Howl

Release Year: 2023

“Mom, stop shaking. It’s okay.”

“Brandon, don’t stress me out. Please. You know what he’s like and –”

“Yeah, so? We’re gonna be fine. Aunt Sally’s coming back with food soon.”

“Well, I… yeah. I guess. Right.”

“I’m only going by what you’re telling me, Mom. I trust you.”

Poor old Aunt Sally was the only reason they had stolen away into the woods, far beyond the walls that had cocooned the abuse for so long – it wasn’t like Brandon or his wheelchair-bound mother would make it very far on their own otherwise. Despite being only eleven, the boy knew that the father threatening them was no man. He was a hunter. A viper, his poison the very reason Mom was bound to the wheelchair and had no way to work her legs. No way to run. Vicious and unrelenting by design.

“Get away from that door. And shut the curtains,” Mom called out, drumming her fingers on the well-worn tabletop in the middle of the cabin, its single-room layout leaving little in the way of hiding spots. Brandon reached up, wrenching the dusty beige curtains shut. Specks danced in the air like noxious little fireflies, catching in the light to reveal their density, their stillness disturbed. Aunt Sally clearly hadn’t been out to check on the place in quite a while.

“Door locked, hon?”

“It doesn’t work. Mom, you’re scaring me.”

“I-I’m sorry. He’s got the truck, though, and Aunt Sally barely got us out last night.”

“Why’s he so messed up again? What did I do?” Brandon asked, rubbing at the bruise under his left eye, irritated from a lack of sleep. “What did you even do?”

“I did do something this time, hon. I stopped putting up with the drugs. The fighting. But it’s too late. He’s not home anymore.”

“Whaddya mean? He was standing right there and –”

“Brandon, he wasn’t there. Mentally. Even without that crap, his brain doesn’t recover. Been doing it for way too long. It eats you alive from the inside out.”

“Is that why he beats us? Throws things? Threatens to kill you?”

“We’ve got each other, but he never got close enough. He couldn’t. That garbage was always in the way,” Mom sighed, wiping away a lonely tear. “I just don’t want you to hate him, no matter how upset or angry I get. And even if the police beat him here and arrest him, you need to promise not to lower yourself to his level. Remain in control of yourself. You hear?”

“Sure, but it’s not our fault. I still don’t get it,” Brandon muttered, transfixed on the wall clock by the door. The thing flickered continuously between a past second and the present, almost as if it couldn’t make up its mind. It never made any progress, same as them. Worse still, they couldn’t tell whether Aunt Sally was late or not.

“It’s gonna be okay. It has to be. You promised,” he continued, holding her tightly.

“Oh, I’m keeping it. Whatever it takes, you’re getting out of here.”

She paused, feeling unsettled. The stillness of the cabin had disappeared, and a truck had rumbled to a stop in its place, sliding on the gravel out front. Peering through the window closest to the cabin door, Brandon spotted a familiar set of work boots, filthy and unkempt. They hammered into the ground, stomping towards the little cabin as the vehicle’s door slammed shut.

“Oh God. I… okay, breathe. Breathe. Brandon, remember what we practiced,” Mom said, stony-faced as she glared at the door. “I need you to run. This time, you have to listen.”

“I’m not leaving you here. Mom, I –”

In that moment, a tremendous bang and crack startled the two as the cabin door was kicked open. Dishevelled and enraged, his father looked ready to tear the roof off the place. Despite the sunken-eyed, skinny frame, Brandon didn’t doubt that he could if enough garbage was in his system. Fed up and unafraid, he stood between the viper and his mother, staring down the anger.

“Dad, please! Don’t go near –”

A backhand across the face. Hard. Then, a shove without empathy, smashing the boy into the kitchenette’s counter in the corner.

“No! Don’t you DARE touch my son, Dan!”

“Think you’re gonna vanish and take my kid, huh? Screw ME over?!” the viper snarled, moving towards her.

Wiping his bloody nostrils with one hand and rubbing his shoulder with the other, Brandon felt helpless and small, like the dirt ground between the planks of old, dry wood. He grabbed one of the drawer handles on the counter behind him to force himself up. It slid open. Absent-mindedly digging within, he nicked his thumb on something sharp.

“I’m done with you. We’re done with you,” Mom shot back at Dan. “You’ll never get help, and we’re not sticking around to get caught in the crossfire anymore. We deserve our freedom, and we’re gonna get it.”

