I’m in love with Melissa Lee. Problem is, so is my brother.
Problem is, he got the looks. The charisma. The height. He’s older, so maybe I’ll catch up in the next couple of years, but by then, it’ll be too late.
Problem is, he’ll win her hand.
Problem is how that hand transforms from time to time.
###
Ma says to stay outta the hayloft of the barn we share with the Lee’s. Used to keep animals in it. Now, we do something else with it.
Pa wants us to stay outta the hayloft, too, but for different reasons. Doesn’t want us mucking up the bales he’s so lovingly stacked. Me and Jimmy are usually careful, but our rough housing has made a mess one or a dozen times. You ask me, maybe Pa ain’t doing such a bang-up job with these bales, what with them being so rickety.
Won’t catch me saying that to his face, though.
Ma’s got different reasons for wanting us outta there. Doesn’t want us to fall and break a leg like the Buehlman kid up the way. Kid got gangrene or something in his wound. They had to take the leg, and now he walks with crutches while the other kids call him Peggy.
I wouldn’t ever fall. I know this loft too well. I come here once a month. To watch.
Problem is, so does Jimmy.
“Hey, Squirt.”
I don’t answer. I will myself to be heavier. For the bale I’m lying on to swallow me up, so he moves on.
Problem is, he never moves on.
He grunts and huffs and breathes so loud. Doesn’t need to. My brother is strong and fast. He can climb that old ladder without breaking a sweat.
Don’t know why he puts on such a production. For my sake, I guess. Ain’t nobody else here.
His messy, brown hair pops up overtop the ladder, and he flashes me a crooked smile, and I can’t help but like him a little.
Just a little.
“Howdy, Arlo,” says he. “Make a little room for me, would ya?” Jimmy heaves himself up into the loft, knocking a handful of straw over the side. It falls like the feathers of a buckshot pheasant.
“Plenty of room,” I grunt. My words never come out so clear as his. It’s like my tongue’s too big. Like my teeth are rattling around in my mouth like marbles.
“Saw Mr. Lee putting on the collar,” says Jimmy as he rolls onto the bale adjacent mine. “They’ll be leading Mel in soon.” He peers over the edge, looking down into the barn some fifteen feet below us.
No animals in here, but the smell remains. It’ll smell animal in here ‘til Melissa moves on.
Jimmy calls Melissa ‘Mel’. I call her ‘Lizzie’, which I know is short for Elizabeth, but she smiles at it all the same. Doesn’t smile at Mel. Maybe a little, but it’s a stupid nickname. A man’s name.
“Whatcha think it’s gonna be tonight?” I ask.
“Cow?”
“Not a chance,” I say. “Too big.” No way she’d be able to take a cow.
“She’s hungry,” says Jimmy. “Told me so today.”
A wormy shiver tingles in my back. “You saw her today? Thought she had lessons today.”
“Got a window, don’t she?” He rolls on his side, flashing that crooked grin and rocking his hay bale. Would that crooked grin look so good missing a tooth or a dozen?
“Mrs. Lee had to deliver preserves down to the Buehlman’s, and you know how Mrs. Buehlman gets chatting and don’t quit.” Jimmy picked a piece of straw out of my bale and started chewing it. “Figured she’d be even more chatty these days, what with all the commotion going on in that household. Figured I’d get some jawing in with Mel in the meantime.”
Don’t I know how time can be mean. When Pa has me mucking stalls to his impossible standards, I could’ve been talking to Melissa. I could’ve been leaning over that windowsill, breathing in the mint on her breath. Watching her dark curls bounce every time she moved her head.
That’s how she talks. Swinging her head around like the friendliest hound you could ever know. Giving each speaker in a conversation the attention they deserve.
Outside the barn door, something sniffs at the ground.
“That’s not her, is it?” I lower myself close to the hay.
Tags jingle on the collar of the animal out there. Just the Buehlman dog. It’s always getting out and roaming. Might as well be the town dog with how many folks it sidles up next to.
Wish I came up here later. My mouth is dustier than this loft. My breath is probably nastier than smushed cow pies. Jimmy wouldn’t tell me if it stank. If I asked, maybe, but not if I didn’t.
“Won’t be a cow,” I repeat, hand in front of my mouth. Trying to waft my air back at me, but only smelling the dirt on my skin. “Not tonight.”
“What then?”
“Ellie stopped giving milk.”
Jimmy peers at me. “You know it?”
I peer right on back. “I spoke to Lizzie some.” Seconds to his minutes, but I won’t let on. “It’ll be goat tonight.”
He nods thoughtfully. Mulling it over. Did he ever consider me a threat for her hand? Does he now?
