Dangerous Beauty

Chapter 1:Nightmares

            A deep howl rips through the frigid midnight air. The cold breeze bites at my skin and burns my lungs. My nose fills with the smell of rotting leaves and evergreen, the two smells combined threatening to suffocate me. The pale light of the full moon floods through the gaps in the leaves leaving the forest floor covered in patches of white light making the shadows appear even darker than they truly are. Another howl rips through the air, it’s closer this time. My body surges forward of its own volition and before I now it I am running as fast as my legs will carry me. The trees blur in my periphery as I race down the path I know will take me home. But no matter how fast or how far I run I am still not fast enough and home never gets any closer. Before long the sounds of heavy paws and hungry growls surround me. A pack of large wolves gain on me, snapping at my heels with flesh tearing teeth. Suddenly in a flash of dark gray fur and teeth the largest of the wolves jumps out in front of me, and lunges for my throat.

                When I open my eyes, nothing seems familiar as they scan through the darkness that fills my room. My hands reach instinctively reach for my throat only to find it whole and untouched. I breath a sigh of relief. Slowly my eyes adjust to the darkness and my breathing finally begins to slow as familiar shapes fill the room. I turn to check the time on my phone, the numbers 1:45 a.m. glow dimly in the darkness, casting the room back into shadows until the screen fades.

                “Not again,” I whisper desperately.

                It’s been the same dream every night for the past two weeks now, only becoming more and more vivid with each passing night. Exhausted I roll back onto my side in time to see Hades, my Belgian sheepdog, climb into bed with me and lay his head across my waist facing the door to my room. Protective as always since the day my grandfather gave him to me as a pup.

                “Good boy,” I praise him tiredly as I scratch behind his ears and drift off slowly into a dreamless sleep.

                                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                When I wake again it’s to the shrill sound of my alarm. It’s been roughly five hours since I was startled awake by my nightmare. And yet, I feel as though I haven’t had any sleep at all. Grudgingly, I shut off my alarm and sit up in bed, swinging my legs over the edge. How long before sleep deprivation drives me insane, I think as I get ready for work, finding it hard to shake the feeling that I am being watched. Like a predator stalking its prey I can feel eyes on me, circling closer and closer, waiting for the right time to pounce. The feeling only intensifies as I step out into the early morning October air. I find myself standing frozen on my porch, searching for something I cannot see. Something hidden in the shadows of the trees still untouched by the early morning light. As suddenly as it happened in my dream I am running for my car. Once in the safety of my driver’s seat I lean my head against the steering wheel with an exasperated sigh.

                “Get it together Lilith!” I scold myself as I sit back and slide the key into the ignition, “You’re just tired, that’s all,” I tell myself as I start my car and turn down my tree lined driveway.

                I almost don’t notice the silhouette of a wolf with glowing orange eyes in my rearview mirror. After I reach the main road into town it’s as if time moves in hyper speed making the fifteen minute drive feel more like five. In no time at all I am pulling up outside Lewis Carroll high school where I work as a teacher’s aide while I save up the money to go to school to become an art teacher. Ironically I used to be a student here myself. Now I work with my favorite teacher from my time as a student. Mr. Joseph Hendrickson, the schools only creative writing teacher. After gathering the things I need for the day I head inside to the classroom where I work where I find Mr. Hendrickson sitting in his office in the in the back of the room enjoying his morning cup of coffee.

                “Well don’t you look chipper this morning,” he says sarcastically as I enter the office and sit at my desk, “another restless night?” he asks.

                “Yes,” I reply sighing heavily, “I’m beginning to think I will never get another goodnights sleep again,” I say, crossing my arms on the desk and putting my head down.

                “Is it the same dream?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

                “What else would it be?” I groan in response, picking my head up.

                “Perhaps you should try writing about it,” he suggests, “Like you used to.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “If I remember correctly when you were a student in my class you used to have dreams similar to the one you’re having now,” he explains, nostalgia filling his gazes as he leans back in his chair, “You would frequently talk about them with me and how they would sometimes repeat themselves night after night. So, one day, I told you to write about them. You even turned a few of them in as assignments. Then, in you junior year after the passing of your grandfather you stopped dreaming, and in turn stopped writing,” he says solemnly.

                “Why don’t I remember any of this?” I ask.

                “Truthfully?” he asks, “I’m not surprised. I don’t remember much of my high school experience myself. Not many people really do unless something significant happened such as a trauma that makes all the minor details fade away to dust,” he explains with a sympathetic look on his face.

                I nod vaguely.

                “I still have the ones you turned in if you would like to read them,” he says, turning toward his filing cabinet and rifling through the drawer, “I made copies long ago to use as examples in some of my classes,” he smiles proudly.

                “I would actually,” I say sitting up straighter in my seat.

                With a knowing smile he pulls out a manila folder for the cabinet drawer and places it neatly on my desk.

                “Happy reading,” he smiles and leaves the office to prepare for the start of class.

                A glance at the clock tells me I have five minutes until class begins. Carefully, as if disarming a snare trap, I open the folder and look over the papers inside and pick the first one to catch my eye. A short story titled Starving that’s a little under a page long. As I begin to read I can see it play out in my head and my heart sinks.

