A Quiet Dawn

There is no time to lose focus. This time I will succeed. I have to.

“Ethan? Are you good? You don’t look too hot.” Moli says, slowly backing off from my hunched figure.

Moli is visibly the most stunned. He generally hates the outdoors, staining his jeans, walking in mud, but he doesn’t even notice himself stepping into the puddle and dirtying his "good" pair of shoes. Erica is no different, although she hides it well. She runs her hand through her bangs, clearly confused, if not agitated, the orange tint of the bonfire sharpening the dark brown shades of her hair. Regardless, fear wafts through the air, a dull aroma that doesn’t escape my newly heightened senses.  

My eyes widen in surprise. I quickly cusp my hands over my nostrils, shielding myself from the smells. It’s happening faster than anticipated.

Moli tugs on Erica’s shirt, wide brown eyes fixated on me. “Is it just me, or did he just growl at us?”

“Hey, now.”

“Like ‘grrr’ that kinda growl? I wasn’t hallucinating, that actually happened,” he whispers. Moli fiddles with the aglets of his sweater. His glasses droop from his nose, although he does not care enough to fix it.

“Oh, shush. Now’s not the time.” Erica shoots me an almost daring look as she comforts Moli. “Ethan, what’s going on? This isn’t funny.”

My mind is elsewhere, and for a moment, the rustle of trees dominates the scene. I am the first to break the silence. “My dad taught me something a while back – he said that nothing should be taken for granted.”

The words ride off my heaving breath. I can feel the moonlight creeping out from behind the clouds. My stomach churns, and my hands instinctively grip the rough wooden surface of the picnic table. I mutter in my concentration, the beast beckoning in my mind. I refuse. I have a responsibility to my friends and family. I can’t lose focus now.

“What did he say again?” I crack a smile, trying my hardest to avert my gaze. I need to distract myself. “Something stupid, like ‘from the clouds in the sky to the dirt on the ground, everything has value, even if you don’t know it yet.”

To my surprise, Erica lets out a small chuckle. Whether it comes from amusement or worry, I can't say. “Wow, your dad must be great at parties.”

“Yeah, he must have gotten it from a book. I bet he thought it made him look cool.”

“Erica,” Moli says, “something’s wrong with Ethan. We gotta go.”

Anyone could sense his discomfort. One look at his darkened silhouette and I can already tell his lip is quivering, like always. Quickly, I shut my eyes. If the night vision is any indication, I can confidently say that I am turning. Not good. I wonder if they can even see my yellowing irises within the darkness.

I hear Erica take a deep breath. Her voice rings loudly through the chilly night air. “What’s going on, Ethan? What’s happening? Are you sick? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

My voice is throatier than usual. “No, it’s something else. Just give me a minute, just let me - let me focus.”

“Are you sick? You’re clearly fighting something. Do we need to call 911?”

“Need anything?” Moli faces Erica. “Let’s get his dad, we can–”

“No!” I shout accidentally, waving my hands in front of me. “Ah. No, no. It’s…”

With the next gust of wind, the smell of fresh sweat washes over my heightened senses, along with a vague sense of familiarity. I reflexively begin to growl. Small rolls of the tongue for me, yet guttural and threatening for my prey – no, no. My friends. Erica drops her casual demeanour momentarily in response, retreating ever so slightly. I don’t understand why they haven’t sprinted away yet. Perhaps my confidence comforts them. Even so, I know deep down that the calm never lasts. A storm is slowly encroaching me.

I shield my eyes from my invitees and look towards the sky. The clouds are still parting, although I know I have a long night ahead of myself. A distraction, anything. My mind wanders in a haze, and my mouth slowly begins to move.

“I’m a werewolf.”

Moli pushes his glasses up, breathing heavily. “You gotta do better than that if you’re trying to lie to us. We don’t judge, no matter what kinda disease you have, or whatever medicine you need? Are your hands okay, by the way?”

Erica begins to back away now. Her brave front is crumbling down, rubble in the dirt.

She points to my right, finger shaking. “No, he’s… Oh, god.”

I follow Erica’s line of sight. The picnic table now has four distinct claw marks. My hand is almost unrecognizable, covered in brown fur, dark claws extending from my fingertips. I know exactly what comes next. I grit my teeth as the clouds in the sky part completely, almost like a celestial gate opening its doors. Moonlight shines through, dimly illuminating the wet grass. My spine tingles. I can’t stop myself from looking up.

A howl rings through the air. My own, a hoarse voice, becoming a snarl. My face begins to twist, the bones cracking beneath my skin. I let out a single word:

“Sorry.”

