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Chapter 6 – Lottie

Sitting in the rocking chair on the small cabin porch is my new favorite place. All I hear is the faint twittering of birds in the trees, bugs in the shrubs, and the creek of the chair as I rock back and forth. I’ve pretty much been sitting here all day.

I slept in and got up when I felt like it, letting the sun shining through the large window act as my alarm clock. The weight of the quilted blanking desperately tried to lull me back to dreamland.

It took a while, but I taught myself how to brew coffee in the machine on the counter with the grounds I bought at the grocery store last night. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible; only a few loose grounds made it into my mug. Then I cooked breakfast. Okay, I burned breakfast and ended up eating cereal, but I tried. That’s what counts.

For the rest of the day, I did nothing. I sat, I read, I listened to music, and watched the light shift through the trees. And now the light is perfect: the witching hour, the few hours right before sundown when the lighting is ideal for photos.

This would be the perfect time to take a walk through the forest and take a picture or two.

Since I’m the one in control of my decisions now, I decide I want to go, so I’m going.

I pull on my brand-new lace-up ankle boots and an oversized cardigan, grab my Polaroid, and walk into the woods. Normally, I would think walking alone into the woods would be a bad idea, but Ginger assured me these woods are safe, and there are clearly marked trails I can follow.

I pick a trail and start walking.

The trees are tall and sturdy, and a few are larger around than I can reach with my arms. I hug a few just to check. I’ve never hugged a tree, and these ones look like they deserved it. A few needles and leaves cling to my hair and clothes, and I don’t care.

The forest's smell is so clean and crisp compared to the smog-filled ozone of Los Angeles. I don’t think people know what clean air is supposed to smell like anymore.

As I pass, I pluck a few pink flowers from the full bushes lining my path, covered with snow-white berries. I stop when I see a small white rabbit sitting on a log in a shaft of sunlight. As quietly as possible, I lift my camera and snap the photo. As soon as it hears the click and whir of the film developing, it hops off the log and disappears into the bushes.

The photo goes in my cardigan pocket, and I keep walking. It isn’t long before I stumble upon a small patch of grass in an opening in the trees. In the center of the tiny field is a circle of mushrooms, a fairy circle.

Stepping gently over to it, I crouch down and line it up in my viewfinder. I take the photo, and as I kneel there waiting for the picture to develop, I hear a rustling in the bushes.

Not five feet from me in the tree line, I spot two crystal blue eyes watching me, surrounded by black fur and a twitching nose.

The blood in my veins freezes along with every part of my body. You know how they say people either fight or flight when faced with conflict? Yeah, apparently, I’m the third option. Freeze in terror and mimic the most life-like statue ever.

The wolf doesn’t move.

I don’t move.

The forest doesn’t move. Obviously, they’re trees they can’t move. But that’s not the point. The point is everything remains still. One waiting for the other to make the first move. To breathe or flinch or piss themselves. I think I might be getting pretty close to the third option. Especially when the wolf takes a step out of the tree line. Bringing itself fully into view.

The beast is larger than any wolf I’ve ever seen, which is zero beyond the one I saw on Animal Planet. It has to be as tall as a Great Dane but wider and furrier.

It doesn’t growl or lunge or bare its fangs at me. It just sits down at the edge of the clearing, watching me. I finally break free of my frozen state and jump back, standing braced to run.

Aren’t you not supposed to run from wolves? Or is that only bears?

The wolf cocks its head at me, its ears remaining perked, listening. But its eyes look soft, curious. I take a closer look at them. They’re so light blue that they’re practically glowing against its black fur.

“Hey there, buddy,” I coo, trying to somehow befriend a wild beast in the woods. “You’re not going to eat me. Are ya.”

I phrase it as a statement, more telling the wolf instead of asking. I’m sure I saw on some show that you’re not supposed to show fear when dealing with a strange, unknown animal. So that’s what I do. I put on a brave face that I hope the wolf believes because I don’t know if I do or not.

“You just out for a stroll, too? I know I’m enjoying the weather and the quiet. How about you? Any friends nearby I should know about?”

The wolf's thick fur ruffles as it shakes its head.

Did it just answer me?

“Can you understand me?”

It doesn’t make another move, just stares at me with those piercing blue eyes.