The Red Wolf

11 Pm

The “get-togethers” at Gran’s always lasted late into the night. Alcohol and her cooking kept things going into the early hours of the morning. It was an hour until midnight, and I had long since lost track of time, catching up with closer family members while avoiding everyone else. I had tried to stick close to Stella, but as usual, she had other plans. After being abandoned for the tenth time tonight, I decided to keep to myself for a bit and roam around the house I hadn’t seen in years.

It felt like I had never left, yet somehow, like I hadn’t been here in ages. Everything looked just as I remembered, but it had been so long since I’d walked down this hallway. I made my way to my old room, cracking the door open slowly.

Nothing had changed.

I teared up a little at how close to home I felt here. I had been afraid I wouldn’t feel the same, despite not having been gone that long. The only noticeable difference was the bedding—green instead of blue, if I remembered right. Gran must have changed it recently.

I sat down at the foot of the bed and picked up the small cat plush resting on my pillow. She was worn but not shredded or broken in any way—just well-loved. I remembered carrying her everywhere as a child and keeping her close well into adulthood. She was a gray tabby cat with bluish-green bead eyes sewn into her head. I wiped away the single tear that had escaped and set my drink on the nightstand.

With a deep sigh, I lay back and looked up at the plastic stars, moons, and planets still stuck to my ceiling. Based on everything I’ve said so far, my room probably sounds like a kid’s bedroom. But really, the only childish things in here are my glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars, my stuffed cat, and an old music box I’ve had for as long as I can remember. The rest of the room is simple—earthy and neutral tones. The walls are a soft cream color, and a big, dark green shaggy rug covers the floor. My bed frame is made of dark wood—or at least stained to look that way. The only other large pieces of furniture are my dresser, the chest at the foot of my bed, and my nightstand. I had spent most of my time outside growing up, so I never had a TV or much in the way of entertainment in here. Even sleeping and changing clothes often happened outside.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke up not at the foot of the bed. My blanket, which had been neatly tucked in before, was now pulled loose and covering me.

Someone tucked me in?

Gran never did that—mostly because I slept like a rock. Maybe she sent someone in to check on me.

For a moment, I considered getting up to see if the party was still going, but sleep was too tempting to resist.