TREMBLE

Chapter 4

However, Grace, the one person in the entire world I yearned to get to know, just brushed a hankering finger over the cover of one of the brand-new hardback books and left the store without ever noticing I was around.

Until Jack Culpeper was slain, I was unaware that all of the wolves in the wood were werewolves.

When it happened in September of my junior year, everyone in our tiny town was talking about Jack. Apart from having the priciest automobile in the parking lot, which included the principal's car, Jack had not exactly been this extraordinary young person while he was alive. He had been a bit of a jerk. But when he died, he instantly became a saint. Because of how everything had occurred, there was a gory and lurid undercurrent. I heard a thousand different versions of the story in the school hallways within five days of his passing.

The result was that everyone was now scared of wolves.

The widespread dread crept slowly into our home, taking a few days to fully take root because Mom didn't frequently watch the news and Dad was frequently absent. Over the previous six years, my mother's memory of my encounter with the wolves had faded, being replaced with turpentine odors and complimentary colors, but Jack's attack appeared to perfectly revive it.

Mom was far from channeling her mounting fear into something sensible like spending more time with her one and only daughter, the one who had first been attacked by wolves. Instead, she just used it to exacerbate her already erratic behavior.

Do you need assistance with supper, Mom?

My mother gave me a guilty-looking glance before returning to the mushrooms she was chopping up on the cutting board from the television she could just make out in the kitchen.

It was so nearby, I thought. Where they found him," Mom exclaimed, brandishing a knife at the television. In the upper right corner of the screen, a map of our county and a hazy image of a wolf emerged. The newscaster pretended to be honest while not being. He said that the search for the truth persisted. You'd think they'd at least get their basic facts correct after covering the same story nonstop for a week. The wolf in my shot, with his stormy gray coat and golden yellow eyes, wasn't even the same species.

Mom said, "I still can't believe it. "On the other side of Boundary Wood, exactly. That is the location of his death.

Or perished.

Mom gave me a gently agitated yet stunning scowl. “What?”

I glanced up from my schoolwork to see reassuring, neat lines of numbers and symbols. He may have just fallen asleep by the side of the road and been pulled into the forest while he was unconscious. It is not equivalent. You cannot simply walk about attempting to incite panic.

Mom was chopping the mushrooms into bits tiny enough for the amoeba to eat when her gaze returned to the video. She gave a headshake. "They assaulted him," Grace said.

I cast a quick peek out the window to the woods, where ghostly pale tree lines stood out against the night. I wouldn't be able to see my wolf if he were out there. Mom, you're the one who kept repeating to me that wolves are often calm.

The wolf is a gentle animal. Mom had repeated this over and over. I believe the only way she was able to remain in this home was by persuading herself of the wolves' largely benign nature and arguing that my attack was an isolated incident. She may not have truly thought they were at peace, but I did.

I had observed the wolves every year of my life as I stared into the woods, learning their features and personalities. Unseen save during the coldest months, the skinny, ill-appearing brindle wolf remained back in the woods. His drab, scraggly coat, notched ear, and one obnoxious runny eye all yelled an ailing body, and the rolling whites of his crazy eyes spoke of a sick mind. I could still feel his fangs grazing my flesh. He may have attacked a person in the woods once again, I thought.

The white she-wolf was present as well. She was with the pack leader, a large wolf who was as black as she was white, and I had heard that wolves married for life. His hair flashed like fish in the water as he led her through the dead branches, and I watched him nose her muzzle. She had a certain wild, ferocious beauty to her; I could picture her assaulting a person as well. The rest of them, though? She had a beauty about her, and I could see her assaulting a person as well. The rest of them, though? They were peaceful, lovely ghosts in the woods. I had no fear of them.

"All right, quiet." Mom started chopping at the cutting board. "Perhaps they should just trap them all and dump them somewhere like Canada."

My schoolwork caused me to frown. Summers were difficult enough without my wolf. When I was younger, those months felt interminably long because all that was happening was waiting for the wolves to emerge.

After I realized I had a wolf with yellow eyes, they had only become worse. I created grand adventures in my head over those long months, when I would transform into a wolf at night and flee with him to a wood of gold where it never snowed. I realized that while the pack and my yellow-eyed wolf did not exist, the golden wood did.

