Mrs. Flood Was Here

 

When Mrs. Flood awoke Saturday morning in her car, she refused to believe it. I can’t be here, she thought. I’m in my bed. Mother will knock shortly. She’ll put on the radio and I’ll scramble the eggs.

She unfastened her seatbelt and opened the door. It would only swing out a few inches—there were branches in the way. She was parked in a forest. She leaned over and threw up in the snow, through the crack in the door. She wiped her mouth on her coat sleeve. Why would I sleep in the car? she thought. It didn’t make any sense. I’ve slept in the same bed forever. In Mother’s house. No trips, no vacations. Mrs. Flood could remember spending the night in a hotel years ago, when she went to her cousin’s wedding up north. Fifteen years ago? Twenty? But that’s it. There’s no reason I’d be in the woods, she decided. I’ll wake up soon. She lay back in her chair and closed her eyes.

Mrs. Flood awoke a second time. Before she opened her eyes she could feel the cold window against her cheek. She was sitting upright in a vinyl seat. She could smell the car.

She remembered that last night there was a raucous gathering at the house next door to her and Mother. She had lain in bed, balling her fists. Those awful Milner kids back from college for the winter break, parties every other night. Normally she’d have put up with the noise but she had to get up early the next day. Oh God, she was missing the funeral. The funeral was today.

The Milner kids, Mrs. Flood remembered. The loud music, the booming voices, the idiotic laughter. She’d screamed and screamed, pacing around her bedroom. She’d looked at the telephone but couldn’t bring herself to call the cops. She certainly couldn’t have stormed over there herself. What, in her bathrobe? She’d gotten in the car and set out in the hopes of finding a room at a motel nearby. She was driving down Pine Road, above the ravine. She’d hit a patch of ice.

Now here she was at the bottom of the ravine below Pine Road, most likely. She didn’t think she’d been terribly injured—she was just cold, nauseous—but sometimes you’re in shock and you can’t tell. She opened her eyes to check for bruises and gashes in the rear-view mirror when something else caught her attention. A shape on the hood of the car. There was a long crack running down the middle of the windshield. A thin layer of ice on the glass distorted her view, but she could see the shape. A shape with a long face. It was looking at her.

But that couldn’t be, Mrs. Flood decided, and so she closed her eyes again. It’s one of those nasty dreams where you think you’re awake when you’re not. Soon she’d get up and start on those scrambled eggs. Mother would put on the radio. “Jimmy Mack” or “Chain Gang.” They’d dance around the kitchen.

Mrs. Flood knew exactly what the shape was—a wolf. She opened her eyes. It was really there. On the hood of the car, looking in at her. It was massive. Just sitting there, staring. She didn’t know there were wolves in the area. Coyotes, sure. Just last week the mail carrier was saying that she ought to keep her cat inside on account of a coyote skulking around. Mrs. Flood had thanked him but didn’t tell him that she didn’t own a cat.

A wolf on the hood. Or perhaps it was a dog, she thought. One of those sled dogs or some kind of mix. But no, she could tell it was a wolf. It wasn’t like looking at a photograph, which can be iffy. This creature on her hood had a presence. Its eyes said “wolf.” She couldn’t leave the car. She couldn’t dial for help either—no cellphone. She and her mother shared a landline. No one called them, they figured. They rarely left the house so what was the use?

Mrs. Flood turned the key in the ignition; the engine hummed. The wolf’s ears perked up like two menacing little triangles. She couldn’t drive straight ahead because there were trees in the way. She turned on the heat, then spun around to look through the back window. The car was pitched forward and now she could see why: she was parked at the bottom of a hill at the ravine. Her back tires were on the slope. Her Sunbird would never make it. A pile of fresh snow covered whatever tracks she’d made coming down. Pale light shone through the patches of trees on the hill; it was early morning. Surely someone would drive by and see the broken guardrail along Pine Road.

Except there wasn’t a guardrail. Mother always went on about that when Mrs. Flood dropped her off at bridge club, or when they went out to the Applebee’s together. “It’s criminal,” her mother would say. “They ought to call this stretch Lawsuit Lane.” No smashed-up guardrail to signal passersby, a thick layer of snow hiding everything. And then there was the wolf. Someone would find her, she knew. Soon enough. Soon, soon, soon.

