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While tracking, I listened to “Chicken Fried”byZac Brown Band on my AirPods. My nose led me to the town’s main tourist spot. Old Corvine was a small city with a bustling downtown area. People served fresh-baked pastries outdoors while others took the opportunity to stroll down the sidewalk or ride in a carriage drawn by white horses, spending time with their families and friends.
Scandinavian-style buildings and houses were common in Old Corvine. We had a beach within walking distance. Ancient oak trees lined the street, and at the corner of Fox Lane, a variety of food vendors waited with their tasty offerings. A few blocks away from the crowded attractions was a tranquil little neighborhood.
Everyone was welcoming.
Sometimes a little bittoowelcoming, like the big bad wolf pretending to be a grandma inLittle Red Riding Hood,or the cannibalistic witch fromHansel and Gretel—both impersonated a nice old woman so they could fool the gullible humans and eat them for dinner.
See, Old Corvine’s sprawling forests had a dark side that included several missing persons reports, abducted girls, and dead bodies—something the media, or whoever was in charge of our small town, wanted to keep hidden.
The natives try to warn any new tourists, whispering or hinting that the legends had more teeth to them than the board of tourism liked to admit, but the majority of visitors dismiss it as a gimmick to tie into the town’s supposed history. Those that were born here chose to stay away from the woods, unless they were hunters or simply stupid. Most residents believed in—and feared—the supernatural creatures creeping in the dark, waiting for the right moment to attack, and secretly eyeing anyone who dared enter their territory. The rest of them liked pretending they lived in a perfectly normal world.
As long as tourists skipped the infamous woods, turned a blind eye to the warnings, and instead focused on the breathtaking views, they had nothing to worry about. There was plenty else to do in Old Corvine. Their biggest worry should be not having enough time to experience the small town, with its twinkling red, green, and blue lights embellishing every storefront and restaurant. On the surface, Old Corvine looked like the happiest place on earth, with lovers and friends dining out, laughing and drinking red wine near propane fire pits.
Turning my headphones off, I continued tracking the beef skewers with my strong sense of smell, ignoring the temptation of the nearby wine tasting. Before I knew it, I found myself in front of a new food cart called:Mrs. Choi’s Korean Street Food Hangout.It had a green theme akin toGoogle Hangouts. Her radio played a K-pop song I could never forget, “Growl”by EXO. Aera and her mom used to sing and dance to it.
“One of these days, I will file a lawsuit against these K-pop guys for stealing everyone’s hearts,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head.
“Oh, give it up,” an old lady with the permed hair and green apron—perhaps theMrs. Choi—said as she grilled marinated chicken and beef. “You’re already losing.”
“Thank you so much for the moral support.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. I peeked into my wallet but had no money to treat myself.
Of course it would be empty.
“Young lad, would you like a free sample of the fried chicken wings?” Mrs. Choi offered.
“No, thanks. I don’t eat fried chicken. Can I try a beef skewer for free instead?” I asked, smiling wide as I shoved my empty wallet back into my jacket’s pocket.
Mrs. Choi narrowed her eyes on me. “You dare refuse my fried chicken wings?”
“Uh?” I gulped. “Umm … it’s not like that, but if they’re called chicken wings, where did all the feathers go? Wouldn’t that be tricking your customer?”
“What is the matter with you, boy? It’s not like you’re paying,” she said before handing me a large beef skewer.
I grabbed the skewer before she could change her mind, realizing I didn’t deserve her kindness after jokingly and bitterly threatening K-pop. I devoured the beef like a ravenous beast.
I was always starving the day after I shifted. My inner wolf wanted nothing more than to eat everything on the grill. Except for the chicken. No matter how much I loved the song “Chicken Fried”, eating real fried chicken would be a sin.
When I recognized the sympathetic expression on the old lady’s face, I slowed down and gave her a smile.
“You poor boy,” she said. I didn’t like the helpless sound of her voice.
“What?”
“You have a very dark aura surrounding you.” Her eyes filled with concern. “I fear the two of you must brace yourself for what is coming.”
“What?” I swallowed hard, the beef sticking in my now parched throat. As my brain processed her words, my wolf vision studied her serious face. “Is there a ghost beside me? I’m going to need some clarification. Please.”
“Something untoward is coming your way, boy. There will be a hand reaching out for yours, but it might not be sufficient. If this person manages to save you,” she continued and my stomach clenched uncomfortably, “you will be free from your tragic fate, but you will also have to live the rest of your life unhappy. Remember this, boy, only one can survive.”
“Only one can survive?” I repeated, momentarily spooked. I waited for her to crack a smile or give me a flyer to a ghost tour company.
She didn’t laugh.
She didn’t hand me anything either.
Everything is Gray
“Yuri, should I hire a psychologist?”I asked my panda-shaped loofah as I immersed myself in a coconut milk bubble bath. “I could really use one.”