A burst of movement from my side sends me into a frenzy. I rush up to the creature and pounce, biting into its flesh. The rabbit kicks feebly as I sink my teeth into its neck, and it slowly ceases to move. I only catch a glimpse of Erica’s and Moli’s horrified expressions. Moli screams. My body falls on all fours, eyes facing the ground. I hear wet footsteps slowly fading in the distance, despite knowing that no matter how fast they run, it won’t be enough. Deep down, I know I would still catch them if given the chance. Hollow silence fills the air as I struggle to reach into my pocket. A sense of fuzziness appears in my mind as I rip out a handful of wet grass. With a groan, I reach into my pocket and pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

“My name is Ethan.”

I fall to my side and curl up. My body has shifted completely from my human self. My snout digs into the ground as I look down at my hands, wet fur clings to my stomach.

Deep breaths. “My… My name is Ethan.”

Saliva drips from my mouth. I grit my teeth. An eternity passes. I squeeze my eyes shut. My mind begins to fade in and out, almost like falling into a dream. I struggle to stay lucid, to keep my thoughts from slipping down into that abyss. The paper feels wet, ruined. Did I drop it? I can’t tell anymore.

Did I really think that would work?

I’m so hungry. But I have to continue, so my friends won’t get hurt. So my dad won’t have to worry.

“My… My name…”

My tongue is dry, limp, but my mouth seems to move on its own, repeating the same line over and over. The meaning is lost to me. My thoughts begin to drift.

Two weeks ago, my dad suggested to me that I organize a meet-up for the first time. Rather, whether from the strange way his words slurred at the ends or the subtle flash of teeth, it took more so the form of a command than a request.

"Ethan, you’ve made some good friends. Haven't you?" Dad asked one day, out of the blue.

That day, I was taken aback. For one, dad generally didn’t pay attention to my social life. Even when he did ask about school, it resembled a guidance counsellor more so than a concerned parent. I preferred to stick to myself at school, and only had a few close friends. I never hang out with them outside of school; I preferred relaxing alone. Instinctively, I growled. The combination of a threatening tone and large frame towering over me spoke louder than his glass smile.

“Is it because the cycles are getting bigger? Because I can handle it, you don’t need to worry,” I said.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?

“I’m sure I can control it.”

“Even during a full moon?”

I hesitated. “…I can’t say for sure.”

The room chilled, and I knew that momentary pause lost me any sort of credibility. Yet instead of taking advantage of my mistake, dad stared me down, grinning devilishly, perhaps at my discontent.

“You’re getting older, kid,” he said. “It’s only gonna get worse from here. Stop hiding it.”

“I know that. We turn faster, we get stronger, and at the same time, our mind rots quicker than it used to while the moon is out. I can almost control it, I’m getting there. And I’m not a kid anymore.”

Dad nodded. “You’re not. But I couldn’t care less about that. Let me ask you this, though – you still take that little remedy your mother makes for you before you go to bed every once and a while, right?”

I didn’t need it every night, but Mom’s syrup helped calm the nerves. Werewolves’ strength and turning potential increases with the moon’s brightness. When I was small, she masked the bitterness of the medicine with honey and ginger, although I’d outgrown such tricks. She said that the herbs quelled the beast inside of me – I took it weekly, as it helped me sleep better when the moon was especially bright. Dad continued to speak despite my silence.

“You’ve never skipped a dose as far as I can tell. You know why? Because you need it. It helps calm us down, satisfies the beast inside of us. When you were just a pup, you – actually, I’ll just be blunt – you were pathetic in terms of mental strength. You’d transform into another Gévaudan for all I know without it. But that little syrup isn’t meant to be used for this long. Your mother and I were generous, but this can’t keep going.”

“What are you saying?”

“There’s a reason we call it ‘Eclipse’. At our final development stage, once we grow and our wolf form develops, it won’t just sit there and take it anymore. You’ll need more and more, eventually reaching dangerous, even lethal, doses for your normal body. I hoped that you’d grow out of it eventually, but…” He trailed off.

“It’s dangerous, Ethan. I get it, you’re still young, full of energy, and haven’t a care in the world. But you need a smudge of austere to live a good life. Look. I was late to the party, too. It certainly took a good while, but your grandmother managed to train me off it. And just like me, you’re bound to have failures.”

My gut churned, and my bravado rescinded. “Failures?”

“The clock is ticking and your mother and I are not letting you become another stone in the ground.”

I was beginning to understand. “Wait. No, I’m still not ready -”

“You better be ready for the big day, then. Mark it down. April 7^th.” He sighed. “You’re almost at your limit, son. I can’t stand idle anymore. You have two weeks.”

I bared my few fangs. “No! What the – are you insane?! You’re asking me to gamble on my own sanity, on the safety of my –”

“Don’t you show your pathetic fangs at me!” Dad roared, displaying a full set of honed canines. “What happened to that courage from earlier? That confidence?”

My face reddened. “But I cant.”

