74. Eyes in the Woods

You know how you get cold sometimes and start shivering and can’t stop? That’s what I’m doing now as the breeze whips snowflakes into the spot I’m hiding in. I can barely see the glow of lights coming from the Staunch mansion. It’s ludicrous—me shaking and trying to spot something in the dark. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. I know I should go home.

Because what exactly am I going to see outside? On a dark night?

A dark and stormy night, a voice reminds me.

Sometimes I rush headfirst into something before realizing that it’s probably not the best. I’ve always been like this. Call it impatience or zeal or stupidity. I don’t know what to call it except my personality.

This isn’t helping anybody.

I head back the way I came, down the edge of the creek. The water is still moving with ice edging its banks. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but because of the clouds it’s dark, hard to move quickly.

I’ve gone maybe a hundred yards or so when I hear something in the woods.

I curse out loud, thinking of that dog. That thing that resembled a dog.

That wasn’t a dog and I wouldn’t tell that to anybody else but I know that thing wasn’t a dog.

I hear a shuffling sound. The sound of something moving in the forest. Something too light to be human, but too heavy to be a chipmunk.

My legs start moving quicker.

And of course I slip and plunge one leg into ankle-deep water.

It’s more annoying than anything else. The water is freezing, and now my foot is too. As I get back onto dry land, I hear another noise.

This time I see something.

On the ledge in front of me, which drops abruptly into the creek, I see eyes.

Bloodred eyes.

Even in the murky shadows I can make out its shape.

This thing isn’t a dog.

It looks like a coyote—that’s kinda big for a coyote.

It’s got wide, pointy ears, kinda like a German shepherd. The body is big too, but this thing isn’t a dog.

It’s more like a wolf.

It’s standing perhaps ten feet above me, directly in front of me. If it wanted to it could leap on top of me and have a nice, juicy dinner.

I freeze.

I see its black nose, its lighter colored mane, the whiteness around its mouth, the teeth that seem to smile and brag about being so sharp.

It’s got long legs that seem to stand at attention.

It doesn’t growl—that’s what dogs do, and this thing isn’t a dog. It doesn’t even sneer.

It just stands and stares.

I don’t back down, but I don’t dare move forward, either.

I’m not sure what the rule book says about encountering wolves in the woods. If I had an iPhone I could Google the info along with taking a snapshot and loading it onto Twitter and sharing it with the world.

But I’m in the middle of nowhere with nothing but my shivering skin.

The eyes bear down on me. Challenging me. Daring me.

Is it warning me? Warning me to stay away?

I don’t know. I’m too scared to know if it’s just curious or ready to attack.

It suddenly turns and dashes away into the darkness.

I stand there for a long time, reminding myself again how stupid I am, telling myself I’ve gotta stop roaming these woods like someone who belongs in them.