I sighed as I slid my math book across the kitchen table and went to the cutting board to sit next to Mom. Let me handle it. You're only making things worse.

I hadn't anticipated her to object, and she didn't. Instead, she gave me a smile as a treat and quickly twirled away, as if she were hoping I would see what a lousy job she was doing. I'll adore you if you finish preparing supper, she said.

I scowled and snatched the knife away from her. Mom was often forgetful and covered with paint. She would never be the Betty Crocker, apron-wearing, meal-cooking mother of my pals. I honestly didn't want her to resemble them. But truly, I had to do my schoolwork.

Thank you, sweetheart. In the studio, I'll be. That would have been one of Mom's prepared lines if she had been one of those dolls that respond to pressure by saying five or six different things.

I cautioned her, "Don't pass out from the fumes," but she was already rushing up the steps. I threw the desecrated mushrooms into a dish and peered at the wall-mounted clock made of vivid yellow color. There is still an hour till Dad gets home from work. I had plenty of time to prepare dinner and perhaps try to see my wolf later.

The twisted mushrooms were going to be served with some kind of meat cut that was presumably in the refrigerator. It was placed on the chopping board after I pulled it out. An "expert" on the news questioned if the wolf population in Minnesota should be constrained or relocated in the backdrop. Everything simply made me feel depressed.

The telephone rang. “Hello?”

“Hiya. Why is that?

Rachel. She was very organized and excellent at following through, so I was happy to hear from her as she was the polar opposite of my mother. She helped me feel less foreign. While talking on the phone, I sliced the steak, keeping a portion the size of my hand for later, and tucked it under my shoulder. Just preparing dinner while watching the pointless news.

She understood what I was referring to right away. "I know. Talk about bizarre, huh? They appear to be unable to get enough of it. Really, it's sort of nasty. Why won't they just stop talking and let us go on? It's difficult enough to constantly hear about it in school. And you with the wolves and everything, it's had to be really upsetting you. Also, Jack's parents must really just want the reporters to stop talking. Since Rachel was talking so quickly, I had trouble understanding her. She spoke for a while in the middle, after which she said, "Has Olivia called tonight?"

Olivia made up the third member of our group and was the only one who even somewhat understood why I was so fascinated with wolves. Rarely did I go a night without speaking to her or Rachel on the phone. She's probably out taking pictures. There shouldn't be a meteor shower tonight. I said. Olivia captured the universe with her camera, so most of my school recollections appeared to be captured in glossy, four-by-six-inch black and white photographs.

I believe you're correct, Rachel said. Olivia will undoubtedly want to participate in the exciting asteroid action. Have a minute to chat?

I quickly checked the time. “Sorta. After I finish eating dinner, I have homework.

“Okay. Just a moment, please. Try these two words, baby: es. cape.

On the stovetop, I started browning the meat. "That's just one word, Rach."

She stopped. “Yeah. In my thoughts, the sound was better. Anyway, here's the thing: My folks told me they would pay for whatever trips I choose to take this year during Christmas break. I'm very eager to travel. excluding MercyFalls, of course. Anything except MercyFalls, O God! Will you and Olivia stop by to assist me choose something tomorrow after school?

Yes, of course.

If it's really amazing, you and Olivia might join us, too, Rachel said.

I didn't immediately respond. When I heard the word "Christmas," images of our Christmas tree's aroma, the starry night sky above our backyard, and my wolf's eyes observing me from behind snow-covered trees all sprang to mind. I always had my wolf for Christmas, no matter how far away he was the rest of the year.

Rachael sighed. "Grace, stop giving off that expression of contemplation as you silently stare off into the horizon! You are, I can see it! You cannot claim that you desire to leave this location.

Kind of, I didn't. I felt somewhat at home here. "I didn't say no," I argued.

"You didn't say Omigod yes either, you know. That was the appropriate response from you. Sighing, Rachel. But you're going to drop by, right?"

I responded, craning my neck to look out the back window, "You know I will.

"I really need to leave now."

Rachel said, "Yeah yeah yeah yeah. Deliver cookies. Do not overlook. Miss you. Bye.”

After giggling, she hung up.

So that it might keep itself busy without me, I raced to get the pot of stew cooking on the stove. I unhooked my coat from the wall hooks and opened the sliding door to the terrace.