Savage
1967

Gift

It was a late summer night. Hot and sticky, like most summer nights in Baton Rouge. My family had retreated to an RV campsite on the city’s edge, as they did every summer weekend. It was past midnight and I was wandering the woods alone. Nothing unusual about that. I suppose there should be something unusual about a young child roaming the forest at night, but my parents had a vague idea of my whereabouts, and didn’t care about the specifics. As long as I stayed out of trouble and didn’t bother them, I could do as I liked.

Saturday nights at the campground were always the same. My parents and their friends would gather at one of the sites, start a bonfire and drink and talk until morning. We kids were left to amuse ourselves. My older brothers were supposed to look after me but, as usual, they were with their friends, enjoying filched beer and cigarettes, and were quite happy to let me take off on my own, as long as I hightailed it back to the campsite when my parents finally whistled us in to bed.

I wandered the wooded paths for a while, but didn’t expect to see anything. Not what I wanted to see, at least. I’d only seen it once, and when I had, I’d run and not stopped until I was safe with my brothers. I’d cursed my cowardice a million times since then. All my nights of exploring, and when I finally found something worth seeing, I’d bolted like a baby. Each Saturday night after that, I screwed up my courage and ventured into the woods…and saw nothing more wondrous than fireflies.

Time was running out. Just yesterday, my brothers had said there were only two weeks of summer left, which meant only two more weekends at the campground. Tonight, I decided I’d take the next step. I’d go to the string of cabins along the front road, see if he was in his, maybe catch him heading into the woods.

As soon as I neared the edge of the woods, I saw him. A gray-haired man, sitting alone behind his cabin, smoking and staring out into the night. I watched from the forest, heart hammering. Finally, the man stubbed out his cigarette, got to his feet and turned to head into the cabin.

In that moment, I made a decision—a decision only a child would even consider.

I stepped from the forest. The man stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Tired of hiding in the trees?” he said.

His voice was sharp, with an accent I’d never heard in these parts. He turned then. His gaze traveled over me, eyes hooded to bored slits.

“Well? What do you want, boy?”

“I saw what you did.”

His expression didn’t change. “How nice for you.”

I’d expected him to deny it, or at least play dumb, so when he didn’t, I was left standing there, arguments jammed in my throat.

“I—I saw you do it,” I said finally. “I saw what you turned into. I know what you are.”

“So you said.” He yawned and rolled his shoulders. “How fast can you run, boy? Hope it’s not too fast, because, truth is, I’m not really in the mood—”

“I want to do it.”

He stopped stretching. “You want…?”

I stepped closer. “I want to do it myself. If you help me, I won’t tell on you.”

“Tell—?” He threw back his head and laughed, then looked down at me, lips still twitching in barely contained laughter. “And how do you think I’m supposed to help you? Wave my magic wand and poof, you’re a—”

“You have to bite me.” I pulled myself up as tall as I could. “I’m not stupid. I know how it works.”

His gaze met mine and for a second he faltered. Then he shook his head sharply. “Well, boy, something tells me I’m going to wake up in that chair a few hours from now, and this will all be part of the strangest dream I’ve ever had, but sure, let’s give it a whirl. If somehow I am awake, this is a hell of a lot easier than chasing you. Now, you just wait right here while I get ready, okay?”

I nodded.

“If you run away, I’ll have to come after you. Neither of us wants that, right?”

I nodded.

“Good. Now, it’ll sting some, but don’t you worry. Before you know it, it’ll all be over.”

A final nod from me, and he disappeared into the forest.

Long minutes passed, and I began to worry that he’d cheated me. Then the brush rustled. From somewhere deep within me came the urge to bolt. I forced my feet to stay still, despising my weakness.

I turned slowly. I knew what to expect, but still didn’t expect it.

Before me stood a wolf as tall as me. His eyes met mine—eyes that were unmistakably human. Those eyes and his monstrous size were the only things left of the man. The rest was wolf.