“Oh, stop with that whimpering!” Dad snarled. “With that kinda mindset, you’ll never make it. Do you want to keep taking the syrup and lose your mind? Die? Is that it? Or do you want to just wait? Then sooner or later, you’ll find out the hard way that your ‘regular’ dose wasn’t enough and begin rampaging through the street like a rabid dog, just like everyone before you who said the same thing. ‘I can control it’. Ha!”

My eyes fell to the floor – as he shouted, dad’s face morphed into that of a menacing wolf. I couldn’t face him; I was terrified. Confidence escaped me. My breath trembled from my lips.

“And that’s all you have to say? What’s your next step, then? Chain yourself up every night, as if that’ll make your problems magically go away? Don’t you understand that this will eventually destroy your human mind as well? Don’t give me that look like you never thought about it. Losing memories every night for years would deteriorate your brain until you couldn’t think straight anymore. This is not a fairy tale, Ethan! These are real stories from my friends and family, and kid, you are lagging behind! Get a grip!”

With a pause, dad sighed. Slowly, he placed his hand on my shoulder. The mismatch between his hairy, canine face and his human-like hand was almost foreign to me. A level of control I had never achieved in my life. My shoulder shook as he held me.

“You can have two weeks to get ready and control yourself,” he muttered solemnly, “or a year to learn your fullest. There’s only so much I can push you. Please, try your hardest, Ethan. You have to.”

It was only after he left me alone that I realized my mistake. I wasn’t the one shaking. I wasn’t the one left terrified.

Two weeks later, the police arrived to ask about the animal attacks. Even though the claw marks were too large for any regular raccoon or dog, they didn’t know any better. The sound of their names made me want to vomit. I stopped attending my classes for the rest that year. Every month, every full moon, I tried my hardest, I really did, to resist taking the medicine. And every time, I’d wake up either will syrup in hand or with a gap in my memory, bite marks and territorial scratches around my bedroom.

I couldn’t even last a month, and before the school year ended, my family moved away. My throat dried at the thought of doing it all again. That was the first-time dad told me to distance myself from my surroundings.

Never again. No more mistakes. No more. My dad’s worry, my friend’s fear: I’ll tear it down. I will control myself. I have to. Even now, the thought gnaws through my mind. Perhaps it is the only thing keeping my sanity from slipping away. How much time has passed? How long have I laid here? Every breath feels forced. I refuse to trust myself, my instincts.

Then, a familiar scent.

Cautiously, I open my eyes. Moli doesn’t speak; he merely kneels. I glance at my arm. There isn’t any fur. My t-shirt is dyed red. A weak groan escapes my lips. With a strong pull, he grabs my arm and swings it over his shoulder. Dirty animal blood stains his jacket.

“Your dad told me you were still here,” he says.

When I moved to Kanata, I knew this clearing in the woods would be my best shot – flat, grassy floor, a clear path through the surrounding trees, and wind that always blew the right direction. This morning, the leaves quietly flow in and out of my sight. They sparkle in the sunset that evening as if reflecting the glimmering snowflakes to come. Brilliant shades of red, orange, yellow flutter to the ground in a flurry. Each gust of wind carries with it a new cycle of colours.

Did I succeed? I’m too exhausted for any celebration. I feel sick to my core, a dull drill excavating my skull, and I have no strength left in me to hide it. Moli doesn't notice. Or, he doesn't care.

It is a quiet journey. No one utters a sound. If this were last year, I would have strutted my way to Erica’s front door, head full of daydreams as the packs of clouds drifted languidly like soft paint strokes across the evening sky. It would be an average day – just me spending time with Moli and Erica. Sharing a pizza, talking about school, and relaxing to the rustling leaves. A quiet afternoon before, but a fantasy by now for sure. Some scars don’t heal.

“Why did you come back? Aren’t you scared? Aren’t you angry?” I ask. I try to, at the very least. Only the first word escapes, and it is but a whisper.

Moli hesitates briefly before responding. “You apologized last night. Still annoyed. But it’s worth something, y’know.”

When we reach the backyard. I look at the neighbouring house, quickly spying Erica’s silhouette from the window. But it disappears soon after.

He shakes his head. “I think she needs some time.”

“We should talk. I owe you one. An explanation.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, you do. There’s a lotta thing to say, a lotta questions to answer. Tell me when you’re cleaned up. Trust me, you look awful.” A pause. “I need some time, too, ‘kay?”

“I’m so sorry, Moli.”

Without a response, he drops me off at the backyard entrance. Usually, he’d give me a high five, a fist bump, but today, he only leaves me a small wave of his hand as he heads off.

“See ya, wolf.”

From my house, low thumps make their way from the basement. I watch Moli as he makes his way towards the street, hands in his pockets, eyes facing forward, steadfast. His lip is quivering. He's terrified, but he tries to hide it anyways.

Quietly, I lock the door behind me.