What Hunts the Wolf

I bolt upright in bed, a sharp breath tearing into my lungs. Cold clings to my skin, a shiver crawling down my spine like something unseen has just brushed past me. Click. The sound is small. Harmless. But in the silence of the night, it feels too loud.I turn my head toward the bedside table, squinting through the darkness. The digital clock glows back at me. 3:00 a.m. Of course it is. I drag a hand down my face and shove the heavy blanket off my legs, the fabric falling away with a soft rustle. My body aches as I stretch, joints popping in places I didn’t even know could pop. “Mmeerrow.” A small black paw stretches lazily from the foot of my bed. I glance down at the familiar shape of Kozmo, curled into a perfect, shadowy ball. His eyes are still shut, like the world doesn’t exist beyond his dreams. I roll my eyes. “Shhh,” I whisper, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “You tryna wake the whole house?” He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. I stand, the floor cool beneath my feet, and make my way to the door. My hand settles on the handle. For a moment… I hesitate.Something feels off. I can’t explain it. It’s just there—heavy, pressing into my chest like a warning I don’t understand. Slowly, I crack the door open and lean out into the hallway. Darkness stretches in both directions. Then— Crash. Boom. The sound explodes from downstairs. I freeze. My head snaps toward the staircase, heart slamming against my ribs as I notice it—the faint glow of light bleeding up from below. The hairs on the back of my neck rise instantly. Someone’s awake. Or… something is. I swallow hard and step into the hallway, each movement careful, deliberate. The house feels different. Wrong. Too quiet. Too still. I cross the short distance to my parents’ room, the door slightly ajar. That alone is enough to make my stomach twist. They always close it. Always. Pushing it open just enough to slip inside, I step into the darkness. “Ma?” My voice comes out thin, barely there. “Pa?” No answer. My gaze drifts to the bed. Something… isn’t right. I take a step closer. Then another. And then I see it. Red. Against white sheets. My breath catches in my throat, my body going rigid as my mind struggles to catch up with what my eyes are telling me. No. No, no, no— My hands tremble as I reach out, lifting the blanket on my mother’s side. Her face is pale. Too pale. And the blood— It’s everywhere. A strangled sound builds in my chest, but my hands fly up to my mouth, trapping it before it can escape. My whole body shakes as tears burn behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound. I force myself to move, to breathe, to think. My gaze snaps to the other side of the bed. “Pa…?” Empty. The word echoes in my head as relief crashes into me just as hard as the fear. He’s not here. He could still be alive. That thought is the only thing keeping me moving. I bend down, reaching beneath the bed with shaking hands until my fingers brush against cold wood. The bat. I grip it tightly, pulling it free. A lot of good it did them, I think bitterly, the thought sharp and immediate. Swallowing hard, I back out into the hallway, clutching the bat like it’s the only thing standing between me and whatever did this. My hands won’t stop shaking. I tighten my grip anyway. One step. Then another. I move toward the stairs, each breath shallow, uneven. The family photos lining the wall blur as I pass them—smiling faces, happy memories frozen in time. It feels like a different life. A different person. By the time I reach the bottom step, my heart is pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears. I lift the bat slightly— And it slips from my hands. It crashes against the hardwood floor with a deafening crack. The sound shatters whatever control I had left. A scream rips free from my chest before I can stop it.