The Boy Who Cried Wolf

General Summary

Shadow swept across the untidy scrap of lawn, tossed forgotten in front of a ramshackle house. Its carefully manicured borders had long since burst open, green spilling out like the scribblings of a child unable to stay within the lines. The unrepentant vegetation darkened beneath the tide washing its way towards the sagging porch.

The boy looked up from his work, admiring the shape and color of the cloud passing overhead. Its forward edge was wispy, with tendrils flung out like hair tousled by the wind. The puffs of cotton that made up the cloud’s body were tinged an almost imperceptible purple, and the back end curled up into itself, scooped up by an immense hand and pushed along along through the clear sky.

Lowering his gaze to the bucket in his lap, the child raised the rock clenched tightly between his tiny hands and brought it down against the inside of the metal pail. Once more hefting up the stone, he aimed for the slight tear he’d made in the battered aluminum surface. Sharp bangs cracked out from the crumbling house where he continued to work, echoing off its dilapidated neighbors and into forgotten roadways.

With each ringing collision, the targeted hole widened to match its sibling just a few inches to the left. He was breaking through the inside of the bucket so that the sharp parts would stick out, away from his eyes when he wore the helmet. Every so often, he checked his progress against the picture of the armored man he’d found in one of the few deserted homes with a couple nice things left.

Picking up his bucket and placing it gently onto his head, he found his vision only a touch obscured by the armor. Widening the hole would help. The boy congratulated himself on the accuracy of his replica as he surveyed his overgrown kingdom from the rotten throne of the porch steps.

Run, my sweet. Run. The wolves are coming.

Jumping up, his helmet rattled about like a vigorously shaken bobblehead. He whipped around, scrambling to push the bucket up so he could see. Peering wild-eyed from beneath the lip of his makeshift armor, he saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. No one stood on the road, and a hurried scan of the nearby buildings didn’t reveal anyone else.

The voice had to have come from someone, but he couldn’t see where or who. It had been soft, feminine and familiar, strangely so. Had it not been so unexpected, he might have found it comforting.

Wracking his brain for any recollection of what wolves might be, the child came up with nothing. As long as he could remember, it had always just been him. He drifted aimlessly through the skeletal remains of civilization, always finding just enough food and shelter to sustain himself. He knew peripherally that other people existed on the edge of the world, but not wolves. Here he was alone, safe, the solitary groundskeeper to a graveyard of ages long past.

Or so he thought up until a few seconds ago. The boy ran into the house, weaving through cobwebs, ducking under furniture and dodging motes of dust. One hand held the bucket in place so he could see through the eyeholes, the other clutched his paper knight desperately. Skidding into the broken kitchen, he jammed the two cans he’d scavenged yesterday into his pockets.

As he made his way towards the back exit, he froze. A jovial whistling drifted through the cracked glass of the door. With each pounding heartbeat that he stood indecisively, the whistling drew closer.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, he dashed into the adjacent living room, dropping flat behind a decaying couch. The acrid scent of the mold that formed its new upholstery tickled his nostrils, daring him to sneeze. Wrinkling his nose to stifle its complaints, he locked his eyes on the dark form growing behind the shattered window pane he’d left behind.

A heavy knock sounded against the door, followed almost languidly by a second one a moment later. "Hello? Anyone there? We’re having a big neighborhood get together, and would love for you to come," the thick southern accent called out amicably.

The door creaked open, a cool breeze scattering a few parched leaves across the torn linoleum floor. Well-worn leather boots followed the leaves in, stomping a few times to knock loose dirt from the treads. "It’s going to be a delicious pot. luck. dinner." The last few words were each separated by a malicious pause.

Hanging crookedly in its frame, the door blocked the man’s face. But glancing up, the boy took in mud splattered jeans, rolled up plaid sleeves, and calloused hands with red dirt beneath cracked fingernails.

The man strolled further into the room, turning towards the boy’s hiding place as if he could smell the fear rolling out from behind the couch. "We’d love to have you for dinner. You just have to come."

Almost instinctively, the boy shuffled backwards, willing his breath to quiet, his hammering heart to still. The man started whistling once more, each lumbering footfall echoing closer to his quarry.

A clang of metal on wood interrupted the world as the pail guarding the boy’s head clattered against the overturned leg of a table. For a brief moment the footsteps stopped, the child’s breath froze, and time stood still.

Then with a burst of motion, the boy leapt away, scrambling to his feet and turning towards the other door. In the same instant, the man pulled victoriously through the kitchen doorway.

The boy tripped and fell backwards, watching him loom impossibly large through the mismatched eyeholes of the bucket. All thought was drowned beneath the icy torrent of fear running through his veins as he took in the man’s obscured face.

His features were completely hidden by a white plastic mask framed with motionless blonde curls. Crimson lips smiled down at him mirthlessly, dead blue eyes dissected him, and a single hand clawed its way towards him. Coarse black hair sprouted from unwashed pores. Each finger, contorted with barely restrained hunger, was tipped with a cracked nail tinged red with dried blood.

The boy screwed his eyes shut as tight as they would go, and let the warm, comforting darkness envelop him.

Character(s) interacted with

Hey
Wolf of the Maelstrom

Report Date

21 Mar 2019

Primary Location

Pitts, South