Animals ✔

Chapter 4

            "Where do you think you're going?" 

            Tiberius is in front of the door, glaring down at me as he takes in my thick sweater and sneakers. I'm sure the presence of my backpack doesn't go unnoticed either.

             His eyes are still human and there's nothing about him that says he's ready to attack, but experience has taught me to be weary. "What's it to you?" 

            I can't help but wonder if last night was some kind of elaborate ruse; a way to make me feel safe and warm and want to stay. I don't. 

            He doesn't move from the door, instead choosing to stare down at me with his arms crossed against his chest and his boots firmly planted on the welcome mat, as though he thinks that will be enough to stop me. 

            "Look," I say, "You know you aren't going to stop me and I know you aren't going to stop me. So quit pretending to be scary and get out of my way." I bluff, narrowing my eyes at him. 

            His eyes seem to widen a fraction of an inch, but they don't flash to black like I expect. Instead of growling, he laughs. "You think I have to try to be scary?" He says, like it's the most absurd thing he's ever heard. 

            I shrug. 

            Smirking, Tiberius steps aside and gestures for me to pass. I stare at him for a moment, wary about his sudden change in mood before scurrying toward the door. His voice rings out behind me and I can practically hear his smile as I pass through the door, "I'll see you later." 

            I turn and face him, eying him suspiciously. "Who said I was coming back?" 

            "I still have your lighter." 

        He closes the door behind me with a wink. I stare at the wood of the door for a second, wondering if he had blocked me at the door simply for the fun of it, before heading back toward the road. 

        He's right. I'm not leaving until Aunt Flora has returned and can tell me for certain that she hasn't spoken to my mother. 

        There's a brisk wind that rips through the tiny holes in my sweater and blows strands of long brown hair into my eyes. I swipe at my hair in frustration as I head toward town. The road is quiet, and beyond the howling wind there's little to keep my attention as I walk.           

        The trees that line the road are symbols of the otherworldly; of the creatures that lay in wait just inside their depths. I try to keep my eyes on the horizon. I just want one morning where werewolves don't exist, just one. 

        I guess it's really just too bad that wishes don't come true.

*

            The clinic is packed with sick people. 

        I clutch my backpack to my chest and try to avoid inhaling any germs. When I first arrived I chose an island of seats near the window, so far untainted by the deathly ill. But as time goes on they seem to be inching closer to me. Ugh. Flu season. 

        The television is locked on some news network, flashing images of an animal attack from a few states over. When the term "wolf" is mentioned, my eyes jump to the screen. The pretty red head is talking about a young girl who was mauled to death at a national park in Montana. The attack took place two weeks ago, but the girl's father has recently gathered up a group to go hunting in the woods.