The Wolf's Gaze
1055 Words
Upstairs, she rummaged through her closet and found an old sketchbook from when she was eight. She flipped through the pages—unicorns, stick figures, then a wolf.
Crayon eyes glowing silver.
Her childlike scrawl underneath: He watches me.
She remembered showing it to Ethan once, and he’d told her about the local legends of silver-eyed wolves, his voice a low murmur in the twilight.
More memories spilled in: the whispering wind outside her window, howls that weren’t from dogs. Her mom always said it was the wind.
But Lyra had felt the gaze. Not evil. Just… watching.
A shiver traced her spine.
Her eyes lifted.
The window frame bore claw marks. Deep. Fresh.
Her breath fogged the glass.
The pine scent was overpowering now.
She fled the house in desperate need for normalcy, pulling her towards Petals & Ferns, the one place that still felt like her own.
At Petals & Ferns, the local plant shop where she worked part-time, Lyra tried to breathe normally. Humid air wrapped her like a towel, thick with the familiar, comforting scent of soil and blossoms – a stark contrast to the unsettling pine that clung to her clothes. She hoped Mavis would be here soon; her best friend’s unwavering practicality was exactly what Lyra needed right now.
She watered orchids, misted ferns, and swept petals. The rhythmic routine usually calmed her, a small island of order in her otherwise chaotic thoughts. She remembered Mavis joking that Lyra had a “green thumb and a heart of gold,” a teasing remark that always warmed her despite herself.
But even that fragile peace was shattered when a customer reached for daisies and Lyra touched the stems—and they bloomed brighter. Unnaturally so vibrant and sudden.
The customer blinked. “Wow. These just opened up.” She looked at Lyra with a strange curiosity.
Lyra muttered something and turned away, a cold dread seeping into her veins. She retreated to the back, near the wilting roses, the air thick with the scent of dying blooms. Her chest was tight. She brushed a rose, its stem brittle beneath her fingers, and a wave of warmth pulsed from her palm, strong and unwilling.
The petals deepened to scarlet, blooming violently. Lyra yanked her hand back, heart thudding. Mom said she made dead ones sing… The memory, dismissed for years, resurfaced with unsettling clarity.
Had Ethan ever witnessed anything like this with her?
She couldn't recall. Not again.
Outside, a shadow flickered past the glass. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The street was empty. But the pine scent returned, stronger than ever, almost suffocating.
Had she imagined it? Or was it a warning?
Then—a howl. Not distant. Not a coyote. Too close. Too deliberate. It resonated deep within her, a primal call that stirred something unfamiliar in her blood. It was a sound that echoed the low growl in her dream, a sound that felt… familiar.
The pendant seared against her skin. She gasped, fingers clutching it, like it could explain what was happening. A vivid image of Ethan, silhouetted against a bonfire, telling her about the wolves of Blackwood, flashed through her mind. He’d seemed so captivated by the lore, his eyes gleaming in the firelight.
The bell above the door jingled, and Mavis breezed in, a whirlwind of energy and the sharp scent of her signature vanilla perfume.
"Lyyyyra! You look like you haven't slept since sophomore year finals. What's the sitch?"
Her usual bright smile held a flicker of concern as she took in Lyra's pale face.
“Yeah,” Lyra lied, her voice trembling slightly. “Just... headache.” she had murmured to her best friend.
But she knew something was changing.
Something beyond the surface.
Not just the day.
Her.
That night, the dream came harder. No slow fade-in. Just trees. Endless and watching. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of unseen blossoms mingling with the sharp pine, a scent that sometimes clung to Ethan after his hikes. She stood barefoot, breath visible. The forest floor hummed beneath her feet, pulsing like a second heartbeat. The air was thick with pine and smoke. A sense of ancient recognition settled over her, like stepping into a half-forgotten memory, a memory that felt strangely intertwined with the hushed stories Ethan used to tell.
A growl. Then—him.
The wolf stepped from the shadows. Taller than before. More solid. His silver eyes held hers like gravity. A strange pull resonated between them, a flicker of something familiar beneath the fear. His gaze held an intensity that mirrored the way Ethan sometimes looked at her before he looked away.
“You wore the pendant,” he said, voice like ice cracking on a lake. A hint of something else under the coldness – a resonance that tugged at a forgotten part of her, a resonance that felt strangely… familiar.
She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat like thorns.
He stepped closer. She should’ve felt fear. But what she felt was recognition—sharp and sudden.
Like seeing a face you knew intimately but couldn't quite place.
“You’ve been asleep,” he said. “But the moon does not forget. Nor does the blood.” His gaze flickered to the pendant at her throat.
Lyra swallowed. “Who are you?”
The wolf tilted his head. “Ask your mother about Halcyra. She buried the truth there.”
The name echoed in her mind, a whisper of something both alluring and dangerous.
Had Ethan ever mentioned it in his stories?
It sounded like something from local folklore.
“Halcyra?” The name tasted like lightning.
Familiar. Wrong.
The forest shuddered. The wind ripped through the trees like a scream. The pendant on her chest burned, pulsing faster than her heart.
Then the wolf turned. “Wake up, Lyra,” he growled. “They’re coming.” A sense of urgency, almost protectiveness, laced his tone, a tone that strangely reminded her of the few times Ethan had stepped in to defend her from school bullies.
Her eyes snapped open. Fresh claw marks scored the ceiling above her bed. The pine scent hit her like a wave, laced with a wild, animalistic musk that sent a shiver down her spine.
- Writer
