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Shaking the pointless thought from my head, I flung open the door with more force than was necessary—almost tearing it off its rusty hinges with my flare-up of misplaced anger.
Not entirely misplaced.
As the firstborn of a Fortune 500 CEO and an entertainment lawyer, I practically had Type A overachiever engraved into my DNA from birth. My younger brother and sisters were given more leeway with their life choices, but I was always expected to “make something of myself.” This decree didn’t seem to involve any input from me, so my naturally ingrained interest in helping others thrive was swept to the back burner.
Unless you count how I help others make money.
Somehow, I ended up with a degree in luxury event management, with enough strings being pulled by my parents to send me on the post-graduation trajectory toward my current soulless position as Director of Corporate Events at the Tea Coast Hotel.
The hotel, located in downtown Boston, was a modern venue that catered to a young, new-money crowd who mentally exhausted me on a daily basis. My only consolation was that I often convinced my clients to match their events with deserving charities or non-profits. What usually sealed the deal was the guest list being the type to over-share about their philanthropy on social media, which equaled more press for everyone involved.
So, at least I’m doing something good with my life.
Kind of…
Refocusing on my task, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. To my surprise, it wasn’t as rundown as I’d expected. With its handmade wood furnishings, thrift store paintings, and cozy plaid accents, it looked almost lived in.
That’s not creepy or anything.
I only had vague memories of coming “up to camp” a few times when I was younger. These family trips always happened randomly, and only when my parents felt like pretending to be outdoorsy types who believed in providing character-building experiences for their children.
The last time we all made the trip was soon after I turned 18. Oddly, that visit was the foggiest memory of all.
And why did we leave so abruptly?
I tensed as I heard that unearthly howl again—sounding alarmingly closer than before. Wanting to get back to my rental car before whatever was out there wandered this way, I focused on showcasing the cabin in the best light possible.
Daylight that was fading fast.
How did I lose track of time?
Quickly finishing up, I zipped my phone into my backpack and headed for the door, ready to say a not-so-fond farewell to this rickety backwoods attraction. Whoever wanted to live out here would need to possess an affinity for knotty pine and solitude, but I was confident in my ability to sell anything.
Especially to people with enough money for a vacation home from their vacation home.
My mind was already running through my overdue to-do list as I opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch.
Only to find a wolf waiting for me.
With a shriek of terror, I slammed the door shut again and secured the locks. Operating on instinct alone, I then turned and raced across the main living area before clambering up the ladder to the loft bedroom I used to sleep in as a child.
To further relive my youth, I immediately dove into the bed and pulled the Hudson Bay Blanket up over my head, randomly noticing that it didn’t smell at all musty.
Who the fuck cares how clean the blanket is, Billie? There’s a goddamn wolf at the door!
I trembled beneath the covers for a few minutes, but when no one huffed and puffed and blew the shack down, I tentatively peeked out from my pathetic hiding place. There was a single octagonal window facing the same direction as the front door, so I slithered onto the floor and crawled toward it.
The wolf had moved closer—to about 20 feet away from the porch. It was sitting on its haunches, staring at the door with its head cocked and an almost humanlike expression of confusion on its face.
If I hadn’t been so terrified, I may have admired its abnormally large size… how silky its black fur looked… what big teeth it had…
HOW IT'S STANDING ON TWO LEGS AND WALKING THIS WAY!!!
Flinging myself back to the bed, I wrestled my phone from my backpack and I began desperately stabbing at buttons, hoping to contact emergency services, despite being in a wireless dead zone.
“He… lo… 9-1-1… Wha… emer… cy?”
“H-help me!” I hissed into the phone. “I’m in Turner. At the old camp off Canis Lupus Road. There’s a circus wolf outside… and—”