The wolf opened its jaws as if it might speak, like it was her spirit guide, but it only yawned. Long, white teeth and blackish gums.

“Jesus!” Mrs. Flood exclaimed. She pressed her hand into the centre of the steering wheel and blasted the horn.

The wolf stood up and leaned towards the windshield, its eyes locked on Mrs. Flood. She pushed the horn again and the wolf let out a high-pitched moan like a balloon releasing air. It squealed while Mrs. Flood pressed down on the horn. Wolves aren’t supposed to make noises like this, she thought. It was drooling. A thin rope of saliva swung from the wolf’s jaw as it continued to moan. The animal was deranged. Mentally challenged. Rabid. One of its eyes wandered to the side of the eyelid as though it were having a seizure.

“Go away!” said Mrs. Flood. “Get out of here!”

The wolf crouched down low and began licking the windshield. Mrs. Flood released the horn. The wolf’s tongue streaked across the glass. Mrs. Flood pressed her palms into her eyes and sunk back into her seat. Those goddamn Milner kids. No consideration for other people. I’ll goddamn kill those Milner kids.

A minute passed and the terrible squeaking of the wolf’s tongue stopped. Still, Mrs. Flood pushed her hands into her face again, the blood rushing to her eye sockets. The funeral was today. Mother’s funeral. She needed to be there for her mother. She needed all this to stop, whatever this was.

When she looked up again, the wolf was gone. There were wet streaks all over the windshield and large paw prints on the hood, but no wolf. In the rear-view, she saw the gash on her forehead and dried blood in her bangs. There was a sharp pain in her right leg and she had a pulsing headache. Most of all, though, she was thirsty. Mrs. Flood felt around in the backseat but knew there wouldn’t be anything to drink there. She kept a tidy car and a spotless bedroom. She looked out the window—snow. There were piles of it. She could eat the snow.

Her door wouldn’t open wide enough, and besides, there was vomit on the other side. Mrs. Flood shifted to the passenger seat and looked out the window. No sign of the wolf. She’d have to be sure though.

She tapped the horn, twice. No wolf.

Slowly, she pushed the passenger door open—just a crack—and scooped a handful of snow. She closed the door and filled her mouth. Instant relief. Her whole body tingled, like she’d eaten a bowl of sugar. She devoured the entire scoop, then licked her hands. Her fingers were numb. Still thirsty, she opened the door again and took another handful. Again, she licked her hands clean.

Mrs. Flood rubbed her hands between her legs to warm them after holding the snow. She heard a thump and then the vehicle lurched. She looked up. The wolf was back. It sat down on the hood of the car and looked in at her.

“No,” Mrs. Flood said. “Get out of here.”

She leaned forward and dropped her head between her legs. Her jeans were damp around the thighs from her hands. The heat was on but she was shaking. She kept her head down, eyes closed and hands down by the floor grasping her ankles. If I wait, it’ll leave, she thought. Someone will come. She could hear the wolf licking the glass above her.

A few minutes passed and the wolf jumped down and trotted off. Mrs. Flood watched it disappear into the bushes ahead. If I make a run for it, she thought, I could try and scale the ravine. Climb up to the road and flag someone down. It was a steep climb and if the wolf came back, good lord. Those awful teeth.

Mrs. Flood remembered the CD player in the glove compartment and plugged it into the dashboard. The digital clock flashed ten thirty. The funeral was at noon at Poletti & Sons Funeral Home out on Antrim Road. A small service since Mrs. Flood’s mother had few friends. There were the women from her bridge club, though they hadn’t spoken in years and her old boss at the cereal factory, Mr. Raebos, had been notified. It was likely that at least one of the ladies from the assembly line would show up. As far as family, there wasn’t much left. Her mother hadn’t spoken to her brother in ages due to an ancient rift Mrs. Flood had never fully understood. Grandma and Grandpa were long gone. After Mrs. Flood discovered her mother on the bathroom floor with the empty pill bottles, there had been very few phone calls she’d needed to make.

At the very least, Mr. Poletti or one of his sons would notice Mrs. Flood’s absence. She had their cheque. How soon before they called the police? she wondered. How soon before someone organized a search party?

