Chapter 2
A wolf stood up on its hind legs, sniffing the air. Something was coming. Heavy footsteps were crunching on the ground. The wolf crouched and hid behind a bush.
A large man appeared out of the forest. He walked past the wolf’s hiding place. The wolf jumped out. Its claws flashed, then a binding light…___________________________________________________________________________
Luke awoke and bolted upright. Pain shot through his shoulder. He grabbed it and gave a yell of agony. His shirt was torn in pieces. Then he remembered what had happened.
Something had attacked him. He remembered trying to free himself. The thing wouldn’t let go but he did manage to get out of its grasp. How? A gunshot. Who had fired it? It was then he realized where he was. He was still in the forest and the fog had lifted. He could see the trees now, but his vision was impaired. He tried to focus on the oaks. But they seemed to be swimming.
A wave of pain came over him again, and he howled. His shoulder burned, as though someone was branding him. After a few seconds the pain receded to numbness.
Luke looked at his shoulder. It was drenched in blood. The skin glinted bright red in the moonlight. The wound was in a shape of a big “U”. He slowly peeled back the shreds of his shirt. Then he gingerly touched the scabbed wound. A shock of pain hit him, sharp but less intense than the first two.
The ground was still wet. It hadn’t started to quagulate. He must have been unconscious for only a short time. So the beast might be near, and might finish the job.
The thought roused him. He got up and felt a sharp pain. Nothing was around him; he didn’t see any eyes peering at him now. They must have run off when the beast came, he thought. He realized with some surprise that he was thinking quite clearly. A wild animal had attacked him and knocked him out. But his brain was sober, not weary or confused. His breathing was surprisingly even despite his loss of blood. His vision sharpened as he began to limp toward the trees in the direction from which he had entered the clearing.
When he reached his house twenty minutes later, he noticed no lights were on, not even the porch lights. The house was an ordinary one: white, two stories high. Four bedrooms it held, but he and his mother were the only tenants. His father had run out before Luke was born. Finding the front door unlocked, Luke opened it and made his way to the bathroom.
He stripped off his torn shirt and got a rag from the shelf. The blood was now dry. He ran warm water on the rag and started to wipe off the crusted blood. The clock above him showed exactly 11:30. He had been out a while.
What had attacked him? Luke pondered again. Who had fired the gun? Why hadn’t he thought about that before? What was wrong with his mind?
He reached for the light switch to shut it off – but it was already in the off position... Startled, he looked up. The lights were dark. Now he knew something was wrong. He left the bathroom, tossing the blood-soaked rag in the laundry chute as he passed it by, trying to act like everything was normal. His mother seemed to be asleep when Luke peered in. She was in her bed, her head facing the doorway. Her breathing was calm. Luke went to his room and toppled onto his bed.
