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IT WAS THE SUMMER BEFORE everything would change—before her parents fell permanently estranged or any iniquitous hearsay that she would one day reign supreme among the fallen. The three siblings routinely mounted up to find a spot along the Missouri River to cast their fly rods and camp a few nights. She would often wander off to sketch birds and entwine daisies into the more unruly strands of her blonde hair. Each sunset, she’d pen a letter to post to some far-flung address across the world, and desperately await a response. It was what eleven-year-old girls did, at least if raised in Montana and unwilling to admit that their British father was not always away on business, just away.
The siblings would reconvene after dusk to set up their bedding and cook the day’s catch over a firepit. Thomas would play the harmonica, William would tell ghost stories, and they would all sing stupid songs until sleep came.
This camping outing would be their last for some time, perhaps longer. Her brothers would soon take sea passage to Europe to fight the Great War. Why they had volunteered still confused her. America had yet to declare, and it remained her simple belief that life was not so frivolous an affair to be so recklessly wagered. They were several years removed from her in age; better acquainted with their Anglo-French heritage, while she had been raised pure Montana bobcat.
All she knew was that she’d miss them terribly, as she did their deceased sister, Emma.
As they sat one final occasion gazing at the stars together, she did not feel like singing, talking, or reminiscing about more innocuous days. All that stirred her mind was the unpleasant reality that she would soon be sentenced to the sole care of her mother.
She’d hate them if she could for that unfairness.
And then it sounded.
The bloodthirsty howl stung her ears and starched her back. While the region was home to wolves, grizzlies, and mountain lions, none made so menacing a call. Thomas sprang up and headed for the horses as they neighed, unsettled in their tethers. He calmed them before freeing all three rifles from their saddle scabbards. Another wail rippled across the valley, muzzling the lesser chirps of the bordering woodlands. They each chambered a round and searched the darkness, waiting.
A fleeting glimpse of the beast spurred her to gasp. The creature’s eyes flashed a hellish red in the bold sturgeon moonlight and possessed malevolent intelligence.
It was not of this world.
Hands shaking, she struggled to keep high and steady her father’s battle-tested Mauser 98. “It sounds rather hungry.”
“Looking for a meal, Alee. Not an appetizer like you,” Thomas teased to calm her.
The tall grass rustled to their left, now much closer. As quickly as they aimed, it was gone.
William cussed, which he was prone to do. “It’s a Canadian gray. I’ll take it down.”
These wolves seldom raided from the north and were more fearless than the local variety. The trio retreated from their camp to form a triangulated defensive position around the horses.
Alee’s stance lent her to face the firepit. Her heart thundered as she readied herself to pull the trigger, but when the beast raced near the flames, all she could do was gawk. It appeared to be some unfathomable hybrid between a wolf and hyena. Brawnier than either, it posed an elongated jaw, gnarly fur, and a powerful rump slung low to the ground.
Her brothers opened fire as it scurried off.
Thomas retrieved an Eveready flashlight from his saddlebag and took careful paces forward to better inspect the grasslands.
Alee kept vigil over the firepit.
The night had its way of playing games with shadows. She could swear she looked upon the silhouette of a tall man standing amidst the distant trees. He wore a cape and top hat.
She retreated several steps.
The menacing figure flashed red eyes and walked off in a stiff stride; the infernal beast following as if a pet.
Alee took aim and fired.
The entity bequeathed a subdued, taunting laugh, unfettered by her defiance. It vanished.
Thomas ran to her side. “What did you see?”
“I don’t know,” Alee spluttered, “but it’s something I care to never see again.” Short of a photograph, no one would believe her. Others took her for having a fanciful imagination, so no one ever did.
William lowered his rifle and pointed down. “You’re bleeding.”
Alee lifted her skirt, thinking she’d pissed herself, but it was blood. A disquieting notion set in over what it heralded. Henceforth, the rules would change.
Any hope to live a simple life was nevermore to be.