“Hey,” says he, “brought you this.” Jimmy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a bottle of Coke.
“Huh?” I salivate at the thought of the drink. I haven’t had anything since my dinner milk. I’m downright parched. “For me?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s a little warm, but I figured you wouldn’t turn your nose up at it.”
I take it from Jimmy. The glass doesn’t sweat like a real crisp one, but it’s far from warm.
“Why?” I ask.
He laughs, a big belly one. “You’re my brother, doofus!” He reaches out and smacks my shoulder.
The bottle slips in my fingers, but I close ‘em tight on the neck.
“Thanks,” I say.
“No problem, Arlo.” Jimmy rests his chin on the back of his hands and waits for Melissa to be led inside. His feet bounce on the end of the bale, making it sway a little. Not a care in the world, my brother has.
I look at the bottle in my hand. A swig of that sweet elixir would be heaven. Problem is, I got no way of opening it.
“Hey, Jimmy?”
He looks over, eyebrows raised high enough over his sleepy eyelids to make wrinkles in his perfect forehead.
“Can you?” I hold the bottle out to him.
Jimmy’s got a trick for cracking off the tops. Uses his boot, right on the heel. Doesn’t do it around Ma after she chewed his head off one time for ruining good boots, but it’s a neat trick, and you hardly get any dirt on the mouth of the bottle.
Problem is, Jimmy’s not wearing boots. He takes the bottle anyway.
“Sure thing, squirt.” He rolls off the wobbly hay bale and lands on his bare feet in a crouch. Jimmy’s got plenty of tricks. He brings the bottle near a thick, wooden beam and pops the cap off against its edge.
The jagged crown falls to the hayloft floor and rolls right on over the edge to the barn floor below.
He hops back onto his bale—swaying it even more so—and takes a swig of the soda.
“Brother tax,” he says before handing it back.
I wipe his germs off the top with my sleeve before taking my own drink.
It’s almost as sweet as Melissa Lee. The only thing keeping me from downing it all in one fell swoop is the bubbles. Burping, I dig the bottle into the hay about halfway so it sticks up. Nothing will knock that bad boy over. Strong as the barn.
Shadows move on the other side of the barn door. The scant light dances.
“Shhh,” says Jimmy.
“I know it,” says I. My heart thrums against the bale of hay. It’ll knock the thing over if I don’t settle it down. Tip me right over the edge and toward certain death.
The door slides open on its track. Melissa stands there, leather collar fastened around her neck. She holds her own lead line in a coil.
On her face is a sad smile. Resignation to her fate. The moonlight paints her just as beautiful as the sun would: Round face with eyebrows that jump around like crickets when she gets worked up in a story; strong legs hidden behind a long, plain skirt.
She’s taller than me, but not now. I’m in the air, an angel looking down on earth’s majesty.
“In ya go,” says Mr. Lee, not unkindly. He sallies up beside her, wiping dirt off his hands. “Need anything?”
“No thank you.” She practically floats inside. Melissa is far from me, but her scent reaches all the same, like buttercups and potato chips.
Mr. Lee takes a step in the barn, but that’s as far as he goes. Like always, he wants to say something. Something important. Problem is, he bites his tongue every time. Far as I know, he doesn’t give her no assurances. Doesn’t even ask if it hurts.
I would, but we’re supposed to pretend we don’t know about her changes. For her pride, I suppose.
Lizzie isn’t prideful, though. She gets embarrassed—sure, who doesn’t—but I think she’d like to have someone to confide in. Must be awful lonely keeping a secret like that to yourself.
Maybe I’ll sneak up to her window next time Ms. Lee is off jawin’. Let her know she doesn’t have to suffer in silence.
“Back in a moment,” says Mr. Lee and retreats through the open barn door.
Melissa looks into the barn. She sighs, dragging a toe through the loose strands of hay on the ground. Builds ‘em up into a little pile. Little mountain of hay she steps on like queen of the world.
Queen of my world.
The lead line droops from her arms. She twirls it around and around. A jump rope with no one holding the other end.
I would.
Mr. Lee returns pushing a wheelbarrow. Within its steely bucket is a baby deer. Not Ellie the goat. Not Jimmy’s cow.
“How’d he wrangle that?” whispers Jimmy.
I flick him in the arm. For once, me giving the orders. He needs to shut his yap, lest Mr. Lee finds us up here and give us the heave ho.
The deer struggles in the wheelbarrow, and for a second, Mr. Lee looks like he’s gonna dump it. He’s got strong forearms, however—have to be with a daughter like Melissa—and he rights the bucket.
“Want me to leave the hardware?” he asks.
Melissa considers it. “Sure.”
