2 I

A novel by Nuria Childress

I grew up with my family outside of-

I cut myself off before continuing my thought, I probably shouldn't add where I lived. That's weird, right?

I grew up with my family in an old farmhouse.

This doesn't seem natural. Rewrite it.

My family always wanted a natural living experience. We lived on our own surrounded by woods.

I shouldn't write my own about me page.

I'm tall. I'm blonde. The sun hates me.

"This is perfect, my editor will have a field day." I skip over to the current chapter I've been working on and ignore the about me page again. How do you explain your shitty life without making others pity you? I should just stick to what I do best and write the fake stories. Angrily typing out another few paragraphs I sip on cocoa and curl up further into my chair. I can hear the wind picking up outside, it sounds like howling as it shakes the nearby trees. Before I know it, my laptop backlight flickers to dim mode and my power cuts. Great.

Saving my work and pushing the laptop to the side once again, I get up and pull out my cellphone. Calling the power company I'm thrown from recording to recording until I reach a real person. They apologize, telling me that power may be out for several hours. For some reason, I apologize back to them before hanging up. I shake my head and mutter to myself as I pull on some warmer clothing and slip into my winter boots. Opening the back door, I grab the shovel leaning against the siding and shovel off the concrete leading to the gazebo. The cold bites at my revealed skin and I try to work faster.

As I finish, I feel as I'm being watched. I scan the tree line anxiously to no avail. This should make me feel better, but instead I feel a pit deep inside. I walk hastily back to the house and struggle to put the shovel back where it was. Taking one more glance around the yard I head inside, shutting the door but immediately looking out the window once I'm in. And there I see it. Unmistakable, a tan figure stands under one of the tall, proud pine trees at the forefront of the forest. It stands so still I almost miss it, as it blends effortlessly into the distance. I watch as it lowers its head without breaking eye contact before turning and padding back under the pine needles. A chill trickles down my spine.

Since when do wolves roam these woods? Should I call the authorities? No... they'll just tell me not to worry. Maybe I should take its picture. I peel myself from the window and turn down the hallway that leads to the extra bedroom. As the door opens I can smell the cardboard boxes that have sat here for a little too long, still unopened and altogether untouched. I hesitate before breaking the seal of the box marked "momma" in bold, black sharpie. After a deep breath, I claw the tape off the top and unfold the flaps.

On top rests the newspaper I never finished reading, dating four years ago. I immediately remove it and sift through old clothing and picture frames. It doesn't take long before my fingers touch the familiar metal of her old camera. Pulling it out, the strap tugs with resistance and I realize it's caught on one of the old frames. It gets yanked out from its hiding place and lands on top of the newspaper. Nestled inside rests a picture of momma, as she holds me fresh out of the hospital. She looked so different then, her soft brown hair still a little matted from the process of birthing me. She always hated that dad took her picture like that, that he didn't wait until she showered, but I'm glad he did. This picture was real. Her flush face smiles at me as the picture gets tucked back into the box. I'd almost forgotten why I came in here.

Holding the camera to my chest I route back to the window and look for the figure in the trees. Nothing. I set the camera down and head into the kitchen to search for batteries, thankfully finding some in dads old toolbox. I replace the old ones in the camera and it boots up and back to life. A message pops up saying storage is full and I groan. I guess it's a good thing it's not around then, that'd be just my luck. The slideshow of pictures stored flash across the screen and I sigh, powering it off I remove the SD card and plug it into my laptop. I don't even look through the pictures before shoving them into a folder and ejecting the card. There, clean and ready to re-fill.

I look out the window once more before sitting down and curling up with my blanket, letting the warmth build up before nuzzling into the armrest. I try to fall asleep but the wolf is running circles around my brain. I swear I can still hear the howling.