She had to pee. Squatting beside the car was risky—the wolf could return at any moment. There wasn’t anything in the car she could use as a receptacle. Her purse would work, but then she’d ruin her purse. She dug around inside her bag and settled on her sunglass case. Setting the case on the seat below her, Mrs. Flood reclined the seat back and propped herself up on her elbows. It wasn’t easy. It took considerable concentration to release her bladder in such an awkward position and she soon realized the sunglass case wasn’t big enough. She had to stop mid-stream, check the windows for the wolf, pour the case’s contents out into the snow and reposition herself before she could finish. She filled the case four times. The car smelled like urine.

She watched the clock. Ten forty-five passed by, then eleven. She ate more snow. Nobody came to her rescue.

At eleven twenty, the wolf returned. It jumped on the hood again but this time it had something in its mouth. A dead rabbit. The wolf dropped the rabbit next to the windshield wipers and leapt back down. It looked into Mrs. Flood’s eyes as it walked by the window, tongue lolling from the side of its mouth, and slunk back into the woods.

A gift. The wolf doesn’t want to hurt me, Mrs. Flood thought. It’s feeding me. Or fattening me up. I’m already fat, though. She closed her eyes.

An hour passed. The wolf hadn’t returned and Mrs. Flood was still nauseous and only getting worse—she couldn’t stomach looking at the dead rabbit in the windshield much longer. Its white fur stained with blood, one leg contorted at an ungodly angle.

I don’t care if I get attacked, Mrs. Flood thought. I don’t care if the wolf rips out my throat and leaves me bleeding in the snow. I’m not sitting here another minute. I’m going home.

She turned off the car and put the keys back in her pocket. She picked up her purse, opened the passenger door and stepped over her urine into fresh snow. The slope was steeper than she’d thought; she couldn’t see the road through the trees. How she’d survived the crash was perplexing. She looked at the car and saw the back bumper was missing. The trunk was crumpled up and there were a few long scratches along the side. There was a smell of gasoline in the air, otherwise the car wasn’t in such bad shape, considering the fall.

There wasn’t any kind of path. She stepped through snow up to her knees and kicked through bramble. The wolf wasn’t in sight. Her head was buzzing. Her legs throbbed with pain but she had to get up to the road.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please let me go home.” She hadn’t spoken to God since she was a child and Mother dragged her to church. She wasn’t sure it was God she was reaching out to now. Any benevolent force that would listen would do. If she made it out of this alive, she promised to repent. She’d look over her life—really scrutinize everything she’d said and done—and make up for whatever ethical missteps she’d made along the way. Her mother, for one. She knew Mother had a problem with prescription pills. She saw how she relied on them but had said nothing. Enabled her. They enabled each other, really. Two spinsters, mother and daughter, wasting away in that house.

You better stay in tonight, Mrs. Flood would say. You’re too sick for bridge club.

And then Mother would say You’re late when Mrs. Flood didn’t make it home from the office by five-thirty exactly. You’ve let me down. I need you here, I need you to take care of me. Maybe this job of yours isn’t such a good idea.

Mrs. Flood trudged through the snow. There was the threat of the wolf returning but she could only walk so fast. Her legs throbbed and her feet were soaking wet and freezing. She felt dizzy and close to fainting. Soon she came to a large oak that had fallen over against the slope that she might be able to use to help her climb up. If she made it up to the roots there was a long stretch of grass the snow hadn’t touched that would be easier to traverse. She couldn’t see past the trees and didn’t know if it would take her right to the road, but this was her best option. She held on to the oak and started her way up. Midway up the trunk, she became aware of a familiar shape in her periphery—the wolf. Above her on the slope, looking down. Its head was cocked at a strange angle, muzzle covered in a goatee of snow and mud. This is it, Mrs. Flood thought. I’m coming, Mother.

The wolf took a step towards her. Mrs. Flood stepped backwards still holding the trunk. She couldn’t turn around and show the wolf her back, a sign of weakness. The wolf took another step. Mrs. Flood took a step. They kept a steady, gradual pace. Soon, she was back at the bottom of the ridge. The wolf came down on her right side and walked her towards the car. Herding her like a sheepdog.

