There was an intruder in the forest this morning. I was drawing up this year’s garden plan, snow’s melting faster than expected so I was irritated at the interruption. Winters are getting shorter and shorter and I can’t say I like it. I need my rest. Feel like I oughtn’t harp on humans burning the planet down in every entry, but damn if they aren’t making a hell out of this paradise.
The dogs alerted me to the interloper. They could, of course, take care of such a threat themselves, but I like to know what kind of human is wandering off the path in my forest. Who would dare? Who could break the wards? Who is that monumentally stupid?
While the dogs rested, had water, and a snack, I looked for my preserved magnolia leaves. I had them pressed in a book somewhere. Going through the bookshelves I pulled out several old tomes: La Mort Aquatique, Trancendental Altercations, La Grande Dame, Nachtfresser und ihre Verwendungszwecke, Insect and Dream Manipulation, but finally found a pile of them in Fylgja Höggormi, which made no sense… regardless, there they were. From a jar in my cabinet I took a strand of fox hair. Outside, I stripped naked, put the fox hair on my head, and then the magnolia leaf over that.
If you’ve never shape shifted before, I don’t recommend it. The pain is intense, you’re going to piss yourself, and for at least two minutes afterward you’ll stumble around like an idiot while trying to figure out how to get any of your body parts to work. The wolves no doubt enjoyed watching me figure myself out. But once I did, off we went.
It took an hour of traveling deep into the slushy, melty forest before the scent hit me. The bland internal rot of fast food and carcinogenic beverage dyes, refined sugar, sweat, microplastics, and overconfidence. We were in a small clearing, at the center of which stood a large, mossy boulder. The sharp tang of pine and the cloying, buttery scent of peeling birch bark mingled with something else, too. Something darker. The goading scent of hot, bloody saliva.
Whispers filled the air, “I’m here on Witch Mountain, where the deadly prehensile-tailed tree slugs are said to live. No one has ever been this far off the path here before, but I’ve been studying and I know what I’m doing. I’ve been following a huge slime trail for about twenty minutes now, and it heads up this tree right in front of me. Now, as long as I don’t get under the tree, I should be safe.”
I let out a yelp, the wolves split around the boulder, one to the right and one to the left. I scrambled up and over. Huddled on the other side was a man in his late forties, camera in hand. I barked at him, he startled and looked up, stumbling backwards as he did, but recovering quickly and aiming the camera up at me.
“Got surprised by a cute little fox. Hi there fella.”
Might not want to be demeaning when your enemy has the high ground, nonetheless, I stood still. Geri and Freki both took noisy steps toward the man. He swung the camera quickly right then left.
“Oh shit. Do wolves and foxes hunt together? I might be in trouble here,” he laughed nervously. “Ok, ok, no, I have bear spray.” He swung his backpack around and set the camera down, aimed at himself digging through his bag. About to die and still worried about creating content, humans never fail to astound…
“Probably should have packed this better. Oh wait! I got it.” He held up an aerosol can and waggled it at the camera. He muttered something about the range of the spray, then took to reading the back of the can. While he read I jumped noiselessly down from the boulder and circled him, coming around behind. I wanted to know how he got through my wards, he had to have a talisman or an amulet, something. I nosed through his bag, but found nothing. Just as he looked up from the can and into the camera I put my paws on his shoulders and my muzzle to his ear and licked, deep in there. It’s only gross when you’re in human form. In any kind of canid form it’s a very special moment with a taste particular to each person. Inner ear flavors kind of burst in your mouth and swim like shrapnel-fish through your brain. So exquisite.
He didn’t like it.
“Fuck! Shit!” He spun and hurled the can of bear spray at me. I dodged. Geri and Freki advanced, but I had already seen what I was after, on a leather cord around his neck hung a shard of black tourmaline with a zigzagging line carved around its middle. The symbol of a broken boundary. No doubt with some other witch’s magic behind it. Irritating, but we are what we are, and loyal when we need money isn’t always it.
He kept crab walking backwards until he bumped up against a very solid Geri, who opened wide and took the man’s head in his mouth. He was as gentle as he possibly could be, but the message was easy to receive. I, a fox and much smaller than a wolf raised from a pup on demon milk, climbed up the man’s torso and rooted around in his shirt for a good grasp of the tourmaline, then severed the leather with my teeth. It isn’t often that I have such sharp teeth. Or that I’m so close to a vulnerable man’s jugular. I licked his neck, licked deeper into the sweat and salt and oils, the bitter taste of fear. He whimpered. I bit down into hard neck muscles, feeling his jugular roll out from under my teeth. So elusive. Hot blood ran down my throat. A rare treat.
But I wasn’t trying to kill him. I leapt off him and barked at the boys. Freki took hold of one arm and Jeri took hold of the other.
The man blubbered and moaned. Nothing comprehensible. They dragged him up under the tree he’d been so interested in and we all stood around him to ensure he didn’t run. We do not call them prehensile-tailed slugs, rather dull. We call them gastrosnaps. Within a few moments there was a rustling in the tree above, a few fist-sized globs of mucous dropped with undignified splats into the leaf litter. I gekkered in anticipation, I couldn’t help it. Foxes are terribly excitable.
The man looked up into the leafless tree, his eyes wide, searching. Gastrosnaps can be tricky to spot, even with no leaf cover. They have excellent camouflage and can mimic branches. More mucous slopped down from the tree, they were getting excited. One of them broke cover and moved, the man screamed and lurched away from the tree trunk. Like slimy yo-yos, the gastrosnaps unfurled, bulbous heads charging for their prey. Five of them, with enormous, hook-like teeth, bit into the man at various points along his body. He writhed and screamed, but the slugs held him fast as they hauled him up into the tree.
They really are amazing to watch, quite muscular, and they work together so well. Using their own bodies, they lashed him to one of the bigger branches high up in the tree. He screamed and pleaded for help, but witches help those who help themselves. He could have helped himself out by not sneaking into my woods. I’d love to say I felt horrible for him as each slug then latched onto him with their hooked teeth, but the most I felt was hungry. The slugs, curiously, feed more like spiders, having syringe like tongues that they insert into their prey, digesting and sucking out the goop. Once the tongues go in, the screaming usually stops, the digestive juices must have some kind of anesthetic. I’d love to get a sample, but I also love not being eaten alive.
Once he was dead and the gastrosnaps were quietly slurping, we headed back for the cabin.
Unfortunately, I had to become human again.
Loved it. Thank you.
this was really satisfying. you made him so annoying with so few words.