Fearless

There is a tale going around in my village, old as time itself. It appeared one night, like a cold brisk of air at the coming of winter, groaning with pain and hunger of a ferocious beast, a grand wolf, that occupies the deep nearby forests. They use it to scare children into obedience, but not even the bravest men and women take it lightly. Should you go out of your way, the wolf will catch you. Should you talk to a dark stranger, it is an evil wolf in disguise.

I know this, because I am the wolf.

Some may wonder what goes through the mind of a beast, and many cannot decide whether a beast could possess a human mind at all. Not one that lurks in the shadows, surely, not one considered being nothing but teeth and bloodthirst. I, however, beg to differ. My eyes may be adapted to the dark, my fangs may tear through flesh, my claws leave scraping marks upon the ground I walk on. But I once was human, fragile and clumsy and in bed by moonrise. I too feared the tales of horror echoing through the village streets, so what am I to do now, that the tale of horror features me?

I am forced to wonder, if nothing else, whether all the monsters I feared as a child had been like I am now. Lost, afraid, only longing for a restoration of whoever they might have been. I still hope to encounter them on my aimless wanderings and I howl at the moon each night in hopes someone would howl back at me. An instinct, other wolves would call it, should they have a sapient mind, but I call it a prayer. A prayer to no one, a cry for help no one understands, and I only desire to belong somewhere again. Old monsters have moved on, however – or perhaps, they never existed, and I am the first true monster around these parts.

A monster. What a peculiar name to call oneself. Peculiar enough to forget my own name in the process, as years have gone by since someone had last called me by it.

There is an addition to my tale, however, one that is never included when someone uses it to petrify children. It is a bright addition, a sun ray to my world of darkness. It is one of a fearless young woman, who has looked straight into the wolf's eyes and wasn't afraid. A woman who knew how to break my curse.

I know this, because she is my savior.

I heard her before I saw her, dry branches crumbling loudly under her nearing steps as she wandered too deep into the forest. I growled into her direction, low and menacing, hoping she would understand that she was headed toward the lair of a beast and turn around the second she realized her mistake. Ignorantly, she still kept going – or maybe, she was walking with too much purpose to turn back at my warning. To evade her instead, I stalked away from my prey, a hare I had caught that I still hadn't put out of its misery. Blood drying around my mouth, I lay low behind a nearby bush just as she walked past, clad in a cloak. It was so red it burned my eyes, so red it shocked me.

Ever since I had been turned into a creature, my vision had not been quite right, you see. So many colors I had once been able to see disappeared from my wolfish eyes, making the forest I lived in pale instead of lively, and all the ripest berries yellow instead of pink. But there she was, ignorant of my presence, clad in a color I could finally recognize. Not even the blood of my wounded hare had been so bright.

I crouched down, claws digging into the dirt for leverage as she noticed my dinner. She stopped, looked down, a bright smile akin to sunshine immediately replaced for worry. She kneeled down, unsure of what to do. She wanted to help him, I knew, and despite my awe with all of her colors, I was prepared to snarl, to lung at her, to make my small dinner a feast. But then, she did something inexplicable, something that shook me beyond anything I had ever seen. She hushed the weeping hare and raised a stone, bringing it to its head with a precise strike.

"You do not deserve the pain," she told him, and my ears twitched, the sound of her voice sweet and comforting, like a blessing. Curiously, I raised myself up again, peeking over the bush to reveal myself. Startled by movement behind her, she turned around, her eyes wide and frightened as they met with mine.

She did not run. That was what had amazed me the most. Most people are creatures of movement, immediately jumping to their feet, and then they either pull out their knives or run for their lives. But she did neither. She remained, frozen in place – no, not even frozen. She simply remained, kneeling in front of my dead hare, eyes never leaving me. After the initial shock had worn off and she saw that I was merely regarding her, even the fear left her eyes and, for a second, I thought she could even see the humanity within me.

She stood up slowly, carefully, her every move precisely thought out. Throwing away her stone, she picked up the basket she had with her. She smiled; such a peculiar thing to do when in presence of a beast.

