“What are you doing here, Kat?”
Justin’s voice growls at me from the edge of the forest. The trees are thick here. Their shade makes long, dark shadows, even in the morning sunshine. Justin slips out of one of those shadows, looking nervous. But nervous of what?
I’m standing in the clearing with my back to the old silver mineshaft. I never wanted to visit this place again. “I had to see for myself,” I say. "I had to make sure he’s dead.”
We both glance over at the mine shaft. Once it had a big cave-like entrance with a dark yawning mouth. Now there’ nothing to see but a big pile of jagged rocks. As far as I can tell, the whole mine collapsed, crushing Killer Paw like a bug.
At least that’s what we thought. But what if Killer Paw wasn’t killed? What if he somehow survived the cave-in and crawled out? What if…
“Nobody walks away from that,” says Justin, as if he’s read my mind. “Killer Paw is gone. I’m sure of it.”
“I’m not,” I say. “Didn’t you hear me howling?”
“The whole forest heard you.”
“Don’t you get it? I’m still a friggin’ werewolf!”
Justin looks down at his feet. “Yeah, I know.”
“But I thought if I killed the wolf who bit me, the curse would be lifted?”
“I’m sorry, Kat. The old legends must be wrong. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t be a werewolf anymore.” I’m yelling at him. None of this messed up situation is Justin’s fault, but I can’t help it. I’ve got no one else to yell at.
“You don’t have a choice.” Justin’s voice is almost a whisper. “This is who you are now. You need to accept that.”
“No. I need to be normal. I need…”
A twig snaps. Justin twists around lightning-quick, looking into the trees again. His whole body goes tense. A squirl scampers into the clearing, spots us, and does a 180 back into the trees. Justin lets out a sigh of relief.
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“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Why are you so jumpy?”
Justin doesn’t meet my eyes. “It’ Killer Paw’s pack. They weren’t interested in being friends.”
“But they’re gonna stay away from the town, right? They’re going to leave everyone alone.”
“I don’t know.”
My heart revs up. I feel it pounding inside my chest. “My mom and sister are out in the woods right now. They’re camping with a troop of Sunflower Scouts. Are they in danger?”
Justin pauses a moment, searching for the right words to say. Words that will comfort me and put my mind at ease. But all he manages is… “I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No,” says Justin. The word sounds like a slamming door. “If the pack sees us together again, they’ll never listen to me.”
“Why not?”
“I’m an outsider to them, because I don’t share the same bloodline. But you do. That makes you a traitor to the pack. You chose humans over them and helped kill their leader. I don’t know if the pack will forgive you for that.”
My skin suddenly feels flush and hot. My eyes well up, and my shoulders slump low like heavy weights are pulling my arms down. “I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Kat.” Justin stalks towards the woods, not even throwing a glance back at me. “Just go home.”
***
I wander alone through the woods, trying to fight off the tears. I totally fail. My eyes go all wet and squinty and snot rolls out of my nostrils. Real cool, right? I wasn’t great at being a teenager. Wasn’t the best sister in the world or the best daughter. But at least I wasn’t some furry, savage monster.
What am I going to do?
The trees thin out and my path leads into another clearing. In the center, surrounded by tree stumps and weeds, sits a few old cabins. Sunshine doesn’t do them any favors. They remind me of the old un-housed guys you’d sometimes see at the city park, slumped over and gray-skinned. The cabin roofs are all saggy with worn shingles. The walls, once painted a happy yellow, are now faded and scared with cracks. The porches are infested with spiderwebs and piles of dead, brown pine needles.
It's been a while since I’ve seen this place. Me and my dad hiked here a few times when I was little. It’s some old lumberjack camp or something, shut down way before I was born. Heck, probably before my dad was born. He told me once the county planned to make it a historic site, someplace with a plaque, a nice path, and some picnic tables. But they couldn’t because the camp was haunted. Dad said everyone was afraid the lumberjack ghosts would rise up and scare off the tourists.
Real funny, Dad. Friggin’ hilarious.
I tell myself that over and over, but I still find myself holding my breath. I wipe away my tears and walk quicker, taking the long way around the camp. Afterall, if werewolves are real, why not ghosts?
Just what I need—being cursed and haunted.
I let out a fake chuckle to myself as pine needles crunch under my sneakers. Without realizing it, I break into a jog, hurrying towards town. With my luck, the ghosts will chase me the whole way.