Page 9

CHAPTER 9

REDLEY

April 7th, 1974 West Virginia

20 years old

My cloak clings to my shoulders, billowing in the wind around me. A low, mournful howl fills the air. It’s from a pack of wolves in the distance, not the monster I’m hunting. I’m not much of a seamstress, or I’d make myself a jacket, but Mama taught me what she could before she passed and at least it’s sturdy and warm.

An owl hoots overhead as I stop in the center of the yard. I spin in a slow circle, looking for the source of the screams that pulled me out of bed.

“Wolf, I know you’re out there!” With another victim, taunting me with his prey before he finishes it.

The oil lamp casts a warm glow, showing me no one’s standing in the clearing other than me, but that doesn’t say anything about the trees beyond. I turn the knob, dropping the flame low so I can hear better over the humming hiss.

“Then catch me, Muffin. If you even want to.” His laughing voice comes from somewhere far away, and with the way the mountain sometimes distorts sound, I can’t tell his direction for sure.

“Help me, please help me!” a male voice shouts after him.

Like usual, he’s having fun toying with me and his meal.

“Muffin can’t help you. She can’t hit the broad side of a barn,” he taunts.

Granddaddy’s old Smith and Wesson stays gripped in one hand, and a kerosene lamp swings in the other. I am not missing on purpose. I am going to shoot him tonight . But even I can’t explain why I can kill a deer to eat but can’t seem to hit the Wolf no matter how many shots I take. Bullets aren’t free, and it would be smart to stop wasting them.

If there's one thing I don’t have, it’s money to spare. Like Wolf said all those years ago, I’m poor . That was more obvious than it’s ever been when I was living out in the big wide world for those three years. Wolf was right. The cassette was nothing compared to what he could show me. I should have stayed gone, and if I had, there’s no telling where I’d be now. Maybe out in California like I wanted.

“This is going to end between us eventually,” I call back. “I won’t chase you forever.”

There’s a long-drawn-out scream of pain before the Wolf laughs. Having played this game before, I know it’s going to end soon, and I won’t find the screaming man fast enough to help him. I’ve been back in Grimm Groves for a year now, and this has happened so many times already. The Wolf’s kills have escalated in speed and frequency. Sometimes I think he’s doing these things just to get my attention.

“Things won’t end between us until we’re dead and buried, Muffin, maybe not even then.” He’s delusional or he’s messing with my head, I can’t be sure anymore.

“We’re not in a relationship. I’m going to kill you!” I shout as loud as his victim.

My frustration leaks from my skin. Extended screams follow my statement, like he’s repaying me for what I said. His victim’s pain reaches a fevered pitch as he shrieks and cries. They taper off as he floats closer to death, and I uselessly chase them, desperate to stop the inevitable.

“You’re mine, Little Red,” the Wolf singsongs.

More screaming.

“Goddammit, Wolf, stop this!” I beg, my stomach heavy and turning with sickness.

“ You stop it. If you can.” But he knows I’m too far away, I’m not capable of undoing fatal wounds.

Grimm Groves is a curse, and I should’ve stayed gone. The night the Wolf took Granny from me changed me forever, though, and it’s the only place I’m suited for. I lived in Pennsylvania the longest, New York for a few weeks, Tennessee, and then Florida. I saw beaches, deserts, the kind of land I only ever saw pictures of in magazines. I even found a new engine for Penny, and while she’s still slow, she’ll last me a while longer.

The simple answer as to why I returned is I had to. The more complicated one is that my bones are made from the mountain beneath my feet, the stream runs in my blood, maybe I am where I came from and where my family died. I can’t help caring about what happens to them, even if they all believe I’m crazy.

It’s quiet now, too quiet, and I think it may be far too late.

Twigs snap, but I can’t tell which direction they came from. My nerves tangle themselves in knots, and sweat breaks out on my back despite the cold. My breath steams in front of my face as I wait for anything to happen, and the tension builds inside me until it threatens to snap like the quiver of my hunting bow. If he’s already gone, I’m torturing myself for nothing, but I keep waiting.

The Wolf won’t stop killing if I don’t stop him, just like he told me about Granny . I’m equally responsible for letting him kill. Fifty-fifty.

I move slower now, and with my careful steps, I hear more. I’m suddenly sure I’m closing the distance between us. A whisper comes from a little way ahead.

“Don’t do this, please.”

“Wolf, stop this!” I shout.

“Don’t, please, my daddy’s got money!” he begs, and I know I’m on top of them now, but where are they?

“I don’t need money,” a growling voice answers.

A final frantic scream is cut off by a stream of gurgles and then the heavy thud of a body hitting the forest floor.

“You fucking killed him?!” I scream, my frustration turning me into something next to human. This obsession won’t end, can’t end until I get justice.

Wolf never answers, and the night feels strangely empty. The disappointment stings, but I can’t lie to myself and pretend saving a life was my main objective tonight. Truthfully, it was ending one. His latest victim may be dead, but that doesn’t mean the Wolf and I are done.

He isn’t getting out of these woods alive if I can help it. I am not going to chicken out this time. If I can shoot a deer, I can shoot him. My cloak catches on branches as I run, putting in a mess of tears I’ll have to fix. My breath saws, and if he’s hunting me I’m an obvious target. It’s that fear and the knowledge I can’t save a life that has me rethinking the idea of chasing him across the mountain tonight.

“Damn you!” I shout, just for a chance to piss him off before I call it a night.

Turning to head back to the cabin, I step, not onto the hard and crunching ground of the frozen mountain but into something soft and fleshy. My boot digs in deep, and the tissue breaks and ruptures beneath the tread and my weight.

Goddammit, that better be an animal.