? What was she doing out here? And why did she run?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I’m letting my imagination run wild. She’s gone, and I’ll probably never see her again. I need to focus on the hike, on getting to the summit, on honoring Dad.

But as I sit there, staring into the fire, I can’t help but wonder. Who was she? And why did she run?

The fire has burned down to glowing embers, their warmth fading as the night deepens. I crawl into my tent, zipping it shut behind me, and slide into my sleeping bag. The forest is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like it’s holding its breath. I close my eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep, but I know better.

The dream comes quickly, as if it’s been waiting for me.

I’m standing in a clearing, the trees towering around me, their branches twisted and gnarled like skeletal fingers. The air is thick, heavy, and there’s a strange stillness, like the forest is holding its breath.

And then I see him.

Dad.

He’s standing a distance away, his figure stark against the shadows. He looks just like he did in the photo from the memorial—alive, vibrant, his face crinkled with that familiar smile. But something’s wrong. His eyes are wide, frantic, and he’s waving his arms over his head, his mouth moving like he’s shouting.

“Dad?” I call out, but my voice doesn’t carry. It’s like the forest has swallowed it whole.

He’s shouting something, his hands gesturing wildly, but I can’t hear him. It’s completely silent, the kind of silence that presses against your ears until they ring. I take a step toward him, my boots sinking into the soft earth, but he doesn’t move closer. He just keeps shouting, his face twisted in panic.

“What are you saying?” I yell, my voice breaking. “I can’t hear you!”

He points behind me, his movements urgent, desperate. I turn, but there’s nothing there—just the trees, their shadows stretching long and dark across the ground. When I look back, Dad is still there, still shouting, still waving his arms. His mouth forms words I can’t understand, but I can feel the urgency in them, the fear.

And then I notice movement to my left.

I blink, my heart skipping a beat. It’s her—the woman from the stream. But she’s different now. She’s wearing a light, almost cream-colored dress that falls to her feet, the fabric swaying gently in the breeze. Her dark hair hangs in wild waves around her shoulders, and her eyes… her eyes are glowing yellow, like twin flames in the darkness.

She’s staring at me, her gaze piercing through the silence. I should run. Something inside me screams to run, but I can’t move. My feet feel rooted to the ground, my body frozen in place.

She takes a step toward me, her movements fluid and predatory, and I feel a strange pull, something drawing me to her. It’s not fear, not exactly. It’s something deeper, something primal.

I blink, and in that moment, she growls. The sound is low and guttural, vibrating in my chest, and I finally take a step back, my heart pounding.

Fear.

She growls again, louder this time, and I’m jolted awake, my body drenched in sweat. The tent is shaking, the fabric rippling as something moves outside. My heart is racing, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and I sit up, my hand instinctively reaching for the knife at my side.

“Hey!” I shout, my voice loud and hard, cutting through the silence. “Get out of here!”

The shaking stops, and for a moment, there’s nothing. Just the sound of my breathing and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

I sit there, my knife clutched in my hand, my heart pounding in my ears. What the hell was that?

I unzip the tent cautiously, the cool night air hitting my face as I peer outside. The forest is quiet, the only sound the faint crackle of the dying fire. I grab my torch and flick it on, the beam cutting through the darkness as I scan the clearing.

There’s nothing there. No movement, no sound, just the trees standing tall and silent, their branches swaying gently in the wind.

I step out of the tent, my knife still in hand, and walk around the campsite, the torchlight sweeping across the ground. There are no tracks, no signs of an animal, nothing to explain what just happened.

I stand there for a long time, the torchlight flickering in my hand, the forest stretching out around me, dark and endless. The dream is still fresh in my mind, the woman’s glowing eyes, the way she growled at me. And the tent shaking… was it real? Or was it just my imagination, my mind playing tricks on me?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I’m letting my imagination run wild. She’s gone, and whatever was outside the tent is gone too. I need to focus on the hike, on getting to the summit, on honoring Dad.

But as I crawl back into the tent, zipping it shut behind me, I can’t shake the feeling that something is out there, watching me.