Mrs. Flood was exhausted, dizzy and numb with pain but she kept walking backwards. Eventually they made it back to the car. Mrs. Flood opened the passenger door and climbed in to the smell of urine, the disfigured rabbit. When she was back in place with the door shut, the wolf jumped up onto the hood.

For an hour, Mrs. Flood sat with her eyes closed while the wolf licked the glass before she heard it jump down. When she opened her eyes, the rabbit was gone. She realized then that nobody was coming. This is where I live. This is where I’ll die. There’s nothing I can do but wait.

Mrs. Flood pictured her empty, quiet home. It was different without Mother in there, as if all the bricks had been replaced one by one. Mother was her world. Sometimes it had felt like they were the last two people on the planet, carrying the torch for humanity. And now Mother was gone. Soon Mrs. Flood would be gone too. The end of the world.

She pressed play on the CD console. Sam Cooke’s Greatest Hits. Much too merry for the situation. All those major chords. She turned it off and reached into her purse and pulled out a pen and a gas receipt. She thought about writing a note for whoever eventually found her to explain what happened. Some kind of final message. After some thought she settled on “Mrs. Flood was here.” She pushed the note into her pocket.

A few minutes later, the vehicle lurched.

Mrs. Flood squinted at the beast on her hood. You shouldn’t be here, she thought. Why do you keep coming back? Why can’t you leave me the fuck alone? She punched the horn. The wolf stood up. It was an ugly thing, a coward. Were its legs trembling? An ugly, idiotic thing with shaky legs.

To hell with it, thought Mrs. Flood. She ejected the full CD player. The little screen went blank. The time was irrelevant now. There would be no funeral.

The CD player had weight to it. Like Mother’s golden swan doorstop. Mrs. Flood rolled down the passenger window. The wolf stared.

“Go on!” Mrs. Flood said.

She leaned over the window’s edge and sent the CD player flying. It hit the wolf in the chest. The wolf yelped and shuffled back with its tail between its legs.

“Get out of here! Go!”

The wolf began squealing again—that same obnoxious balloon whine.

Mrs. Flood threw her glasses case next but missed. She tossed her wallet—it struck the wolf in the snout. Then she threw her entire purse. The wolf jumped down and out of view. Mrs. Flood reached into the back seat and found Mother’s Sunoco umbrella. Stepped out of the car.

“Where are you?” she said.

The wolf cowered beside a bush, its head down low. It looked smaller now. Like a big housecat, she thought.

“Go on,” Mrs. Flood said. “Get lost.”

She wielded the umbrella high over her head and approached. The wolf looked up with dumb, glossy eyes.

She brought the umbrella down hard, striking the wolf in the face with the metal tip. The wolf yelped. She struck again and the wolf backed away, a confused, maybe even hurt look on its face.

“Go!”

She followed the animal, brandishing her umbrella. The wolf began to trot. Mrs. Flood flung the umbrella like a javelin in the wolf’s direction. The umbrella opened mid-air and became caught in a tree branch.

Mrs. Flood coughed and fell to her knees, plunged her hands into the snow. She vomited and rolled onto her back, spread out on top of the vomit. She wiped her mouth on her shoulder and closed her eyes. I’m in my bed, she thought. I’m in my car. I’m in my bed and my bed’s in my car and maybe I’ll just lay here a few more minutes.

Mrs. Flood was being carried on a yellow stretcher. Two women were there in black uniforms. There were other people around too. Lights flashed. There were voices. Something was on her neck—she couldn’t move her head. There were ropes. She was being carried up the hill. One of the women said, “Keep her steady.” Muffled radio voices in the background.

“Mother’s funeral,” Mrs. Flood said.

“What did she say?” one of the women said.

“Something about her mother,” the other said.

“You’ll see your mother soon,” the first woman said. “We’re taking you to the hospital. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“No I won’t,” Mrs. Flood said. She wouldn’t see her mother again.

Lights and voices. The wolf nearby, standing perfectly still. Listening and smelling. Hidden in the trees. Then slouching away; moving slowly, like a depressed child. Turning its head back to Mrs. Flood now and again.