Howl & Growl

“Frankie,” Chad, my manager snaps. “Okay, that's it. You’re fired.”

“Oh no,” I say with zero emotion as I pull off my name tag and stroll out the door.

Is it really my fault if the Karen final boss launched a candle at me because I refused to believe it made her cat sick?

No.

Maybe it's my fault that when she demanded a refund, I demanded equal pay and a huge pierced dick to tuck me in at night.

Fired, again.

I get halfway down the street before the adrenaline crashes and I realize two things:

One; I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s gas station sushi experiment.

And two; My bank balance has more zeros than my love life.

Back at my apartment, if you can call a glorified shoebox with questionable plumbing an 'apartment', I collapse onto the floor mattress, kick off my boots, and scream into my pillow.

This isn’t even my worst Tuesday.

When the muffled screaming loses its charm, I roll onto my back and grab my phone. It’s cracked, grimy, and currently displaying four unread notifications: two from my bank (rude), one from Chad, and one from my landlord that simply says:

‘Have you considered selling used underwear?’

Delete. Delete. Trauma delete.

I open the job app with the same energy as someone re-downloading Tinder after a breakup. It’s all pyramid schemes and jobs with the words “vibrant sales environment,” which we all know translates to free labour.

I scroll. And scroll. And scroll. Somewhere between “dog psychic assistant” and “energy drink ambassador (must wear costume),” I find it.

IMMEDIATE HIRE. NO BACKGROUND CHECK. LOVES KIDS A PLUS.

Suspicious? Yes. But also? My standards are currently six feet under and holding hands with my dignity.

No company name. No job description. Just an address, and an offer of a shockingly high hourly rate. Probably an illegal drug front, but what isn’t these days?

I click Apply.

There’s no application form. No CV required. Just a message that says:

‘See you at 7am. Bring snacks.’

Okay then.

******************************************************************************

I tossed and turned all night. I wasn't nervous, now I am, because the Uber driver's just pulled over and said, 

“This is as far as I go.” 

In a, 'I have a wife and kids and don’t want to be sacrificed in the woods today', kind of way.

I blink at him through smudged eyeliner and the last thread of optimism I own.

“Bro. The address is still a mile away.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes, just stares out the windshield, eyes twitching side to side.

“Yeah.”

I glance out the window at trees, so many fucking trees.

Not friendly trees. No. These are the kind of trees that whisper in Latin and watch you pee. The paved road gives up after a few feet, dissolving into a narrow dirt track.

I squint at the one landmark available; a half-rotted wooden mailbox with faded cartoon paw prints painted on the side.

Howl & Growl. The “o” in “Growl” is scratched out.

Charming.

There’s no visible buildings, no lights or people. Just the buzzing of insects, the caw of a raven doing a great horror-movie impression, and somewhere in the distance…howls.

The moment my foot hits the dirt, the Uber driver slams his foot down and speeds off. The U-turn so fast he nearly clips a bush before he disappears in cloud of dust.

“If I die, at least I won’t have to pay rent.” I mutter.

Sighing, I pull out my phone, and do what any responsible adult would do in this situation.

Take a selfie.

Messy curls, combat boots, forest in the background, caption:

“If I go missing, delete my browser history, then avenge me. Xoxo.”

I post it to my story easily, interesting that the service is so good in the middle of the wilderness. If I’m going to be kidnapped by cultists, I’m at least going viral.

With final resignation I step onto the path. I can do this. I once wore a polyester sausage costume for twelve hours slinging samples of vegan hot dogs outside a strip mall.

Twenty five sweaty, mosquito-infested minutes later my boots are covered in dirt, my hair’s a humid disaster and there’s a twig in my bra that I’ve accepted as part of my personality.

When I finally reach a clearing, I stop dead.

Howl & Growl Therapeutic Daycare.

This is not what I expected.

The building is massive. Two stories of timber and moss-covered stone, more akin to a lodge used to host rejuvination retreats.

I stand there like an idiot, wondering if I should knock or run. I approach slowly, the building might bolt if I move too fast.

The front steps groan under my boots, and as I reach the top, the front door creaks open on its own.

Not ominous at all.

Peeking inside, I can see it’s weirdly clean. Suspiciously clean.

Bleached wood floors, neat cubbies with evenly spaced name tags. Everything symmetrical and perfect.

No juice stains or weird crafts taped to walls.

No children.

I take a cautious step inside and the door swings shut behind me with a soft click.

There’s a mural painted along one wall, wolves howling at a cartoon moon, one inexplicably wearing a tiny backpack, but it’s so good a real artist had to have done it.

What's with all the wolves? I mean, they’ve got a theme and stuck to it I suppose.

It’s so quiet too, where's the chaos?

I clear my throat just to hear something, but the sound falls flat.

The hallway stretches ahead, daring me to explore. I pass a row of tiny lockers, each painted in pastel colors with little paw print stickers.

My spine prickles. I tug my hoodie down over my wrists and mutter,

“Not creepy at all.”

I peek through a half-open door marked 'Cub Den'.

Inside is rows of empty cribs. A mobile spins lazily above one, even though no one is here to wind it.

My eyes are glued to it.

It spins slower.

Slower.

Stops.

Nope.

I back out and shut the door quietly, let's not wake the ghosts.

As I walk deeper into the building, the temperature seems to change, the air thick and heavy.

Is it hot in here, or just me?

I pause, fanning myself. My skin's flushed and my heartbeat’s doing that weird double-thump. I tug at the collar of my hoodie and taste the regret of wearing this many layers.

There’s a scent in the air I can’t place, warm and spicy. Peppercorn and smoke–

“You’re late.”