"I am sorry to disrupt your dinner," she addressed me. Again, I was surprised by the courage in her voice, with the lack of a shudder from her vocal cords. I could sense no distress from her, as she could plainly see no danger in me. "However, my friend, I have something much better in store for you."

I snarled, trying to appear threatening. Who did she think she was, talking to me like she knew I, too, once walked on two feet! Who dare she not fear me! Did she not hear the stories about me? Did she not care that she was in the presence of the very thing people had certainly warned her about?

She walked toward me like a deer would walk across a dewy grass field; peacefully, as if there was no danger in sight. It began to frustrate me, how little fear she had. 

"What big eyes you have," she told upon coming within my reach. She kneeled down, in awe of me, and I stepped back on instinct, to remain out of her reach. How could I know she carried no knife behind her back, how could I know she wished me no harm even when her calm demeanor told my heightened sense to not be afraid. "They're like fallen stars. I bet one can see them from far away."

I growled lowly, showing my teeth. That ought to bring out her true colors. If a human was not afraid, then they were surely looking to hunt me down. This was all a trick, I convinced myself. But I would harm her before I she'd have the chance to harm me, and I wanted her to be sure of that.

Still unafraid, the woman in red leaned back, sitting on her heels, to put a safe distance between us. Not out of fear, but out of respect. She was still dreadfully unafraid, even if she did not move any closer.

"What large teeth," she continued, looking sad. "No wonder everyone fears you. No wonder hunters roam the forest, wishing you dead."

But do you wish me dead, I wanted to ask, for I did not know what she wanted to tell me. I only knew words when they were screams, only knew people come closer when they tried to harm me, only knew safety when I was alone.

She leaned closer, her hand reaching forward. I ducked back, away from her touch.

"Don't be afraid," she told me. "I wish you no harm."

What do you want, then? I wanted to ask. What, what what?

She reached out to me again, but this time I let her fingers graze my grey fur. Tenderness was the only thing I felt; she did not grab me, she did not brandish a weapon. She just kept smiling.

"Come on," she said, finally standing up. "I came to take you home."

Home? What did she know of my home? It was a forgotten place, lost and discarded decades ago when I was cast out of a human life. There was no other home for me than the one among the tall trees of the deepest forest.

She began leaving the same way she came, only stopping once she realized I was not following her.

"Come on, silly," she repeated, a chuckle on her breath. "I cannot help you if you do not follow me."

So, reluctantly, I did. Curiosity got the best of me and that dreadful ounce of hope made my heart flutter. Home. She was talking about taking me home, about ending this torturous life. Could I believe her? It all sounded like a ruse in disguise, but my fluttering heart kept following her, willing to be deceived.

She pranced around the forest like magic: aside from a bright red coat in my pale blue-yellow world, she walked as if she communicate with every tree and strand of grass on the way. She seemed to move everything she passed like the softest breeze, breathing life into the sleeping forest. Should anyone see her, they would certainly fear the power she must have contained. Don't go into the woods at night, frightened villagers would cry. A witch that can move entire trees lives in there. 

I saw in her who I had been looking for all this time. A fellow beast.

Less frightening and more powerful than I could ever be, but a beast nevertheless. She had no sharp teeth, nor glowing eyes, nor claws that could tear through flesh. Her human disguise was perfect, but I could see right through her. A rogue demon, a monster. A thing to behold, a thing to fear. Clad in a red coat of magical wool, carrying potions and poisonous herbs and hexes in her basket.

Fearless was the only word to describe her with. Not because courage had been placed into her cradle, but because she knew of nothing more terrifying than her own self.

"We are almost there," she said, her voice a sweet melody in contrast of her image. Stopping at the finally line of trees, she looked at me over her shoulder, suddenly somber as if something important awaited us beyond them. "You should go first."

I did, unafraid of what awaited me. Death, perhaps? Might as well be. My once brown fur was almost completely grey already, and since I had not died of old age yet, murder might as well end my cursed misery. Although, there remained a chance of this witch truly meaning me no harm, in which case I was taking my first steps toward a home I had craved for so long.