                I am face to face with a large, dark gray wolf, starring into his starving glowing orange gaze. I am filled with a combination of fear and excitement, but excitement wins me over as adrenaline courses through my veins. I must now choose between fight or flight as my eyes remain locked with his. I can tell by the way he stands, by the way he looks at me, that I am in danger he has made me his prey. With ears laid back and hackles raised he lowers his head and bares his flesh tearing teeth, saliva spilling from his mouth. He has the look of a starving carnivore that has come across is first meal in days. Time to choose. I turn and run as fast as I can, faster than humanly possible. But I’m still not fast enough. Not yet. I can ear the solid thud of his paws as they hit the forest floor. He’s gaining on me. I run faster and faster still, but I’m still not fast enough. He’s going to catch me and pin me to the forest floor where he will close his massive jaws around my throat. But I’m not ready to die yet. Again, it’s time to choose.

                My feet skid to a stop in the mud and leaves, I turn and face the wolf who I know might very well be my death. I square my shoulders and firmly plant my feet. I’m not going to die running. I am not going to die at all, not now. I am going to fight and somehow, I know I will win. A strange feeling wells up inside me. Almost like something is trying to claw its way out. I let the feeling consume me entirely. The world around me shifts in color. I can smell everything around me so intensely it’s almost overwhelming but I focus on one smell. The smell belonging to the gray wolf. He stands in front of me once again. Rage fills his eyes as he the creature that stands in my place. A massive white wolf. It’s now his turn to run as I charge forward and feel my teeth lock onto his jugular. We are equal now. I twist and turn my body tearing through his flesh until blood fills my mouth. Only then does he break free from my grasp and run.

                I stare wide eyed at the page in front of me, my hands shaking. I flip through page after page, skimming over the words only to find that almost all of them mention the gray wolf with the glowing orange eyes. Each of them just as detailed as the last. When the bell rings I nearly jump out of my skin. How is this possible? How could I be having almost the same dreams almost four years later? And why did they come back now? I try to convince myself that it’s just a coincidence. But something feels off. I snap the folder shut and leave the office heading into the all to familiar classroom that belongs to Mr. Hendrickson’s class and begin handing out the assignment for the day.

                Once the students have begun working I take the time to return to my desk and open the folder once more. I flip through the pages and select another short story to read.

                I am not alone. Beside me stand two wolves. To my right a large black wolf with glowing green eyes, to my left on with rust colored fur and brown eyes to match. They stand poised with teeth barred ready to attack the creature in front of me. The gray wolf. He stands with barred teeth snarling deeply at the two wolves at my sides. But he is at a disadvantage. He is alone. At my command the two wolves charge forward after the gray wolf who has turned and run the other way. I watch as the trio disappears into the darkness of the forest in front of me leaving me alone for the time being. Or so I thought. Behind me a branch snaps and I turn to see a dark brown wolf creeping slowly toward me. Another follower of the gray wolf. With ease I shift forms and stand before the newcomer calm and collected ready to fight her off and send her running like her leader. I let her make the first move. She lunges forward jaw open wide ready to take a bite out of the vital tissue of my throat. But I dodge and grab the back of her neck and pin her to the ground holding her in place. We will take her prisoner and try to show her the truth. She struggles but she doesn’t get away. Soon enough the other two return. The gray wolf has escaped one again. But we still have this wolf I captured. I let the other two take over as they shift back and force her to shift as well then drag her off back toward camp. We’ve won for now.

                “Find anything interesting?” Mr. Hendrickson asks from the door to the office making me jump.

                “Jesus you scared me!” I gasp placing my hand over my heart to feel it pounding in my chest.

                Why am I so jumpy today?

                “My apologies,” he says chuckling.

                I shake my head and hold up the two stories, “Are they all like this?” I ask.

                “Yes, I believe so,” he says sitting across from me, placing a stack of papers on my desk.

                “This is insane,” I whisper taking the stack of papers and flipping through them.

                “How so?”

                “It all sounds like it actually happened, like it was a memory and not a dream. But that isn’t possible is it?” I ask a little desperately.

                I am surprised by the sound of his laugh, “You tell me,” he says leaning back in his seat, “You know more about these things than I do. You always believed in these kinds of thing more than I do.”

                I look down at the stories again my head swimming. Is this real? Is it possible? I think of my grandfather and the stories he told. If I told him about my dreams would he believe in them as much as he believed in the stories he told me growing up? I can’t help but wonder if I believe them myself.

                “Look,” he begins, “read more of those stories. Think on them a bit. Then decide,” he says standing, “Just remember every story, every dream, is based on some form of truth,” he tells me as he walks out of the room.

                I feel more confused than ever as I sit silently at my desk. What does he mean, I wonder. It almost sounds like he knows more than he is letting on. With a sigh I sort through the papers and begin grading them, passing the time till lunch when I can read another short story written by a teenage version of myself. When lunch finally does roll around I waste no time opening the folder with all the short stories in it and select the one on top. This one is shorter than the other two.

                I sit high in the trees, watching the ground below, waiting for my prey to come into view. Another of the gray wolf’s followers, a small light gray wolf with black patches has followed me, intent to spy on my pack at the gray wolf’s command. I almost didn’t notice him, almost, but he didn’t hide well enough, he got too close. So, I lead him on a wild goose chase through the woods. I am much faster than he is, he should be passing beneath me any second now. Finally, I see him and drop from the tree, changing forms in midair, and land on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Once again I am the winner as I close my teeth on his throat and rip it out, staining my white fur with splashes of red. This was too easy though. Something else is coming.