Dan whipped her across the face, the force flicking her head back. Alight with anger, she lurched forward and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, slamming him down onto the table.

“You’ll get yours,” she said, leering at him. “Go ahead, do it again. See what it gets ya.”

Brandon snuck up behind his father, grasping an old steak knife from the drawer. He plunged the knife into his back, then yanked it out and did so again for good measure. Rushing around the table, he bought enough time to wheel his mother out. As they skittered over the gravel outside and headed for the trees, the wannabe hunter recoiled in rage and pain.

Pushing into the sun-kissed woods, they were surrounded by the trees. Birds chirped overhead, their songs a mockery of the moment. The forest veil draped around them wasn’t nearly solid enough to mask their escape. Brandon shoved the stupid wheelchair as hard as he could, but the catching on roots, rocks, and moss hampered any progress, much like the broken clock back in the cabin. Perhaps the woods would deepen and darken into silence, he thought, sheltering them from the father’s fury as it followed.

“Just go! He’s gonna catch up!” Mom begged, feeling helpless but evidently not wanting her son to become the prey of the viper’s hunt. “Just leave me here and –”

“NO!” Brandon yelled, causing a nearby squirrel to chatter and scramble up a tree. “I’m not going without you! I need you!”

“No, you don’t! Look what you just had to do – you don’t need any of this! None of it!”

At that moment, a deep-throated growl emanated from the shrubbery ahead. With the father’s threats and anger growing louder by the second, his clumsy feet stomping ever closer, they were now the prey caught between two hunters. His toes curling painfully from the fear, Brandon could only look on as a large grey wolf emerged from the trees, stalking the mother and child as it eyed them suspiciously.

“B-Brandon, I’m so sorry, I –” Mom started, but he cupped her mouth before she caught the creature’s attention.

“Shh. Don’t say any –”

“You BASTARD! Gonna kill yer own parent, eh? C’mere and lemme –”

Dan had caught up just behind them. The wolf, sensing aggression, bolted past the wheelchair and towards him like a bullet. Eyes wide and with no time to respond, Dan was now the helpless one as the animal tackled him to the ground, his scrawny form no match for the claws and gnashing teeth. Finishing the job Brandon had begrudgingly started, the wolf thrashed and bit through the father’s blood-choked screams until they faded into mere gurgles. Shoving the wheelchair and fighting back tears, horrified, the boy attempted to whisk his sole surviving parent to safety.

“GO!” Mom shouted, her fingers pinging against wheel spindles as she feverishly tried to help propel them forward.

“I’m trying!”

The bushes shook with hunger, twigs and branches exploding like shrapnel. The wolf soon reappeared, circling them with a blood-soaked muzzle and piercing gaze. Arching its back and contemplating whether they were a threat, its throat rumbled, perhaps hesitating. It was thin and looked to be starving; perhaps its meals had been driven away by other unwelcome visitors. Shaking, Brandon tried to keep the wheelchair moving, but one of the wheels had caught on a stone.

“M-Mom, I don’t think I can move it,” Brandon whispered, despondent. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She reached back, pulling her son around to the front of the chair as the wolf circled along their right side.

“Don’t you dare be sorry. You understand me? Never.”

“I can try to lift it and –”

“Do. Not. Move. Let me handle it.”

Brandon’s worst fears were realized. The look in her eyes, tears welling with pride and determination, told him what she was about to do before even moving. Then came the parting words that would drive him onwards.

“I love you, sweetie. Now run.”

With that, she threw herself from the chair towards the animal to startle it, which took the bait in interpreting her as a threat. Crying out from fear and grief, Brandon could have easily been part of the pack as he made a break for it, no choice left but to dart deeper into the woods as his mother’s blood-choked screams echoed through the vale. Before long, they too faded into nothingness. An end to her pain. A silence, forcing her son to understand that neither the wolf nor the father were the real monsters of this dysfunctional saga. The viper’s poison had done it’s damage, but here, in the wilds, there were only survivors. And he was now one of them.

Finding his way to a shallow stream, the boy collapsed at its edge, wondering if submerging his head would be a quicker end to the trauma. Instead, tears rolling down his bruised and dirtied face, he only had the strength to peer at his reflection in the water.

