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That she’d gone out on a night like tonight; sheer lunacy. Practically a death wish.
For months the town had been up in arms about the wolf, setting curfews, nerves on edge. It hadn’t taken long for the more superstitious of the villagers to put it together.
Attacks only happened on the full moon.
At first it had only been livestock; a pig gone missing, puffs of sheep’s wool scattered about a field, the feathers of an errant goose floating on the breeze… The thief, so it appeared, was thorough, leaving practically no trace behind.
Until two months ago. Old Man Myzax had gotten sick of his livestock being taken. He had armed himself with his shotgun and gone hunting for the thief. The next morning, for the first time… evidence had been found.
All in all, Lance felt it had been a terrible time for his family to have moved to the village. In the year they had lived there, people had been generally cordial to them, but when the attacks had started almost a month later, well… that was just plain bad luck. Some seeds of distrust had apparently been sewn.
The town gossips seemed to have gone into overtime. Perhaps it was his family’s slight resemblance to the clan of gypsies that lived not far from the village? They weren’t at all related, but there were those that would take one look at them, see “different,” and believe whatever they wanted. Lance’s father and mother had scoffed and rolled their eyes.
Unfortunately, there would always be people like that, his father had said.
Be your best self and give them no reason to doubt you, his mother had said.
The only family in town that offered their friendship freely and proffered no judgment was the Holts. Scientifically-minded to a fault, they simply refused to believe what the gossip mongers in town threw out, and chose to get to know their new neighbors instead.
They had two children themselves, who also took an immediate liking to Lance and his brothers and sisters. While his older siblings got on with the older son, Matt, for Lance there was no one more interesting than the younger daughter, Katie. When no one else in the small schoolhouse would pay him any mind except to glance at him with their parents’ unfounded suspicions, she had sought him out and claimed him as a friend right away.
More often than her given name she was called “Pidge,” a nickname she had received from her brother when she was a baby. Someone had commented that she was just a “pinch of a girl” (as she was so small); later, Matt had told someone else that she was just a “pidge of a girl.” The nickname had stuck.
Pidge hadn’t minded. She liked different. She thought different. She, herself, was different.
And Lance found that he also liked different.
Pidge had been bothered by the attacks; more and more each month, as more theories were discussed and things began to take a turn for the… supernatural. Lance thought it might be because she couldn’t explain the supernatural with science. Pidge had said that was part of it.
Another part was how Lance was being treated. People would say things under their breath, mutter prayers as he and Pidge would pass them in town. There were even a couple busybodies who took it upon themselves to visit Pidge’s parents and suggest that they shouldn’t let their daughter associate with the likes of Lance.
Sam and Colleen Holt had politely but firmly shown them the door.
While all of that was bad, the worst was after Old Man Myzax’s… incident. That’s when some people had started throwing things as well. He and Pidge never saw who did it, but it was hurtful. Especially when no one would stand up for him.
No one but Pidge.
More than once he had cried, Pidge’s arms wrapped around him, tears rolling down her own cheeks at her best friend’s despair. He had talked about running away. Pidge pointed out that would only hurt himself and the people who care about him. Not to mention the naysayers would all assume they were right all along.
And she could not abide that.
He had buried his face in her small shoulder, and she had reached a tentative hand up and stroked his hair until the fresh wave of tears had subsided.
She was strong for him when he needed her to be, but it seemed like it was taking its toll.
Every month when people were fretting about the latest attack, she seemed more and more tired. Lance was as well.
The fate of Farmer Myzax had exacerbated it. Pidge finally gave voice to everyone’s dark mutterings.
A werewolf.
Attacks only happened on the full moon, right?
Maybe… maybe someone should catch it. Or…
Lance had stayed silent, watching her with horror.
Why… how could she suggest such a thing?
Perhaps someone should try silver bullets.
Pidge… what are you saying?
As the night of the full moon approached, Pidge seemed to grow more and more resolute. Someone had to catch the wolf.
Fear laced together with Lance’s concern. Why…? What was she planning?
The eve of the full moon, Matt had come riding over, frantic. They couldn’t find Pidge. He was worried she had gone out on her own.
Lance’s parents hadn’t seen her. They promised to keep watch, in case she turned up at their house. They had glanced worriedly at each other. They wished there was something more they could do.
What was she thinking?
Lance had excused himself to go get ready for bed. Upon reaching his room, he had stuffed clothes under his quilt, snuffed out the candle, and quietly snuck out the window.
He ran into the wooded area that surrounded town, bordering all the farmlands. He carried no torch; he wouldn’t need it as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, lit only by the pale silver moon hanging innocently in the sky.
Innocent. Innocence. They had talked about those very words just earlier.
What was she thinking ?
The woods were dangerous on a night like tonight.
Lance ran as quietly as he could, save for the twigs snapping and dry leaves crackling under his feet. He had to find her…
He had to find her before…
Before something else did.
And it would be his fault. Because she was trying to protect him.
Pidge was in no way stupid, but this was by far the stupidest thing she could have done.
He slowed to a walk as he neared the area he’d been running towards. Countless days of exploring the forest told him he was just outside the farmland belonging to the late Old Man Myzax. This would be one of the first areas anyone looking for a wolf would check.
His breath was quick, and he tried to quiet it. He needed his ears to be keen. In the dim light of the full moon, he would rely on them to hear the wolf before he could see it.
He didn’t have to wait long. A howl split the quiet of the night, sending a chill through his very blood. He turned his head slowly from side to side, eyes wide, willing himself to see better. Where could she be?
