Ms. Polly's Warning

I walked with Ms. Polly down a narrow deer trail, moving further and further away from the lake where the muffled sounds of my friends splashing and joking around slowly faded into nothingness. The woods here were thick and ancient, the canopy above blocking out most of the late afternoon sun. Even in the shade, the early July heat was thick and humid, the air thrumming with the relentless, electric hum of summer cicadas. Ms. Polly stayed quiet, her stride surprisingly brisk for her age, her eyes fixed on the mossy ground ahead. After about ten minutes, I was biting at the bit with curiosity, my nerves fraying at the edges. I finally reached out and touched Polly’s shoulder, forcing her to stop. She turned, her expression unreadable.

"Ms. Polly, what do you want to talk to me about?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the trees. "I know it has to be important because you came looking for me."

Ms. Polly gave a slow nod of her head. Her warm, grandmotherly smile withered, turning into a deep, troubled frown that aged her in an instant. "My dear, I am afraid it is not good. I cannot tell you how, only when this awful event will happen."

I gasped loudly, the sound echoing too sharply against the trunks. "Oh no, something bad is going to happen."

"Yes, my dear. I do not even know what it entails," she said, her voice dropping to a grave tone. "But I know it will happen at the strike of midnight, the very hour the Fourth of July begins and your birthday starts. And all I am allowed to see is you, my poor child, devastated and broken. You look defeated and lost in grief. It is as if your entire world was completely destroyed in a single heartbeat. Unfortunately, I cannot see who or why you are in that state. Just promise me you will be careful and stay aware of everything around you. There are two possibilities of what happens after disaster strikes."

She paused, her eyes piercing mine with a desperate intensity. "First path is that you are unaware when danger comes out of nowhere and you become a slave to a monster we have not seen in a century. But my child there is hope. If you prepare for the unexpected instead of staying blissful in the happy moments leading to your birthday you, my brave child, have a chance to meet your mate and fight back against the darkness. Unfortunately you are still going to lose someone, or many loved ones because that look of defeat never leaves your face no matter how many times I look into your future. But in one vision you let that event destroy you and in the second vision with your mate you become stronger and avenge your lost loved one or ones. I have high hopes for you my child. So do not let this darkness win."

My wolf, Pinkrose, paced restlessly within my subconscious. We will not let darkness take us, she snarled, her voice a solid wall of resolve against my rising panic.

"Thank you, Ms. Polly," I managed to say, my throat tight. "I am indebted to you for your wise words and warning."

Ms. Polly reached out and kissed my forehead, her skin feeling like cool parchment. "My child you owe me nothing. All I ask is that you stay strong and keep the light within you burning bright. I helped raise you so you are more like my grandchild than a family friend. Please take good care of yourself."

With that, Ms. Polly vanished in a flash of blinding white light, leaving me standing alone on the trail. The silence of the forest suddenly felt heavier, charged with a premonition of doom. I started walking home because it was almost dinner time, after all. The pack grounds were already shifting into holiday mode; from a distance, I could hear the faint, sharp crack of early fireworks as some of the younger wolves geared up for the long weekend. As I walked back to the pack house, Pinkrose and I kept talking and brainstorming about who we could lose and how we could possibly stop it. My mind raced through a list of names: my sister, my parents, my cousins. The thought of any of them being gone made me feel physically ill.

As I walked into the pack house, the smell of roasting meat and sweet, smoky barbecue herbs greeted me. Mom was already prepping the marinades for the massive Independence Day and birthday feast. It was so familiar and comforting that it felt like a slap in the face. I saw my mother and father in the kitchen putting the last-minute touches on tonight's dinner and going over the festival guest lists. I looked at them and felt a sharp pain in my heart. What if I lost them? Would I be able to stay strong, or would I fold and let the monster win?

No! Pink shouted, her claws digging into my spirit. We will fight and protect what is ours.

Yes, Pink, I agree, I thought back, trying to steady my racing pulse. Calm down because we cannot let anyone become aware and ruin these happy moments. It could be our last happy moments for a long time to come.

My mother spotted me standing in the doorway of the kitchen and wiped her hands on her apron. "Hon, are you okay? You look troubled."

"Yes, Mom, I am good," I lied, forcing my face into a mask of normality. "Just stressing over the holiday weekend. I am excited and worried about what will happen when it strikes midnight on the Fourth, signaling my birthday."

"Oh, honey, come here," she said, her eyes softening. She gave me a warm, loving hug and pressed her cheek against mine. "My beautiful baby girl, your big day will be nothing but fireworks, happiness, and peace. We will always be proud of you. Now go get your sister and her mate, it is time to eat."

"Okay, Mom, I love you," I said, clinging to the fabric of her shirt for a second too long.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

My dad laughed from the counter, popping a piece of vegetable into his mouth. "Pumpkin, you are always overthinking and worrying about the smallest things. The barbecue will be perfect, and everything will be fine, you will see."

I forced a laugh, but the sound died in the back of my throat. How I wished his words were true. I turned away, the dread settling into my bones as I headed toward the stairs to find my sister, knowing that every tick of the clock was bringing us closer to a midnight that would change everything forever.