Howl - 1

There’s nothing in the dark that’s not in the light. This was the last sentence I ever heard my mother utter. Her final words now served as my mantra for courage.

I flipped the plastic sign on the glass door from OPEN to CLOSED. Then I grabbed cleaning cloths and spray, and started wiping down counters and tables. No one was in the Grits & Gumption Diner, not even elderly Mr. Sanders.

He usually showed up right before closing to have pie and sweet tea. He kept me company while I cleaned and then I walked him home. We were alone in this world, so we worried about each other.

On the rare occasions Mr. Sanders dealt with gout flare-ups and stayed home, he called to let me know. Tonight? Not a peep.

I finished closing chores, including all the prep for opening tomorrow. Despite the sturdiness of my shoes, my feet ached something fierce. The whole of me was bone-tired. I put on my coat and slipped my wallet and phone into my pocket. Then I stuffed my hair into a knit cap that I pulled over my ears.

I switched off the lights and left through the front door, turning briefly to lock up.

November brought with it chilly winds and unfulfilled promises of snow. Above me, in a black velvet sky filled with diamond stars, the full moon gleamed like a perfect pearl.

I didn't have a car, but everything in Gumption, Missouri was within a couple miles of everything else. It took a little time to get from here to there, but it was no real burden to walk most places.

I headed toward the Gumption Library, which was on the other side of the town square, catty-corner to the diner where I worked. As I passed by the fountain, I saw the same sign that had been popping up all over town: Expect Better from Burke Industries.

Most things die. Even towns. Especially towns. Gumption kept trying to expire, but the latest attempt at revival belonged to a corporate behemoth. I didn’t understand why a global business like Burke Industries would care a whit about a tiny Missouri town that was in-between Nowhere and Nothing.

I crossed the empty street and hurried down the cracked sidewalk that ran along the side of the library.

Mr. Sanders had been the town librarian until arthritis and old age made the job too difficult. He still lived in the tiny cottage on the property, though. No one had the heart to make him move—not even the new librarian, Mr. Chard—who moved from Kansas City to take the job. He'd rented accommodations at Aunt Lila's Boarding House & AnTEAques rather than force Mr. Sanders from his home.

The one-bedroom cottage was eerily dark and still. I swear the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up as I approached. I stopped, studying the exterior to see what had raised my hackles. After a moment of listening and watching, I had no proof to sustain my worry.

I stepped onto the porch and knocked on the front door. "Mr. Sanders? It's Arabelle."

If it were possible, the strange quiet deepened, and I felt my stomach squeeze.

I knocked harder. "You all right?"

Was that glass breaking?

I pressed my ear against the painted wood. Had Mr. Sanders dropped something? What if he was having a stroke or a heart attack?

Well, that was that.

Politeness would have to be sacrificed to make sure the sweet old man wasn't hurt.

No one in Gumption locked their doors, so I wasn't surprised when the knob turned easily in my hand.

The door swung open, revealing complete darkness. 

Cold fear washed over me.

There’s nothing in the dark that’s not in the light. This was the last sentence I ever heard my mother utter. Her final words now served as my mantra for courage.

Childhood memory flickered. Rough tree bark. Growl in my ear. Breath on my neck.

Sweat rolled down my temples and my hands went clammy. My feet stalled outside the threshold.

Get it together, Arabelle. I inhaled a deep breath. Blew it out slowly. Stepped inside. 

"Mr. Sanders?" My voice came out a whisper. Goosebumps prickled my skin. I cleared my throat and tried again. This time my voice was stronger. "Mr. Sanders?"

I pressed my hand against the wall, feeling for a light switch. My fingers skittered over a picture frame. It fell off the wall and clattered to the floor. The sound exploded like thunder in the too silent house.

My heart thumped in my chest, so fast and so loud, I was sure people in the next county could hear it. I sucked in a shaky breath. Scared out of my wits or not, I needed to find Mr. Sanders. My eyesight had adjusted, and now I could make out shadowy shapes. I edged away from the wall, holding out my hands as I moved forward.

"Mr. Sanders?"

I brushed against what I easily recognized as a lamp shade. I felt under the flimsy material, following the spokes to the bulb’s base. My fingertips slid over the switch. I twisted it, and breathed a sigh of relief when dim, yellow light offered respite from the unrelenting dark.

The recliner near the hearth was overturned, the bookshelves on either side were divested of treasures, and the tall bric-a-brac cabinet on the far wall had met a terrible end. Its glass planes were shattered and the contents inside hadn't fared much better.

What happened?

My gaze landed on bare feet poking out from behind the couch.

I hurried around the bulky piece of furniture and nearly lost my footing. I looked down.

Blood...?

Oh, my God.

Terror pulsed deep in my gut as I stared down at the body of Mr. Sanders.

The hole in the man’s chest was the size of a grapefruit. I studied the cavity, bile rising in my throat. His broken rib cage and his gaping flesh told the tale of claws and teeth.

His heart was missing. 

Tears choked me as I brought my hand to my mouth to quiet my own sobs.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Ribbons of hot panic and cold terror wrapped around me like twin pythons.