A puff of hot air hit him on the back of the neck. He jumped away, turning to find a pair of molten eyes, burning an unnatural gold, pupils narrowed to dangerous slits and focusing solely on him. Slowly, with a calculated grace, the monster emerged from the shadows.
The werewolf was impossibly big, far bigger than Lance could have imagined. It bared its teeth, stepping toward him, a low growl escaping its lips.
He took a few steps backward, then felt his heel snag on a hidden root. Unable to catch his balance, he toppled, landing hard on his tailbone. He yelped as the pain shot up his back, momentarily closing his eyes on reflex. He jerked them back open nearly as quickly, and found the wolf had moved closer… much closer.
He stared into the snarling, slathering muzzle. He could not believe his luck.
The light brown fur of the wolf glistened in the patch of moonlight. The bushy tail swished side to side in agitation.
Lance swallowed, forcing the fear down. If he was going to have any hope of surviving this encounter, something told him he would need to maintain his cool. He would only get one shot at this.
Keeping his eyes glued to the wolf’s, he slowly extended his hand and spoke softly. “Shh…” He worked to keep his breathing even, even as he saw the wolf tense on its haunches, preparing to spring.
—————Many, many moons ago...——————
“Mama! Mamaaaaa!” A six-year-old Lance had come running, sprinting for his mother. His mother caught him, letting out a soft “oof” as her youngest son hurled himself into her, hugging her tightly. She took in the panic in his eyes, then scooped him up in a protective hug and carried him to their old, creaky rocking chair.
She rocked back and forth, smoothing his hair with a practiced hand and murmuring quietly to soothe him.
When his gasps and sobs had calmed so that the rocking chair’s rickety squeaks were the loudest sound in the room, she gently pulled him back and wiped the stray tears from his cheeks.
“What’s wrong, mijo?” she asked.
“M-Marco and Luis,” Lance hiccuped. “They told me they got bit by a werewolf, and that they were gonna turn into werewolves, and that they were gonna bite me and turn me into one, too.” His eyes widened. “And they showed me the teeth marks!”
Lance’s mother looked nonplussed. “Were the marks on their arms?”
“Yeah! How did you know?” Lance gasped, then looked at his mama warily. “…you’re not one, too, are you?”
“No, mijo, of course not. Werewolves are just an old tale. Your brothers bit their own arms and were just playing with you.” She frowned and muttered, “…though why they thought that kind of teasing would be okay, they know what an imagination you have…”
Her expression softened as she looked her youngest in the eyes and said, “Werewolves are creatures that exist in stories. But even if your brothers were wolves, there is an old werewolf story that’s my favorite. Would you like to hear it?”
He nodded, eyes wide with interest more than fear now. She continued.
“They say that if a werewolf is called by name by a person who loves and trusts them truly, the wolf’s curse will be broken and they will turn back to human.” She smiled. “You love your brothers, don’t you? You could just turn them back.”
Lance looked thoughtful. “I love my brothers… but I don’t know if I trust them not to bite me.”
Lance’s mother laughed. “Trust is an important thing! It’s a good thing that I trust that you are all good children.” She gave him a tight hug and added, “And it’s a good thing werewolves aren’t real.”
——————————
He spoke firmly, confidently. “It’s time to come home, Katie… Pidge.”
Werewolves, Lance had found, were very much real. And as his best friend sprang at him, he closed his eyes and opened his arms and hoped with all he had that, even if his mama had been wrong about werewolves existing, that her story had at least been right.
Because he trusted Pidge.
Completely.
…And he loved her.
Whole-heartedly.
How could he not?
The large, furry body he had expected to slam into his chest never came; instead, he felt a pair of lean arms wrap around his shoulders as he caught a slight form in his own. He embraced her tightly, relieved that his speculation had been proven correct.
She shuddered as he set her down, averting his eyes and removing his jacket to let her cover her modesty.
“Lance! What… Why… What are you doing here?” she trembled. “I could’ve… I could’ve… ” Tears filled her hazel eyes, their shine a welcome change from the dangerous golden glow those same eyes had held moments earlier.
“But you didn’t.”
“But all those other times… and Mr. Myzax…”
“You couldn’t help it. It wasn’t you, it was the wolf.”
“But everyone… they all thought… they all think it’s you,” she half-whispered.
“Pidge.” He said.
“I thought if they caught me… I could save you. They’d know it wasn’t you.”
“They would’ve killed you,” he murmured, no doubt in his voice.
She looked at him, not saying anything, only meeting his gaze and looking resolute. He wasn’t saying anything she had not already figured.
He sighed and pulled her toward him, holding her snug against his chest. He rested his cheek on top of her head. She brought her arms up to encircle him and return the hug.
After a moment of silence, he spoke. “Pidge… don’t you know… I don’t want to be saved if it means living in a world without you.”
She pulled her head back and gazed up at him, the answer to her unspoken question in his eyes.
“Oh,” she said softly, stepping back. In the moonlight, Lance could just detect a faint blush coloring her cheeks. He smiled, and offered his hand.
“Let’s go home, Pidge.”
She took his hand and they started back in the direction of the Holt’s house. As they walked, she pondered for a moment, then finally voiced the question she’d had since she found herself being held in his grasp, the light of the once-dreaded full moon shining on her but no longer controlling her. “…Lance… How did you turn me back?”
He felt his cheeks color slightly and cleared his throat. “See, Pidge, there’s this old story about werewolves…”