Visitors

I still remember the first time I saw them. At the time, I had no idea how significant it would be in changing the direction of my life, but within a matter of weeks from that day, it became quite clear that a turning point had occurred. I probably should’ve recognized the importance when it happened. It’s not as if it was an ordinary event, after all, but at the time, I chalked it up to something strange, something unexpected, and went on about my day. Until the next afternoon when everything began to change, and my life spiraled out of control.

It was a Sunday morning. Like usual, my stepdad, Max, was making breakfast for the family. The scent of bacon coated my lungs as I entered the kitchen, my mouth already watering. No one makes bacon and eggs like Max. I remember, my mom, Helena, and my younger sister, Grayson, were seated at the table, chatting about an assignment my sister needed to complete for her history class the next day. The school year was almost over; it was May, and we only had three weeks left. I remember distinctly that it was May 14, the day before my seventeenth birthday.

“Come have a seat, Harlow,” my mother said to me as I sauntered in, my eyes slitted as I concentrated on the savory smell of the cooking meat. I would have gone directly over to the cozy dining area in the corner of the kitchen, like normal, if something out the window hadn’t caught my attention. We lived in California at the time, just outside of Sacramento, a populace place. While our house was small and our yard was anything but big, it backed up to a green belt of sorts--not that much of anything was green there. Large rocks and a few scraggly trees were visible from the kitchen window. Nearer the house, there was a thin strip of brownish grass and our old swing set, which Grayson and I hadn’t used for about a decade. At first, I assumed the movement I caught out of the corner of my eye was just a swing blowing in the breeze, but when I turned my head, I realized that wasn’t it at all.

I only saw one of them at first. He was a dark gray, large, so large, in fact, that his shoulders towered above the swings, which were rocking back and forth but not due to the wind. Rather, he had bumped them as he made his way through. I froze, taking a few steps closer to the window, which was directly across the room from where Mom and Grayson sat, their backs to the scene that had caught my attention. I was drawn to the window, but not out of fear, more out of curiosity.

I remember standing there with my hand pressed to the glass, as if I thought he might be about to say something to me, not that it seemed like a possibility at the time. He sat down, resting back on his haunches, his blue eyes penetrating through the window and into my soul. I stared back, trying to comprehend what I was seeing. It wasn’t as if it was an alley cat or a stray dog sitting in our back yard, staring at me. It was a wolf--a large one. A menacing wolf, with sharp canines protruding from his mouth, his fur dark, the mane around his mammoth head shaggy in a way that made him seem even more dangerous, the tufts coming to points at the end. His snout was mostly white, which contrasted with the red from his mouth and his saliva covered tongue that darted out between those sharp, white teeth every few seconds.

“What are you looking at?” The sound of my mother’s voice, full of alarm, should’ve jarred me out of my stupor, made me realize that what I was looking at was unnatural, especially where we lived. Perhaps this sort of thing might’ve been more common in the woods or near a mountain range, but even then, looking back now, I should’ve realized how strange the situation was.

But I didn’t. I didn’t even answer my mother. I just stared out the back glass for a few more moments until I realized there was a second wolf. This one was standing on the ridge above our yard, on the other side of the fence. I’m not sure how I knew that the smaller, brownish red wolf was a female and the other a male. It might’ve been their size, but there was just something about her that exuded female. When she made a high pitched yipping sound, as if she was calling him to come on, he didn’t move at first, his eyes still trained on my face. It wasn’t until the second, more urgent yelp that he began to move. Even then, he paused before he climbed up the hill to turn and look at me. He’d taken the fence in one easy leap, stopping atop the rocks behind the house to look me in the eye once more, lick his lips with that long red tongue, and then follow the female out of sight.

Once they were both gone, I found myself staring at nothing, blinking, trying to gain enough control over my mouth to answer the questions coming from all three of my family members. Max’s voice broke through my delirium. “Harlow? What are you staring at?”

“Oh,” I’d said, shaking my head to clear it. “Nothing. I mean… something.” It was then that it dawned on me that it was all so unusual. “Wolves,” I said, trying to keep my tone nonchalant. I turned then, expecting them to tell me I was crazy. 

It was only my sister who said, “What? Wolves?” My parents exchanged a look that said more than I realized at the time and then went on about our day as if nothing had happened.

“Come sit down,” Mom said again, pulling a chair out for me. Her smile was forced, but I didn’t notice because I was still thinking about the wolves, the way the male seemed to be staring at me, as if he were a person, as if he had something he wanted to say to me, something he wanted me to know.

Again, I tried to shake it off and go on about my day. Within an hour or two, it had slipped my mind, and I was able to have a normal Sunday, spending time with my family, talking to my friends online. Nothing else unusual happened that day. It wasn’t until the next day that the world began to fall apart in a way I never would’ve thought possible.