We pulled into the 82nd Street station in the proverbial nick of time. The stench of approaching wolves filled the car. It was the last car. I had nowhere else to go. I was trapped again.
I had never heard a sweeter sound when the doors dinged, and I was thrilled when they rolled open, but I stayed where I was, fighting my urge to flee. I waited until the last possible second-the wolves were mere feet away, and I could feel their hot breath on me-before I slid out through the closing doors. The now-trapped wolf-men could only stare through the glass and howl as their train pulled out of the station. Although scared, I waved goodbye to them in defiance.
Queens was like a foreign kingdom to me, so different from the inner city that I was used to and even more foreign in the strange cartoon Technicolor I was seeing in now. I asked the hunchback manning the booth for directions to Nana’s house and then set off at a run, the muscles in my arms straining under the weight of my load. The plastic grocery bags had woven themselves into four wicker baskets.
I headed down the station stairs and tore off along the first block. A flurry of movement caught my attention, and I couldn’t help but turn to see a large gray-brown tabby cat, standing on its hind legs, wearing hip-high boots, an Elizabethan neck ruffle, and a purple plumed Musketeer’s hat. He was fighting off a pack of dogs like a champion fencer. The claws on one hand were extended like vicious looking knives, and although the cat was outnumbered, I had a distinct feeling the advantage was his. I pressed on.
One block left.
I passed two little roly-poly kids speaking what sounded to me like German. They were following a path of lollipops and candy bars up a walkway toward a brownstone that appeared to be made entirely out of candy, from its gingerbread paneling to its ribbon candy shutters.
“Hey, kids,” I shouted as I stopped. They seemed to shake out of their fugue state and turned to look at me, their chubby little hands stuffed with candy already. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
They stood there, confused still.
“Unless you want the lady who owns that place going all Hannibal Lechter on you.”
At this their eyes widened, and the boy turned to the girl, and said, “C’mon. Let’s get out of here, Gretel.” The little girl hesitated, grabbed a sticky bun that was part of the house’s gate, and followed her brother. For a moment I actually felt good for helping them out. I felt the tiniest hint of optimism.
The feeling died quickly, however, when I turned back toward my Nana’s and found the crunched in nose of the cab I rode back in Manhattan. It was sitting empty underneath the shade of a tree and was pointed at Nana’s house half a block away. The panic of incredibility set in once again, and I broke into a heart-pounding sprint.
While most of the other brownstones in the neighborhood had been turned into three-family homes over the years, Nana’s remained all her own. I walked timidly up the front steps, the fear pulsing thick in me. The door stood slightly ajar, and I eased it open farther and set the baskets down as quietly as possible.
The old house was silent. Even when it was busy with activity, I found the place creepy, but now it was like walking through a mausoleum filled with Russian antiques. Many of them were knocked over.
The trail of destruction led upstairs, and I followed it. Her bedroom was at the back of the house, and I knew from the Brothers Grimm that the wolf had headed there. I tiptoed the last few steps, hoping the pounding in my chest wasn’t as loud as it sounded.
The door was cracked open, and I hesitantly pushed it wide. Sure enough, there in the bed was a shadowy figure. As I stepped closer, I could see the pronounced goatee of the cab driver beneath the furry snarl of the wolf’s snout. The shirt he had been wearing was in tatters now. I checked the room for blood and was relieved to see none. Was Nana somewhere hidden in here or had she escaped? I stopped in the center of the room and looked around. She could have been under the bed or even in the closet, but I couldn’t tell.
The wolf snarled.
“Finish this!” he barked, remaining tucked beneath the sheet on the bed. He seemed to be struggling, fighting the urge to leap up and devour me, but was bound by some power from doing so.
The power of the tale was binding him somehow.
I tried the zipper again, but it still wouldn’t budge. I grabbed bunches of the fabric and tore at it, but it wouldn’t give. I slipped my backpack off my shoulders and began searching through it for something, anything that might help.
“Why Nana,” I said slowly, fighting against my compulsion to speak the words, “what big ears you have.”
“Better to hear youuuuu,” the wolf howled.
I shuddered as the sound ripped through me. I had to think. What were my advantages? I was much smaller than him, and I seemed to possess a greater knowledge of the situation.
“And what big eyes you have,” I continued, as I kept rummaging through the bag. I was coming across nothing of use. I doubted my iPod would help, unless I could wedge my earphones into his ears and hope the old maxim that music hath charms to soothe the savage beast held true.
“Better to see you with, my dear,” he barked. His body tensed in anticipation of the final lines of our roles being fulfilled.
“And,” I said finally, fighting, dreading the words as they came spilling out, “what a terrible big mouth you have.”
A clatter came from down the hall, and I craned my neck to see Nana. How the hell had she eluded the wolf? I had never really thought about it before, but Nana was in remarkably good shape for a woman in her seventies. She was moving at a brisk pace.
“The better…” the wolf began with finality.
I tensed with fear.
He threw off the covers and readied himself to pounce, “to eat you with!”
I dove for the door at the same time he lunged. My hand had wrapped around something small and cylindrical in my bag. The rest of the bag tore away from me as the wolf’s claws caught the strap, the contents of my little life leaking out onto the floor. I screamed as I tumbled through the doorway, and slammed the door behind me. I held it shut as I felt the full weight of the wolf charge into the door on the other side.
“Run!” I screamed at Nana.
Nana did just that, making it to the bottom of the stairs at record speed and heading for the front door. I felt the doorknob twitching in my hand as the wolf clawed at it clumsily. It was only a matter of time before he smashed his way through.
A claw punched through the bottom of the door and snagged my leg. I yelped in pain. I felt blood trickle down my leg. I heard a large snuffle from the other side of the door and I imagined the wolf fully taking in the scent of my O Positive.
I decided it was better not to wait around for him to break all the way through. I bolted for the stairs, hurling myself down them without a thought for my safety. Behind me, the door flung open and the wolf leaped out, landing right where I had been standing a heartbeat ago. I swallowed hard and spun to face the beast, almost losing my footing on the stairs. My mind was racing, and I suddenly remembered one last component-one last character-to the story.
“No reason I can’t be the huntsman too,” I said and ducked low as he charged at me. In my hand, I gripped the lone weapon I had managed to retrieve from my bag. I thrust it up, and only after I drove it into the beast’s chest, did I disappointingly realize was it was. A pen. What the hell good was a pen going to do?
The wolf cleared me and practically flew down the rest of the stairs, hitting the wall, spinning, landing on its back at the bottom. It writhed frantically, howling, clawing at its own chest, and smoke began to rise from the small wound I’d inflicted. The smell of acrid burning hair filled the room, and after what seemed like an eternity of screaming, the wolf stopped moving.