He nods, lowers the legs to the ground, then wipes his hands on the seat of his pants. Dust gets in his eye. It must, because he starts rubbing at them and clearing his throat.
“It’s okay, Daddy.” Melissa goes up on her tippy toes to give him a hug.
“Love you, sweetie.” Mr. Lee kisses the top of her head. “You be good.”
“I’ll try.”
He smiles. Takes her in like it’s the last time he’ll see his daughter for a while. Harumphs another time, clearing up his throat.
And then he’s gone. The door is shut, bolted, and locked.
It’s dark. Any second now will come the noises. Tearing flesh. Gnashing teeth. Grunts and screams. What does a deer scream sound like? Is it too late to sneak out? Of course, it is.
My eyes take a second to adjust. When they finally do, I can see Melissa petting the fawn. Stroking its dappled head.
“It’s okay, baby.” She smiles sweetly down at it. Madonna and the baby Jesus.
I wonder if she’ll dump it out before the time comes. Or maybe she’ll use the wheelbarrow like a soup bowl. Keep the mess contained and save her old man the cleanup.
Melissa bends down, scoops the deer into her arms. It looks heavy, but she’s got a good hold. It kicks its bound legs, but she squeezes it tight and says, “Now, now, don’t you make me drop you.”
She lowers it gently to the ground. With a tool I can’t really see, she slits the binds open.
The fawn springs to its feet and bounds into the far corner of the barn. Beneath the hayloft and out of sight.
Melissa didn’t have a tool. Only nails growing a little too long and a little too sharp.
Melissa is beginning to change.
I love Melissa—Lizzie, to me and only me. Problem is, she’s a goddamn monster.
By letting it free, Lizzie gives the deer a chance. Compassionate enough to let her prey fight back but too hungry to let it go.
Her face ripples, fur pushing through the pores of her skin. Her nose elongates, pulling the bones of her cheeks forward. Teeth fall to the ground, pushed out by new, sharp teeth three times the length.
The fawn scrambles beneath me and Jimmy. It bangs against the boards, slips on loose hay. We learn what a deer scream sounds like.
It starts as a keening, slipping out of a trembling throat. A honking bray; a call for Mama?
Melissa falls onto four legs, hands and feet now large, hairy paws tipped with claws sharper than the tines of a pitchfork.
She pounces. The show we came to see happens just out of sight.
Jimmy leans forward on his bale. Craning his neck in an attempt to see something—anything.
The fawn wails and thrashes. Blood splashes dark as pitch against the barn wall. That, we do see.
“Jimmy,” I whisper. The bale he’s on is beginning to tilt forward with his leaning.
He can’t help himself. He loves Melissa. He loves to see her in action.
I do too, but no way am I risking that fall. I’m a coward. I’ll miss out on everything for the rest of my life because I can’t bring myself to just stretch my neck out.
Jimmy’s bale continues to tip.
I can put my hand out. Secure it. Keep it firmly planted so he can safely enjoy the view.
Problem is, he wants what I want.
Problem is, he’s always going to get what he wants. He’s Jimmy. Melissa would be lucky to have him. He’s Jimmy.
I can save him. Problem is, I don’t.
The bale tips. Jimmy looks back at me, not reaching out for a helping hand, but frozen. His hands dig into the hay as if that’ll stop his descent.
I don’t know what face I’m wearing. Does it show my glee? My excitement? I hope not.
He’ll break a leg. He’ll limp. He won’t be perfect anymore!
Jimmy sinks like a stone. His bare feet are the last part of him to fall out of sight. Dirty soles leave an afterimage on my eyes. I blink them away, but closing my eyes only makes the thud of his body hitting the barn floor that much louder.
My heart beats as quick as the deer’s must’ve, I reckon. Thumping like the leg of a dog who pinned down an itch beneath dark claws.
Jimmy groans. Alive, thank God. Right?
Yes. Thank God.
Problem is, the chewing under the hayloft has stopped. Melissa no longer gnaws on the fawn’s brittle bones.
Problem is, a low growl is now rolling out from the shadows beneath me.
I peer over the edge of my haybale. It’s more stable, but all the same, I make sure to keep my weight firmly, planting the hay to the wood planks.
“Now, Mel…” Jimmy scoots backward on his behind. His ankle is swelling up, but otherwise, he looks fine. Might get out of this without a lifelong limp, son of a bitch.
He rises to his feet, not putting weight on the afflicted ankle.
And now, here comes the pup. The wolf whose clothes lay in tatters on the floor.
Jimmy looks up. Right at me. His eyes are open so wide they’re jittering. He’s thinking of calling out. His jaw even drops to begin to say, “Arlo.”