The test had come. I felt my body betray me, arm hairs prickle, legs tremble, a heavy weight bearing down in my groin as if I was seconds away from pissing myself. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to meet his gaze. He had to bite me. I knew what a werewolf was, and how you became one. My older brothers delighted in scaring me with monster stories, never guessing that I wasn’t scared at all, that I listened to their tales and thought only of how lucky the monsters were, that they never had to cower under a bed or hide in a closet, listening to drunken curses and punches, and knowing if they were found, they’d be next. Monsters didn’t fear. They were fear. Now I had a chance to try that for myself. So I took a deep breath, held out my arm and waited.

Something flickered in the wolf ’s eyes—surprise, shock, maybe even the barest hint of uncertainty. He growled. I didn’t budge. He snapped at my arm, teeth sinking in. Pain ripped through it. I stumbled back, tripping over my feet and falling as he let go. Warm blood trickled down my arm and hot urine soaked my jeans. I looked at my arm and saw blood flowing from twin gashes in the soft underside. I struggled to my feet. The wolf stared at me, as if confused. His tongue lolled out, blood-pink saliva dripping from its tip.

I met his eyes and grinned. I had done it. I’d been bitten. The gift was mine.

He lowered his head, his eyes never leaving mine. A low growl started in the pit of his stomach. He hunkered down. Then he sprang.

I should have died that moment. That was his plan, not to turn me into a werewolf, but to kill me, to put a quick and easy end to the minor inconvenience of my existence. So what happened? Was I so brave and strong and smart that I outmaneuvered my fate? Hardly. I tripped.

I saw him spring. As I stumbled back, my foot caught on a root and I twisted sideways. Instead of landing on top of me, the wolf crashed down beside me, fur brushing my arm.

Somehow, I managed to keep enough balance to come out of the tumble running. Instinctively, I ran for the front of the cabin, for the main road heading past the campground.

Before I’d gone twenty feet, I heard a snort and knew the wolf had recovered from his fall. My throat dried up. My brain shut down. My legs seemed to move of their own accord, running so fast that slivers of pain shot through my calves and my lungs.

I raced for the road. I heard pounding, either the blood rushing in my ears or his paws on the hard-packed dirt—it didn’t matter. I knew he was behind me.

I heard a scream. No, not a scream. The screech of tires and brakes. The flash of headlights. A car heading into the campground.

I tripped over the curb and sprawled onto the road. Someone shouted. I lifted my head to see two men jump from the car, arms waving. The wolf hesitated, then turned and ran for the forest.

“What the hell was that?” one man yelled. “It was huge!”

“Forget it,” the other said. “Go call an ambulance. The kid’s bleeding.”

I wobbled to my feet.

“Whoa. Hold on there, little guy.”

I looked up, saw them approaching, two large faceless shadows. I bolted for the opposite side of the road, heading for the highway across the embankment. Behind me, the men shouted. Instead of following on foot, though, they ran back to their car. By the time they got the car turned around, I was long gone.

I don’t remember what happened next. I assume there was a search for me, maybe my picture made it onto a milk carton somewhere. If so, I knew nothing of it and, in later years, never checked back to see how big a fuss my disappearance had caused. As for my parents, I’m sure they played up the tragedy for all it was worth, but stopped searching the moment everyone else stopped caring. If there was a search, I escaped simply by avoiding people—an aversion that became second nature after I was bitten.

Of those first few weeks, all I remember is the pain. Pain and hunger. My mind retreated to some dark hole in my psyche, emerging now and then to spout ribbons of gibberish, then muttering away into silence. The world turned to permanent shadows, even while the Louisiana sun parboiled my skin. Ordinary shapes contorted into funhouse mirror reflections. Alley cats grew to the size of ponies, with gaping mouths and fangs that threatened to swallow me whole. Children’s laughter twisted into the taunting laughs of the old werewolf. I had only to hear a human voice and I’d run scuttling to the shadows. And still the hunger grew.