I sat up in bed, my heart racing, and with a cold sweat making my body shiver, I took up a pencil and some paper. I would write a letter to him and post it under the shutter of the cave where we had once lived together. I wrote the letter, read through it, then ripped it up and started all over again. I did this several times until I had written something I was happy with. This is what I eventually wrote: Dear Father, This letter will probably come as a shock to you, but I have been thinking about you. Since the night we left home, I have often thought about you and have never forgotten you.
I remember you playing with my racing cars with me. I remember the time you lost that money. I remember that you liked to paint very much and I too enjoy painting and drawing, so in that respect, I must take after you. There are other good memories that I have of you, but they are too many to list here.
My life hasn’t always been easy; as I am sure yours hasn’t either. I have never really been sure of the reasons that Mother took us away from you, although she has given her version of events. Mother and I are not very close. I hope that this letter is well received by you and hope that you would like to meet with me. I haven’t written this letter to cause any problems for you. My only wish is to get to know you for myself and to make up for some of the lost time between us.
If you would like to meet me, I will wait at sundown on the shore of the great lake by the Fountain of Souls for the next three days. I have enclosed a drawing that I have done of myself just in case you don’t recognise me.
I really hope that you would like to meet with me and possibly become father and son again.
Jack.
I placed the letter and my drawing into an envelope and sealed it tightly shut. I got out of bed, dressed, and placing the letter in my back pocket, I left my room. I went downstairs and found Father Paul sitting, staring out of the window. I had discovered him like this more than a few times since I had come to stay. He always had the same gaunt look on his pale face. It was a look of sadness and misery. I knew in my heart that he was longing for my mother. He loved her. He was hoping that she would come and see him, or send some message, even though he would be risking his life if discovered. It hurt me to see him sitting there like that, longing to see my mother. I felt like telling him what she had accused him of but I couldn’t. I couldn’t hurt him. I picked up my rucksack and said goodbye. As I turned to leave, he called after me.
“Jack, where are you going?”
“For a walk,” I lied, and left the house.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jack
I made my way across town and out into the country towards the forests which surrounded the great lake and hid the Fountain of Souls from the humans. It was cold. I pulled the collar of the long, black coat I had borrowed from Father Paul up about my throat. In the distance, on the brow of a hill, I could see the vast outline of the forest like a shadow on the horizon. I headed towards it.
I couldn’t help but feel nervous as I wondered if I were doing the right thing in going in search of my father. What if the stories my mother had told me about him were true? Couldn’t I be putting myself in danger? The Elders hadn’t believed her, and I knew she had lied about Father Paul. So with those thoughts foremost in my mind, I climbed the hill to the forest. I reached it just as the sun started to fade in the overcast sky. I looked back just once, then turned and stepped into the gaps between the trees. The ground was covered in a carpet of fallen pine needles and they smelt sweet. I walked and walked and remembered the stories I had heard as a boy about the humans who had come into the forest, never to be seen again. Some were believed to have been lost and starved to death. There were other stories though – nightmarish stories that giant wolves roamed the forests and they had been the reasons those humans hadn’t returned.
With a faint smile growing on my lips, I pressed on.
There were so many trees. They stretched for as far as I could see. I hadn’t been in the forest since that night we had raced through them, when my mother had made her escape. The deeper I went, the darker the forest became. The air felt clammy and I lowered the collar of my coat. I peered through the darkness and in the distance, between the trees; I could see something twinkling back at me. I headed towards it. I made my way between the trees and I found myself stepping out onto a small sandy shore. Before lay the great lake. The moon was now up, and it glinted on the surface of the dark water. It was breathtaking. I wondered why so many of my fellow Lycanthrope wanted to leave such a place to live in the human world. To beat the curse, I guessed. As I stepped closer to the lake, I could see that it was blood-red and I remembered how I had been told that it was such a colour because of all the blood shed by my kind. The noise of the water rippling against the shore sounded like a song which played out across the vast lake, disappearing amongst the giant pine trees and spruces which surrounded it on all sides. I looked to my left, and way off in the distance, I could see the fountain racing upwards, carrying the souls of the murdered back up to heaven. I made my way towards it.