I’m five years old. Crying. Stumbling through the dark. Smacking into trees. Falling over roots.

I tried to get to my feet. The floor was too slick from gore for my shoes to gain traction. My hands pressed palm-flat to the floor.

The blood was still warm.

Just as I realized the significance—I heard the low, warning growl.

I was no longer alone.

Maybe I'd never been alone, and the beast was too clever and too stealthy to let me know he'd been watching.

Waiting.

I scooted backward, my gaze never leaving the hungry gaze of the huge wolf as he crept toward me. His fur was gnarled brown clumps and he was missing an ear. He crouched low, his muscles bunched as if readying to pounce. His menacing snarl revealed sharp, bloodied canines.

If he clamped that massive jaw around my throat, I was a goner.

My fingers slid over a piece of jagged glass. I didn't break eye contact with the wolf as I grasped the large shard.

He snarled loudly.

The wolf's massive paws hit my shoulders and pinned me to the floor. 

I saw madness in his eyes. Madness and pain and worst of all, death.

Mine. 

I rammed the broken glass into the side of his neck so hard that the make-shift weapon sliced open my skin. I felt no pain as my own blood gushed onto the wolf’s matted fur.

The shard broke in my grip, the pieces crumbling away.

The rasp of his growls told me I’d done damage. I squeezed my injured hand on his wound, hoping to invoke enough agony to make him retreat, but his force of will was nearly as desperate as mine. Snarling, he bared sharp canines. Warm, bloody spittle dripped onto my face.

I curled my other hand into a fist and punched him in the head over and over again, all the while digging my fingers into his deep wound.

My arms started to shake. I was sweating and panting and consumed by terror. My strength was giving out. I stopped hitting the monster with my fist and used both hands to tear at his mutilated neck.

Somehow, the wispy memory of a self-defense class I watched online floated up from the panic drowning me. If an attacker gets you on the ground, put your feet on his hips and push. He’ll go down or you’ll go up. Either way, it’s a chance to get free.

I had nothing to lose.

I raised my trembling legs, and put my blood-soaked shoes right on his bony hips.

I shoved with all my might.

The wolf yelped as he was thrust away from me. He stumbled, his tongue lolling out as he dragged in rattling breaths. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed the first thing I laid my hands on—the lamp.

I yanked the cord free of the wall as I swung the lamp and smashed it against his skull. He went down onto his side and I began hitting him.

It didn’t matter that the cloying darkness hid most of him from me.

I had purpose.

The shade got crushed, the bulb broke, and the ceramic base threatened to shatter in my hands, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

The lamp broke and slipped out of my grasp. I sucked in huge breaths, sobbing so hard my head clogged and my throat closed.

The front door burst open—knocked off its hinges.

Dazed, I turned and looked at the shattered wood. Why would anyone destroy the door? It hadn't been locked.

I sank to my knees and looked down at my trembling hands. They were coated with blood. Blood was everywhere. On me. The floor. The bodies nearby.

I had nothing left within me to fight any more. Whatever came inside next could have me—I’d throw myself down in front of it, creature or human.

“You killed him.” My vision was stained with tears and blood, but the man standing above me looked like a giant. He squatted down. “Are you hurt?”

“I—” Words failed. I felt like the ground was shifting beneath me and the room started spinning.

I fell and fell and fell.

Into the dark.  

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In 2014, I wrote this story as a spicy paranormal romance serial, and published it in the early days of Kindle Unlimited. Later, I revised it and released it as a full-length novel. In 2021, I updated and serialized it again for the Radish app. In 2024, I’m rewriting it completely and posting it once again as a serial for free.

Notes about this chapter:

Originally, the setting of this story was a made-up place in the Nevada desert named Bleed City. The experiences of living in Las Vegas, Nevada, wandering desert ghost towns, and visiting Virginia City in the northern part of the state left an impression on me.

I live in Missouri now, so I’ve moved the town with me, and renamed it Gumption. No more desert. Instead, we have a forest with darkness and secrets.

I removed a secondary character named Cacie Lynn from this chapter. I don’t know yet if she’ll survive the revision process.

What goes is as important as what stays.

This new Chapter 1 is the combination of the first two chapters in the previously written novel.

In the original version, the male lead bursts into the house with his sword-wielding best friend. I love the second male lead, and he will find a new way into the story.

Sometimes, you don’ t have to kill your darlings.

That said, I’m deleted a lot from these chapters. Carving away words brings those left into sharper focus. I think it’s why I like revisions so much. The reshaping of experiences through word choice brings me joy.

I deleted this sentence: I knew with abhorrent certainty that my life would soon belong to the wolf.

I really liked this line, but I also felt like it didn’t add anything to the story. Still, I wanted to preserve it. Ego? Maybe. Probably. But I should love my work, too.

Sharing fiction with readers becomes a symbiotic process. I don’t know what will resonate with you. What you’ll remember. What you’ll imagine or create with the story path I’m creating.

The story I tell becomes yours to interpret, to love or hate as you wish. When you read this, the story is no longer mine, but yours.

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