Just a Poor Ghost

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

-George Carlin

Wolves have featured heavily in my dreams since childhood, so I thought I’d share one of my favorite little wolf dreams with you all. Though short, it felt like years had passed between sleeping and waking.

Upon drifting off to sleep, I found myself in a birch tree forest at nightfall. The moon was full, the air crisp, as if in eternal autumn. My breath hung suspended in the air with every puff, little ghosts floating out into the night, memories of the breaths that came before as I ran through the forest.

The light of the full moon cast dark shadows amongst the silver-white of the trees, muting the bright orange and red hues of the leaves that littered the ground. In the distance, I heard the call of wolves. I had the feeling of running for hours on end, yet there was no finish line. The forest seemed to stretch on for ages, and the howl of the wolves came ever closer to me.

My only saving grace was a voice in the darkness; the voice of a friend. The familiar velveteen purr echoed through the wooded night, and told me where I should turn. This way and that, I scrambled through the birches, following every direction.

Shadows moved in my peripheral vision, black bodies darting between white tree trunks. The wolves had caught up to me at last, and were flanking me from both sides and behind. I was certain that soon they’d be in front of me as well. The howling hadn’t ceased, but neither had the directions from my friend. Words of encouragement mixed in with the directions, spurring me to keep going though my lungs screamed for more air and my body ached for respite. Keep going, just keep going.

Another eternity seemed to pass before I finally could see a thinning of the trees. The silhouette of a moonlit clearing was beginning to take shape just beyond the forest’s edge. My friend’s voice was much louder than the wolves now, and I noticed that the wolves had dropped off behind me again. I had been so consumed in the escape that I had not noticed the ground gained. Grabbing a nearby tree, I stopped to greedily suck in air and catch my breath.

“You’re almost there, but now? It’s up to you, darling.” His voice disappeared suddenly and all fell silent for a beat as I stood there, panting in the night. The specters of my frantic breaths had formed into one giant wisp of a wraith, made gauzy by the moonlight.

Then the howling began again, this time with an added excitement. Yipping and growling joined the call. The wolves had not taken a rest as I had, and what ground had been gained was now lost. I yelped and took off, sprinting the last little bit toward the clearing where safety beckoned.

As in all good horror films, an escape can not be so easily obtained. Just as I was nearing safety, I tripped, falling hard into the leaves. I whirled around, crawling backward on my hands to edge away from the snarling beasts that had stopped their running in favor of a slow pursuit. Shapes flashed dark between the trees as one massive wolf stepped forward into a pool of moonlight before me. Arraigned in silver fur and blue eyes, I met my death. Or at least, I assume I did. Because of course, this dream ended on a cliff hanger.

I did a quick little watercolor piece to share what I saw in the dream. It now resides with the owner of the voice. It’s not perfect but I’m okay with how it turned out overall.

What do you make of the wolves and the chase? Of the voice in the void? Let me know!

As always, best wishes and sweet dreams!

-Megan