Ginger And The Wolf

CHAPTER 3

With trembling hands, she grabbed her phone and called John, the only person who might know something about the strange and terrifying transformation Ginger was undergoing. John had always been the one with the answers, always the one who had talked about strange things—things that no one else believed.

The phone rang three times before he picked up.

"Golden?" John’s voice was hoarse like he hadn’t slept in days. "Is everything okay? You sound... worried."

"I am worried," Golden said, her voice breaking. "Ginger... something’s happening to her. I don’t know how to explain it, but she’s changing. She’s not the same."

There was a pause on the other end, and Golden could hear John take a deep breath. "Meet me at the old warehouse. I’ll explain everything there."

Golden didn’t question it. She grabbed her keys and drove straight to the location John had mentioned. When she arrived, John was waiting for her in the shadows, his face grim.

"She was attacked by a werewolf," John said flatly, his eyes dark. "It’s the only thing that makes sense."

Golden’s heart skipped a beat. "A werewolf? You can’t be serious."

"I am," John replied. "I’ve been tracking them for years. I know what they look like, what they do. And I’m telling you, Ginger’s turning into one. You can see it, can’t you? The tail. The hair. The aggression. It’s all the signs."

Golden shook her head, disbelief washing over her. "But there’s no way—there’s no cure for that, is there?"

John’s eyes darkened. "There might be. There’s a plant. Wolfsbane. Monkshood. It’s said to have properties that can slow the transformation. It won’t reverse it, but it might give you time."

"Where do we get it?" Golden demanded, her voice urgent.

John stepped forward, pulling something from his bag. "I’ve already got some. But you need to act fast. She’s getting worse."

As Golden took the vial of extract from John, her mind raced. She had to get this to Ginger before it was too late. But even as hope flickered inside her, a terrifying thought settled in her chest: What if Ginger didn’t want to be saved?

The Fitzgerald home sat on a quiet street, its weathered exterior blending into the backdrop of a sleepy neighborhood. The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard, while inside, the house hummed with the noise of a typical evening. Golden, hair tangled in a messy braid, sat at the kitchen table, her eyes darting over a collection of strange notes she had taken during the day. Her mind was elsewhere, though — something about the atmosphere in the house felt off, a subtle dissonance she couldn’t quite place.

She hadn’t expected the knock at the door, but then again, she hadn’t been expecting much of anything that day.

Golden opened the door to find a woman standing on the threshold, her eyes wild with desperation and anger. Triana.

"Where is she?" Triana’s voice was sharp, laced with a note of frantic panic. She pushed past Golden before she had a chance to respond, entering the house uninvited. "Where’s my dog? I know you’ve got him."

Golden froze for a moment, her heart pounding. Triana’s accusations hung in the air like a cold fog. What was she talking about? She hadn’t seen Triana’s dog — not since the incident at the park a week ago.

“Your dog? I don’t—” Golden began, trying to find the right words, but Triana wasn’t listening.

“You think you can just take him? Keep him locked away like some kind of—” Triana’s voice caught in her throat as she caught sight of Ginger, who was lurking at the far end of the kitchen, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Triana’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two sisters, and in that moment, Golden could see the realization dawning on her. She was piecing things together, slowly but surely. Triana knew something was wrong. And she wasn’t going to let it slide.

Ginger was the first to move, stepping forward with her usual swagger. "What’s this about, Triana? Looking for your dog?" she asked, her voice smooth but dangerous. There was an edge to her words, a warning that Triana didn’t seem to heed.

“You’re hiding him, aren’t you? You’ve got my dog!” Triana’s voice was rising, panic now mingling with rage. “Where is he? What have you done with him?”

Before Golden could say anything, Triana lunged toward Ginger, her hands outstretched as if to seize her by the throat. Ginger dodged the attack easily,

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Triana,” Ginger said, her voice barely a whisper. “Just go home. Forget you ever saw us.”

But Triana wasn’t backing down. She came at Ginger again, this time with more force. Golden instinctively stepped forward, but the space between them was too small. The two women collided in a tangle of limbs, a blur of struggle as they crashed into the kitchen counter.

Triana’s breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as she tried to fight Ginger off. Golden stood frozen, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t let this escalate any further, but she didn’t know how to stop it.

In the chaos, Triana lost her footing. She stumbled backward, her body slamming into the edge of the kitchen counter. The sickening sound of her skull striking the sharp edge echoed through the room, and in that instant, everything went still.

Triana crumpled to the floor, her body limp and lifeless. Golden’s breath hitched in her throat as she stared at her sister’s body, not entirely sure what had just happened. Ginger stood over her, expression unreadable.

Golden’s mind was racing. What had they done? What were they going to do now?

Ginger’s voice broke through the silence, low and controlled. “Get her out of here, Golden. Now.”

Golden didn’t argue. She couldn’t argue. She bent down to lift Triana’s body, but something inside her twisted with disgust. She couldn’t leave her here. Not like this.