I stepped out into a clearing, charmingly dark and blue in my eyes. In the middle of it, a small cottage stood, only one window illuminated by a candle burning inside. Before it, an old woman, with long silver hair and deep wrinkles on her face, dressed in old, wool clothes.

I knew her. Something in my gut told me that she was the home the woman in red promised me, that she was the home I longed for. There was something familiar on her face, in the way she held herself, but I could not quite place what it was, yet.

I stalked forward slowly, the red-hooded woman's soft steps right behind me, and I could see recognition, then love spread across the old woman's face. She smiled, she shed a tear, and once I was close enough to see her face plainly illuminated by the soft light from the inside the cottage, I felt like smiling and crying, too.

"My brother." Her words were soft, breathless. She took a step forward, then another, then kneeled in front of me, fearless in her absolute confidence that I truly was who she thought me to be. Her movements were slow and croaky with joints weak from age, and her wrinkled hand reached out to me. I willed to come even closer on my shaky paws, disbelief clouding my brain. Upon her touch, her affectionate caress, I truly was home.

Something warm fell upon me. Red, I noticed as I looked to the side with the corner of my eye. The younger woman's coat.

"You know what to do," she said to my dear sister, the bottles in her basket clinking as she rummaged inside of it. Brandishing a small bottle, she stepped toward me and dampened the fur behind my ears with a few drops from it. Then she moved away and I looked at my beautiful sister, who kept smiling and kept crying tears of joy. She leaned forward and kissed the top of my head – an act of fondness I had long since forgotten.

"You are home again, brother dear," she said. She spoke my name, softly, carefully, as if afraid it would shatter upon her tongue. She repeated it once, twice, three times, and with each vowel, I could feel myself changing.

Firstly, my claws turned into flat nails, then my paws into hands, human hands with long fingers. My fur fell away, and only soft skin remained attached to me, soft and wrinkled with age – I was nearing my sixtieth birthday, after all. My fangs shortened into teeth, my snout lengthened into a nose. My tail vanished for good and colors returned to my eyes.

For the first time since my youth, I was human again.

Shuddering, I crawled into myself beneath the red coat, naked as the day I was born beneath it. Reborn. Yes, that is what I was. An old man, reborn into a life he had lost.

Steadying myself on my knees, I looked down at my hands, then brought them to my naked chest, then face. I could not believe it. How ... No, I did not care how. I only cared that it happened.

Looking around me, I could see my perception of the world around me had changed as well. Everything was so much quieter, so much darker. When I looked back at my sister, I could not see her as clearly in the dark as before but, my god, I could see her in colors!! The warm orange from the faraway candle on her face, the purple scarf around her neck. My lips stretched out into a smile and I let out a laugh, my first laugh in decades! My sister laughed as well and leaped at me, hugging me as tightly as she could.

"Come," she told me as she helped me up, tears of joy unstoppable on her face. "Let's get you inside. I have clothes ready for you, and supper."

I wrapped the magic red coat tightly around myself and, once aware of the wool soft and warm around myself, I stopped. The coat. I looked down at it, then remembered the woman who had worn it. Glancing around, I could no longer see her.

"She does that," my sister said, seeing the unspoken question on my face. "Comes and goes as she pleases. Never stays for supper."

"Who is she?" I asked, my voice coarse from lack of usage.

"Who knows," my sister replied. "But she is quite fond of this coat she has lended you. She will definitely be back for it. You may try asking her everything you want to know then."

Then we went inside, went home, and thus ends my tale of horror: the tale of the big bad wolf that rummaged the woods, the tale of the wicked witch in a red coat who befriended him, and the tale of an old spinster who lived on the edge of society, considered mad for thinking her dead brother was still alive somehow. For no one has ever seen the wolf again, the old woman has been reunited with her long lost brother, and the red coat has disappeared without a trace from my closet one evening.

And the fearless, red-hooded woman? Well, I am sure she is still saving monsters from themselves as we speak, turning tales of horror into happy endings.