The Wolf’s Claim: Evan
Another long fucking day making coffee for some of the rudest fucking people on the planet. Being a barista in Oregon was like being a glutton for punishment. And I… wasnot.
It was nearly midnight by the time I pulled up to my apartment building, my shitty car sputtering as the engine died. The damn thing was on its last legs and I didn’t make nearly enough in tips to replace it. I yanked the key from the ignition and grabbed my backpack from the passenger seat, wincing as my shoulder protested. Eight-hour shifts on my feet were killing me slowly, and the manager's new policy of "no leaning" was just sadistic.
The stairwell to my third-floor apartment smelled like weed and someone's attempt at curry. The potheads in 2B must have been cooking again. My stomach growled despite the bad smell. I hadn't eaten since that stolen blueberry muffin during my ten-minute break.
"Home sweet fucking home," I muttered, fumbling with my keys outside my door. The lock stuck, like always, requiring that special jiggle-and-curse combination I'd perfected over the last year.
Inside wasn't much better than outside. My roommate Tara had left dishes in the sink again, and the place had that musty odor of neglect that seemed to seep into the walls. I dropped my backpack on the counter and checked the fridge. It was empty except for half a bottle of ketchup and some questionable milk.
I slumped onto the couch and pulled out my phone. Three missed calls from Mom. I'd call her tomorrow when I didn't feel like roadkill. There was also a text from my ex asking if I still had his gaming headset. Deleted.
Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe tomorrow some tech bro wouldn't lecture me for five minutes about how I'd ruined his day by putting too much foam in his cappuccino. Maybe tomorrow I'd finally send in that community college application.
But probably not.
I scrolled mindlessly through social media, watching other people's highlight reels while my own life felt stuck on repeat. Everyone from high school seemed to be getting married, having kids, or traveling to countries I couldn't even pronounce. Meanwhile, I was debating whether I could afford ramen or if I should just go to bed hungry.
The apartment creaked as Tara came home, giggling with some guy she'd probably met at the bar. Great. Another night of thin walls and awkward breakfast small talk with a stranger. I turned up the volume on my phone and pretended to be deeply engrossed in a video about making sourdough bread, as if that was something I'd ever have the time or energy to do.
"Oh, hey," Tara said, noticing me on the couch. "Thought you'd be asleep."
"Just got home," I replied, not looking up.
The guy behind her was tall, with a beard and flannel shirt. Because of course he was. He gave me an awkward wave. "Hey."
I nodded back, the universal signal forplease-don't-talk-to-me-anymore. They disappeared into her bedroom, and I was left alone again with my thoughts, which were starting to feel like unwelcome roommates themselves.
My phone dinged. A notification from my bank app.ACCOUNT BALANCE LOW. Yeah. No shit. I'd been playing this game of financial chicken for months now, seeing how close I could get to zero before my next paycheck rescued me from the brink.
I checked my schedule for tomorrow. Opening shift. Which meant an alarm for five in the morning. The thought made my entire body ache in anticipation.
"This can't be it," I whispered to the empty living room. "This can't be all there is."
But the empty living room, like the universe, didn't seem to have any answers for me. Instead I was answered by the tell-tale sounds of moans from my roommates side of the apartment. All it did was remind me of how fucking lonely I was and I couldn’t take it.
Pushing myself up from the couch, I grabbed my keys and headed outside. I’d rather sleep in my car than listen to her all night with her most recent hookup.
Outside, the night air hit me like a slap to the face, but it was better than the alternative. Instead of going straight to my car, I stopped at the edge of the apartment building, leaning against the brick to stare up at the sky. It was a brief moment of peace, something I didn’t experience often. Between work and sleep, there wasn’t a lot of time to just appreciate the world around me. Of course, with all the streetlights and the glow of the city, I couldn’t make out anything except the moon. Even so, it was beautiful.
That’s when I heard the growling behind me. Goosebumps broke out over my entire body and cold fear flooded my body. Ifroze, afraid to turn around. The growl didn't sound like a dog. It was deeper, more feral. My heart hammered in my chest as I slowly pivoted, scanning the darkness between the buildings.
Two yellow eyes reflected the moonlight, hovering about four feet off the ground. Way too high for a stray dog.
"Shit," I whispered, pressing myself against the brick wall.
The growl came again, followed by a shuffling sound. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. My mind raced through options. Should I run to my car? Scream for help? Play dead? None seemed particularly promising.
"Nice... whatever you are," I said, my voice cracking. "I taste terrible. Ask anyone at work."
The growling stopped and there was a deep sniffing noise. Then, without warning, the eyes blinked out, darkness swallowing them completely.
I stood there, trying desperately to decide if I should run for my car or the door. Sex noises all night were better than getting eaten by some crazy wild animal that had wandered down from the mountains. But everything was quiet now. Whatever the creature was, it must’ve disappeared. Or at least I hoped it had.
“You alright?”
The voice came from behind me and I nearly jumped out of my fucking skin. I spun quickly on the spot, throwing a wild punch that probably would’ve broken my hand. An arm flew up, catching my wrist halfway and stopping me dead in my tracks. I glanced up, a man with deep brown eyes and dark hair staring down at me.
