Harper

Have you ever felt as if someone were watching you? All my life, I felt it, but whenever I turned around, I caught only the glimpse of a faint shadow disappearing into the corner of a wall.

The shadow came and went in my dreams, always in the shape of a wolf. Maybe I imagined it, or perhaps I grew accustomed to the shadow. Either way, I was not afraid. Instead, I felt content, even protected.

When it disappeared, I fell into a dark vortex of melancholy, and loneliness invaded my heart, burdening it with loss. I knew many people were afraid of shadows, but I ached for the wolf's shadow to return. Strange, huh?

***

"Miss, wake up. We've arrived at Varg Island," the ferry captain said, tapping my arm. His name, Per Osling, was stitched in white, contrasting the darkness of his navy blue jacket pocket.

Remnants of my dream disappeared as consciousness returned, bringing me back to reality. I stood up, grabbed my backpack, and put it on. I freed the trapped strands of my untamed ebony hair from the strap and sighed. Gazing at the window, my eyes met a thickly forested island, lush with miles of green trees beyond the semi-circular bay.

The rain pelted from the heavens to the sea, creating a shimmery effect on the rocks by the jetty. I read on a few holiday websites that the island was an ideal place for anyone who wanted to escape from the world. They could leave their worries and troubles behind. Varg Island had an abandoned schoolhouse, now a walk-in museum open to anyone, especially if visitors were willing to give a little spare cash, or a bit more, for its maintenance.

"I hope you like the rain," Per said. "But once it clears up, you'll enjoy the island."

"I look forward to seeing the sun," I admitted. It was a miserable northern European summer with weeks of rain, but I hoped for the best when I decided to rent a cabin on the island.

"What brings you here?" Per asked. "It can't be the weather."

"It's personal," I replied coldly, as I would rather not tell a stranger my life story. After teaching English as a second language to adult immigrants in the past year, I was finally on vacation.

Per squinted at me. "I hope you're not running away from anything."

"Why would you think that?" I demanded, offended at Per's critical interrogation. 

Per stared at me. "Your face tells me the truth."

"The truth? What do you know about that?" I challenged, but the man ignored my question.

"A guy called Christopher Varg owns most of the island," Per said, changing the topic. "There are four cabins and three are rented out, usually to tourists like yourself. Christopher lives in the fourth cabin. It's the white one near a yellow one. He's a carpenter, a jack-of-all-trades. If you ever need firewood to light up your fireplace, you can ask him."

I raised my eyebrows. "Firewood in the summer?" 

The captain chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "It gets chilly at night. There's one more thing you need to know. If you put your trash outside after dark before taking it to the collective disposal in the morning, don't leave it on the ground."

"Why not? I always secure the bag." I tilted my head, confused by his instruction.

"Hang your bag on the hook. Each cabin has hooks on the posts. Wild animals, including a wolf, prowl at night," Per warned.

My amber-brown eyes widened. "A wolf? I thought they were mainland creatures."

Per scratched his bearded chin, then his thinning silver hair. "I might be wrong, but I believe someone brought a wolf to the island years ago."

"How odd." I tried to imagine a person having a wolf on their boat, perhaps wanting to make a pet out of it.

"There's one good thing about having a wolf on the island. These days there are fewer sheep, which caused problems back in the day. Tick infestation."

"Oh." I wrinkled my nose. I was about to bombard Per with more questions when he turned his back on me and started the engine to leave.

He waved as I hopped off the boat and onto the jetty. I waved back, remembering he had given me his mobile number earlier. If I ever needed a boat trip to town, I could call him at least an hour beforehand. I covered my mop of dark curls with the hood of my red jumper and hiked up a dirt path, which led to a yellow cabin beyond the trees. Rain still fell, not cats and dogs, but it was not a drizzle—the type of rain that would get my feet wet in the grass if I had not worn a good pair of shoes. 

Once I reached the hilltop, I felt exhilarated. The timber cabin, freshly painted yellow with a rosebush near the porch, overlooked the vast Atlantic Ocean. I had forgotten where to find the front door key, so I needed to remember what Christopher wrote in his email.

Think, Harper. 

I lifted the doormat, taking a wild guess that the key would be under it. Bingo! I grabbed the brass key from the ground and unlocked the door. The sun would set in a few hours, so I was grateful to feel safe in a homely place.

***

Once inside, I dropped my backpack on the floor and inspected my vacation home. It was a quaint place, clean and tidy, with a hint of smoke that lingered in the fireplace. The bedroom was blessed with a magnificent window that revealed the island's coast and, further in the distance, a lighthouse surrounded by the ice-cold ocean. I wondered if sea monsters existed. If they did, they no doubt loved the ocean's darkness.

I returned to the living room and skimmed the pine bookshelf near the sofa. A velvet green album jutted out from one of the shelves, calling me to take it. I opened the album and studied old photographs of children from the Victorian era. Some of the little angels lay on their beds in their best garments, eyes closed in peaceful, eternal slumber. I heard stories that photos were taken of the dead, but never saw an actual picture until now. I flipped through the pages and stopped at a photo taken years later of a boy with startling gray eyes. His mouth was shut as he stood, staring at me.

Looking up, I noticed a photo on the wall of the same sullen boy. He was next to his father, who held a rifle near a dead wolf spread on the ground. The boy's eyes were reddened, and his cheeks were stained with tears. A sharp knock on the door caused me to jump and drop the album. Rushing to the door, I opened it, only to meet the same gray eyes. Except, the boy was no longer a child.

"Harper Ross?" the man's deep voice growled.

"W-what do you want?" I whispered as his tall form overshadowed my body.

I gulped and stepped back, startled by his presence.