The Hunt

           I am having a distinctly Snow-White moment right now and I cannot say that I care for it. This is rather ironic since as a little girl I loved to play princesses. I know that’s horribly un-pc of me to admit, given how in this day and age little girls wanting to play princesses is viewed by many as a slight to Susan B. Anthony and all who came after her. Little girls would be far better served to dress up in white lab coats and imagine that one day they’ll be the first person to perform surgery on the moon. Yikes, now I’m being blithe about girl power. I don’t mean to be. I just think if a little girl wants to put on her fanciest dress (the one with the most twirl potential, obviously), pair it with a bejeweled plastic crown, and then dance and sing around the house, this does not in fact have to be viewed as a major blow to the matriarchy. Not that twirling around in a ball gown is what’s giving me my Snow-White moment. No, sadly I’m stuck in the live action sequence of her dash through the woods as she flees the huntsmen.

            That’s right, I’m running through the woods, it’s dark, the trees seem to have eyes, and oh look-there’re a few woodland creatures now. Just in time to complete the scene. Sadly, the pair of deer I’ve suddenly spotted have no interest in assisting me, but are instead staring at me with their orb-like eyes as if contemplating the best method by which to kill me. Trampling and death by a swift kick to the head being their top two choices. Thankfully they have mercy on me and dash away. I’m not foolish enough to think they want me to follow them to a cottage owned by seven men in need of a maid. Nor would I be interested in such a role. I like my job as a software engineer just fine thank you very much. 

           Anyways, back to the task at hand. It’s pitch black out here and the flashlight on my phone barely provides enough light to see my own hand. I should just turn around and go back. I would turn around and go back if I thought I could find my way... If me turning up empty-handed wouldn’t result in a wrath far greater than that of the Evil Queen. I mean her diabolical plan basically involved putting Snow White down for a nap. Endless hours of uninterrupted slumber-I’d pay good money to have that kind of curse put on me.

           Right, where was I? Oh yes, focusing on the task at hand. And not panicking. Clearly when I rushed off into the woods after Neil I was not thinking straight. I stop running, hoping that maybe my ears will decide to make up for my sight deficiencies. I hear the typical nighttime in the woods sounds-crickets chirping, wind blowing, and... that’s it. No Neil. I don’t even hear leave rustling, which is a good thing I suppose, since there’s no way I could guarantee that Neil would be the one rustling them, and I am not prepared to defend myself against a madman in the woods. All I have on me is my phone. Too bad there’s not some sort of mace app you can purchase for times like these. I’m not sure how it would work exactly, but I think there’s potential there. If I could just find some way to add a hidden compartment to an iPhone. One you fill with mace that can only be released when you open the app and press the trigger. No, that’s a ridiculous idea, mace is an aerosol spray, plus people let their kids play with their phones. Can you imagine the lawsuit if some kid found the hidden compartment? The news apps would have a field day. I can see the headline now-Young Boy Maces Brother: Future Psycho or Faulty App to Blame? I snort at the thought, but the snort quickly turns into a gasp of fear when I hear a sound to my left. I stand motionless hoping to fend off detection. There are no other sounds though and slowly my heart rate returns to normal.

           “Neil,” I finally hiss out his name. He didn’t answer me at all when I ran shouting into the woods, but I haven’t said his name for some time. He’s got to be getting cold by now. I know I’m freezing. The temperature seems to have dropped at least ten degrees since I first entered the woods. “Neil!” I say louder.

           There’s a sudden howling noise from not far away and I stupidly cry, “Werewolf!” before realizing I’m not living inside a Harry Potter novel, and there are no such things as werewolves in southeastern Michigan. Plus, part of the reason the woods are so dark, despite the fact that it’s late October and most of the leaves have fallen off the trees, is that the moon is in the waning part of its cycle. There’s barely a sliver of the shiny white satellite visible in the indigo sky. So, even if I could summon Neil with a simple flick of my wand and a muttered “Accio”, I wouldn’t have to worry about running into any werewolves along the way for at least another two weeks.

           It occurs to me that perhaps I should be heading towards the howling rather than continuing to compare my circumstances to those of random fictional characters, so I begrudgingly set off in that direction, pulling my useless cardigan tighter around myself as I go. There’s another round of howling, and I pick up my pace.

           If I actually manage to find Neil out here, I wonder how we’ll get home. He’s clearly lost, and I’m definitely lost…not exactly a winning combination. I check my phone, hoping I might be able to try and use google maps, but instead of bars I see the words ‘No Service’ displayed on the top left corner of the screen. Shoot. Well, one problem at a time. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t bring Neil home.

           I’m getting closer to the howling now, and-wait, is that fire up there? I quicken my steps, eyes laser focused on the luminescence ahead.

           “Awwoooo!” There’s another howl, but this one stops me in my tracks. That was not an animal. “Awwoooo!” There it was again. But wait, that sounded almost like…well…a human. Three things seem to click into place all at once.

           One, the trees are starting to thin. Two, I smell smoke. And three, the human howling was almost certainly my four-year-old daughter Emma. Instantly I take off running, a million thoughts, all of them some variation of the same worry, crowd my brain as I sprint through the brush. “Emma!” I cry frantically, heart pounding, Neil long forgotten.

           Then quite suddenly I’m in my backyard. And yes, there’s a fire, a bonfire. And there’s Emma perched on the ground her hand on Neil’s back as she arches her back and emits another imitation howl.

           I’m panting heavily, and when Emma’s howl finally dies down, three faces turn towards me at the same time.

           “Oh good, you’re back,” my mother says as if I’ve just returned from a trip to the grocery store.

           “Mommy!” Emma cries, running over and hugging me. “Guess who came back?”

           “Woof!” Neil barks and trots over to me, tail wagging, mouth wide in his doggy version of a smile.

           Relief mixed with exhaustion bring me to my knees and Neil joyfully licks my face. I grimace as his rough tongue brushes over my mouth. “Ugh Neil,” I push him gently away, his dog breath making my nose wrinkle. Like Snow-White my story ends with a kiss, but I hope for her sake Prince Charming had better dental hygiene than Neil.