Page 26 of Starve
I have no idea how long I’ve been crying.
But tears slip down my face unbidden, and I remember the feeling of claws on my shoulders and the sound of those gnashing fangs so close to me. Part of me wonders if maybe I didn’t make it out, that this is some kind of hallucination my brain is presenting me with before the acceptance of death really comes.
No, I tell myself with a snort against my pillow. No, because I hurt too much emotionally and physically for that. But I can feel myself drifting a little, like I do when I’m overstimulated. Like I did the day that got me into this shit in the first place.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so awful tonight, though. Not when?—
My backdoor rattles. I know what it sounds like well enough to know the noise by heart, and when I bolt upright from the sofa, my bare feet hit the floor hard. “Hello?” I call, turning toward the kitchen. “H-hello?! Is someone?—”
The sound comes again. A rattling, like someone is shaking my back door trying to come in.
For a moment, I just stand there. I don’t know what to do, and tears continue to stream down my cheeks. The face of the monsters from Bluebone Ridge, Sam’s screams, and the fact I’m the only one left—all these facts tear through me at the sound against my back door as it rattles.
But curiosity and dread propel me forward. I stumble across the laminate floor, palms clammy and numb, with my heart pounding so loudly I can’t hear anything else.
Three steps to go until I turn the corner, and once I’m there, I won’t be able to unsee it.
Two steps.
I stop at the last one, wondering if I should call the cops or do something even slightly smarter than going for the back door to see what’s there. Nothing in me can rationalize it. It’s barely windy, and there are no trees close enough to make this kind of noise.
No, the rattling is distinct. Purposeful.
Something wants to come in here.
It takes longer than it should, but as I finally take that last step, my heart clenches in my ribs and a small, soft exhale leaves me. A pep talk runs on repeat through my head, reminding me that whatever is there, however terrifying it is, I can handle it.
I can handle it.
The moment she sees me, Moro barks. She stops pawing at the door and stands up on my deck, tail waving, and I nearly collapse in relief, barely managing to make it to the door to shove it open and allow the wolf dog into my small house. I greet her with no shortage of relieved tears and lots of praise for the best dog that exists in Washington. Maybe anywhere, really.
Chapter 12
For a dogwho was clearly treated like shit for a while, it surprises me how easily Moro adapts to life indoors. Though perhaps this was her aspiration all along, and I’m just fulfilling her wishes in an overdue manner.
I scan the news channels, and the sofa trembles just a little as the large wolf dog lies stretched out, panting, half on the cushions and half on me. Absent-mindedly, I reach down and she stops panting to lick my hand affectionately, her head ducking so I can scratch her ears just how she likes. I was more than a little out of sorts the morning after she showed up at my door, and finally in a better mindset to actually address the surprise, at least in my mind. And while the week since has been incredibly uneventful, I still have questions.
The first, of course, that keeps going through my brain: how did Morogethere? Did she really wander off the mountain and somehow miraculously come straight to my house without ever having been here before?
No, I don’t think so,I muse as a news anchor talks about some school’s fundraiser a county over. Not just because that’s unlikely—and something out of a kid’s movie—but because when Moro got here, she was completely cleaned up. There was nomonster blood or gore on her face like there had been that night. No dirt or anything. Even her fur had seemed soft, like it was just brushed out. There’s no way she could’ve shown up like that on her own.
But I’m grateful, whatever the circumstances might be.
Blinking, I finally focus on the television, realizing they’re actually talking about something I should care about. Even Moro seems interested, one ear flicking back, though it might just be because my hand has paused and I’m not actively petting her anymore.
“Bluebone ridge Sanitarium will be shut down, owners say, for at least the next year. After the incident last week, the damage is greater than they initially thought.”The news anchor says it casually, brushing off the reality of the situation, like it really is just about property damage, and not the amount of people that died there.
Like Sam.
And Esther.
Hattie, Cairo, Tyler?—
The doorbell rings just as my heart twists and Cairo’s face in my mind hurts a little more than Sam’s does. But I’m jolted to the present when Moro launches off of me, a paw in my gut, to trot toward the front door with her tail curled up over her back.
Cairo.
His smirk, his scent, his closeness…I didn’t know him well, I remind myself. But it still hurts to know he’s gone, even if I hadn’t actually seen his body.