The sound of the water charging high above me was deafening and I had forgotten how loud it had been. There was a rocky lip jutting out so I climbed onto it and found the slick-looking path that would lead me behind the fountain.
Again I felt excited, yet scared to be returning to my home – to where I had been born, and I guess, where I truly belonged. On the other side of the water, I found myself in the giant tunnel which spiraled downwards into the caves. I followed the tunnel, and my senses became overwhelmed with all the smells and sounds I had forgotten. I could hear the howls of the wolves, and it made my heart beat fast. I could see the thousands of lights glowing warmly from the caves which stretched out below me. What really told me I was home was the smell of the wax wafting up from the thousands and thousands of candles which had been lit for Candlemas.
I cleared the path and stepped amongst the caves. The narrow passageways were thriving with life. Lycanthrope – my own kind – not Vampyrus or human, passed on either side of me.
Some looked as I did, but others meandered about on all fours, in their true Lycanthrope form. Some of the wolves looked truly beautiful, I thought. Not scary, nor like monsters. Their eyes shone brightly in the semi-darkness, their giant tails bristling back and forth.
I reached the market where I had come on those shopping days with my parents. With a sadness weighing heavy in my heart, I remembered again that my father had believed he had lost his wages. I made my way amongst the stalls. The smell of fresh deer, rabbit, fox, and badger wafting on the air as it was slowly turned over cooking spits.
“Try some?” one of the market traders said, tearing a lump of meat from a deer he had cooking over a fire. He offered me the raw-looking meat between a pair of fat, greasy fingers.
“Thank you,” I said, taking it from him. I bit into the succulent meat, its juices running down over my chin. I armed them away and woofed down the meat. I couldn’t remember tasting anything so fine. Why did Lycanthrope want to live amongst the humans? I wondered again.
Licking my fingers clean, I left the market and made my way to the cave where I had once lived with my father. As I drew nearer, my heart began to race so fast in my chest I thought it might just burst. The passageways and walkways leading to my father’s cave seemed narrower than I had remembered them, smaller somehow.
Perhaps I had just gone and gotten bigger. With my legs feeling like I was dragging two lumps of lead behind me, I made my way to the cave.
Standing outside in the shadows, I could see a single light burning from inside. Was my father home? Was he sitting just on the other side of the shutter? Perhaps he had moved on? Maybe someone else now lived there?
I took the letter from my trouser pocket and looked down at it. Was I doing the right thing?
Then, that horrific image of Father Paul suffocating in his body bag appeared in front of me, as he desperately tried to tell me something before his mouth filled with plastic. With my hands trembling uncontrollably, I dropped the letter onto the ground, and slid it beneath the shutter to my father’s cave with the tip of my boot.
I turned and ran and ran and ran. I didn’t stop until I was clear of the fountain, the forest, and the town. I didn’t stop until I was bent forward and gasping for air in the dark outside Father Paul’s back door. Once I had caught my breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Father Paul was sitting before the fire and reading a book.
“Okay?” he asked, peering over the top of it at me.
“I guess,” I said, and climbed the stairs to my room.
I didn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t stop wondering if my father had received my letter. I wondered if he was pleased, indifferent, or upset.
Would he acknowledge it? Would he ignore it?
Would he come to the lake? Would he welcome me or reject me? I spent the entire night and the next two quietly contemplating every possible outcome.
The following two evenings I went to the lake and waited on the shore as the sun settled over the forest. When it had gotten so dark that the red waters looked dead and black, I made my way back through the forest and returned to Father Paul’s house. Each night he asked where I had been, and each night I told him I had been out drawing in the country. Not wanting to talk and beginning to wonder if my real father had received my letter, I went to my room.
I returned to the lake on that third and final evening. I waited at the shore as the red waters lapped at my boots and I was convinced my father had received my letter by now, but didn’t want to make contact. As the sun faded and the moon greedily took its place in the sky, I turned to leave. My heart felt heavy. Then, as I headed back towards the tree line, I heard someone call out.
“Hello?” the voice said.
I turned around but couldn’t see anyone.
“Who’s there?” I said back, scanning the trees.
Then from the shadows stepped a figure.
“Who are you?” I whispered, unable to see their face for the shadows of the trees which towered high above.
“Hello, Jack,” the figure said, stepping into the moonlight. “It’s me, your dad.”