But his mouth closes. He doesn’t call out for help. What would I do if he did? Climb down to help him fight Lizzie? If I did, there’d be two corpses.
No, he knows what he has to do. The risk is all his. He’s too brave to share.
Jimmy locks eyes with the advancing wolf.
“Mel, you know me.” He flashes a shaky smile at her. “Remember? We talked just earlier today. About lessons. About summer. You told me you wanted to take me down Stine Creek a ways because you heard it widens out into a pool big enough to swim laps in.”
Lizzie never told me about the pool. She never invited me.
“How are we gonna swim laps if you chew my arms off, Mel?”
Melissa moves forward on powerful, canine legs. Muscles ripple all over her fur-covered shoulders. Pink saliva drips from teeth as long as the neck of a Coke bottle.
Jimmy sighs. “Okay. I was hoping you wouldn’t be so hungry. Not after that deer back there. But if you must eat me, I understand. Can’t think of a better way to go.”
Is he fooling? Trying to trick her?
“I gotta ask you to be kind to Arlo. He cares for you quite a bit. He might be mad at you for killing his only brother, but he’ll come around. It’s the curse. It’s not you. He’ll come around.” Jimmy’s eyes flash up at me. Remain locked on mine for a second. “He has a big heart, like you. You two will find a way to beat this thing. To live with it.”
Melissa is inches from him. She could dart out and have his neck in her powerful jaws in a split second.
I don’t want him to die. Even if he takes her away from me, I don’t want my brother to die. I should have held him back, just like I always do. Put my hand on his ankle when the hay bale started to tip.
Jimmy’s eyes close. He’s prepared for the end.
Melissa’s jaws close on air. She leans her head into Jimmy’s chest. Peace.
She’s no longer growling.
My perfect brother has soothed the savage beast. Of course, he has.
I should be happier.
He laughs. Wraps his arms around her massive head.
Melissa leans into him, and he stumbles back on his sore ankle.
He winces. Probably aggravated the bones there. His luck, it’s probably just a sprain. He lifts his bad foot and looks at his sole.
The fallen bottle cap is embedded in his flesh. No big deal. Jimmy flicks it off.
Problem is, his foot’s bleeding now.
Problem is, Melissa’s sensitive nose catches the scent.
Melissa loves him. Problem is, tonight, she’s not Melissa. Not Mel. Not Lizzie.
Tonight, she’s the wolf. In all the nights we’ve watched her feast, she has never been full, never satisfied. The scratches on the inside of the barn door can testify.
Jimmy doesn’t even have time to scream. But I do. I have lots of time.
###
By the time I drag myself down from the hayloft, the sun is peeking over town.
At some point, Melissa was pulled from the barn by her lead. A naked girl, confused and covered in blood.
I don’t remember more than pieces. Mr. Lee sees the deer. Sees my brother. Says nothing.
I can’t call out to him, my throat’s ragged from crying. But I don’t think I would, anyway.
A bang rings out when I’m halfway down the ladder. Sounds like Pa’s Ford backfiring. It sends crows scattering across the heavens. Their black shapes show through the cracks in the barn slats.
I can barely move the barn door with my shaking arms. It opens just enough for me to slip through the crack.
A patch of daisies grows by the barn, so I pick a handful. Melissa could use something pretty to look at after a night like that. Something pretty as her.
I forgive her. Of course, I do. She can’t control what happens in that state.
I stumble to her house, down the path that branches off one way to our house, the other to hers.
Mr. Lee sits on the porch. His face is in his hands.
Mrs. Lee gingerly opens the front door and looks outside.
“Melissa?”
Mr. Lee shakes his head, but his wife doesn’t see. She doesn’t see his shaking shoulders either. His hitching back.
I look around for Melissa, too. I have flowers for her.
Mrs. Lee steps out in her housecoat. “Melissa?”
She sees the shotgun leaning against the house.
“No…” It comes from low in her guts.
“She got the Barlow boy,” Mr. Lee says it to the porch. “I had to.”
“No.” Mrs. Lee shakes her head viciously. A dog with a rabbit. “No.” Her lips twist down on her crinkly chin. She stumbles blindly into the house. Her wails shake the ground. They make me feel like running very fast and very far.
Mr. Lee is crying, too. I’ve never seen a man cry like that. He reaches out for his shotgun.
Their yard has a fresh mound of dirt in it. Right under the apple tree Melissa used to hang from. Taunting me and Jimmy. Throwing cores at us.
The Buehlman dog trots by. They never keep their mutt on a leash. I hold my one empty hand out for him. The one not holding the daisies.
The pup is always good for a lick. Not today, though.
Today it just keeps trotting. Doesn’t even look my way.