There was no clock here. The only indication of time passing was the sun, bright with nary a cloud in sight. It soon passed over the trees, their shadows looming over Brandon where he lay. Tracing his fingertips in the dirt and holding himself, he didn’t want to go on. He could stay here. He could be one with the dirt and water, nothing else to think about. Nothing else to lose. He didn’t know whether the wolf would catch up to him, but he didn’t really care.

“Whatever,” Brandon muttered, laying on his back and staring up at the sky, unable to fully process everything that had happened.

Then came a deep-throated grunt and heavy, thundering stomps. Wetting himself but unashamed of the release, he helplessly looked on as a massive bear charged towards him. Wincing, he waited for the teeth. The claws. The hunger. At least he could satisfy someone, he thought.

Before the bear could reach him, however, a breeze whipped over him with a brush of wild fur. Brandon looked up. The wolf stood between him and the bear, reared up on its haunches. Frustrated, the latter grunted once more as it crossed to the far side of the stream, as if it wasn’t worth the bother. The bear returned to two small cubs who were waiting in a nearby clearing, likely too young to face life on their own. Priorities.

Turning to face the boy, the blood of his parents dribbling from the wolf’s stained teeth and snout. This time, it didn’t circle, instead tiptoeing straight towards him. Standing up, tired and unable to handle the grief, Brandon stretched out his hand willingly.

“Still hungry? You want more? Then just do it. Go on, save me.”

The wolf paused, inches from his fingertips. Studious. A lick of his hand. Subtle, but genuine. A blast of hot air from its nostrils.

As the wolf nuzzled Brandon, it nearly knocked him aside. Perhaps the creature was apologetic, he thought. Or maybe it was sensing his lack of fear now that it had saved him. Either way, it listened before acting. No bite was coming. It slowly brushed by, almost as if it beckoned for him to follow.

And so, he did, foolishly but unsure where else to go. The form of the wolf led the way, imposing despite its starved nature, back towards the light of the glade. It kept its distance, looking back occasionally as the boy followed, his parents’ flesh sustaining it. Tearful over the horrors he had witnessed yet without any ability to fully process them, he could sense a purpose to the guide before him. The forest felt comforting somehow. Freeing, even.

Brandon wasn’t sure he really wanted to leave it and re-enter the real world, a place that had never been all that great to him. However, the cabin and openness of the glen, the familiarity of a manmade homestead, appearing before him was too tempting to ignore. The boy ran ahead of the wolf, unafraid of its teeth. Snatching up the mother’s cellphone to dial 911, he noticed that the screen had been cracked, perhaps damaged as she had grappled Dan to the table. Wondering whether someone would still show up, Brandon turned back towards the cabin doorway. The wolf was still sitting there, unmoving, right in the gravel beside the truck.

“Why’d you take me back? Haven’t you done enough?” he asked, tempted to take out his anger on the animal before stopping himself, only he wasn’t his father. He recognized the innocence of its intent, however wild. It was pure instinct, unbiased as can be. Reaching out once more in the doorway, he longed to pet it. To feel the fur and natural strength.

“I guess you did what I couldn’t do,” he muttered, gently stroking the wolf as it closed its eyes. “I mean… it’s all over. It’s quiet here.”

Brandon didn’t want to let go. He felt a connection with this creature, one that so many people misjudged and treated as a monster. It chose to be good to him in this moment. It was merely another survivor, not a killing machine. Same as him.

And then came a great bang, whoosh, and splatter. The form of the wolf collapsed to the ground, the gunshot having pierced through the side of its head. Its eyes were still and unoccupied.

“NO!” Brandon screamed, the pain of the loss rushing back as strongly as that of his mother. Immediately, he retreated back into the woods, ignoring the calls from the officers who had arrived to rescue him. He couldn’t run fast enough to escape their voices.

“Hey, kid! Kid, get back here! We’re trying to help!”

“I DON’T WANT IT!” Brandon roared back at them. They attempted to follow but, by darting between the trees and as deep into the forest as possible, he had lost them. Hopefully for good.

The further he ran, tears in his eyes, the more the boy understood. The fields, streams, and wooded solace would surely be better to him than any single person. Brandon’s sorrow and rage formed a collective howling through the trees of sorts, soft cries of both pain and release that nobody else could hear.

And so, into the embrace of the woods, the boy was captive prey no longer.