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The mind is a tricky thing. It takes data from the outside world and transforms it into electrical signals. Then, like pieces of a puzzle, the data is reunited into a completely new reality. A reality that is more than just physicality, but a reality of emotions and purpose. A reality that becomes an existence. Wanda DeWise’s existence was that of a single mom in the ‘burbs, a normal woman with a normal life. Her life included a wonderful son, a small but cozy house, a decent job, a cute little car, a wilting houseplant on top of her mantle, and a collection of tiny souvenir spoons from places she’d experienced. Her mind made perfect sense of her world, her world made perfect sense in her mind. Then, one day, that all changed. Her world was thrown a curve ball; her mind reeled from the impact. It stumbled over the input. “Does not compute.” “Invalid data.” “Error.” Her mind changed her illusions of the physical world in order to remain functioning. Some would call this going insane, to others, it’s a coping mechanism, and yet others might say that she’s peeking into the real-real world for the first time. Was Alice looking through the looking glass or was the looking glass looking at Alice? Yet, for whomever is right, it matters little to Wanda DeWise, for all that matters to her is the ever loudening howls from the invisible beasts that have haunted and hunted her for the past week.
The cold, biting rain descended on the darken, occupied house on 1453 Thatcher Lane, the house where the very disturbed Ms. DeWise was trying to find refuge. She looked under her covers for it, in the darkest corner, in the lightest corner, in the shower, in the shower with earplugs, in the shower with earplugs and screaming, and yet she could not find refuge, could not escape the howls. Inhuman howls that bled every horrible human emotion one could ever dread of feeling. Wails of death and mourning. Beastly sounds that no living being should ever hear, yet Wanda heard them and heard them constantly. One week had felt like a lifetime, like there had never been a time without the stalking howls. But there had been a time without them, in fact there were 38 long years without them. It was only after the horrible second, the so short and so transforming second, that there became the howls.
A week ago, the moment before the howls, there was silence. Wanda and her automobile were existing together, navigating the familiar streets of her neighborhood like they have always done on her way home from work, when - THUD! BUMP! She slammed on her brakes; her car quickly obeyed her and screeched to a halt. Jumping out, she looked in front of the car…nothing. Twisting her head, an object behind the car was captured in the corner of her eye. Her mind processed the object. ”Input…bloody, small, not moving…” She turned her head to gather more information. “Input…blonde, limbs, ERROR, ERROR.” She got closer. “Input…blonde fur, four legs, animal, Canis lupus familiaris, domesticated dog, not breathing, dead.” The howls started.
At first they started inside her, then they wafted out of her, around her, engulfed her. They became her reality. Somehow her body, sans her mind, moved the empty corpse to the side of the road and managed to drive the rest of the short way home. She remembers very little after that, only the howling. Always the howling. Howling, howling, howling. The minutes bled into hours, the hours into days, the days into a full week. She can’t remember going into work; did she even go into work, did work even exist anymore, did it ever? Her house existed, that she was still sure of…she thinks. She feels the walls of the shower, watches as her hand smothers the condensed water on the colder tiles. The physicality of her hand, the wall, and the water seems real enough, but so do the deafening howls that drown out the roar of the water from the showerhead. The water, once warm, hot even, now rains down on her as cold and harsh as the rain outside. Her fingers that press up against the possible wall are prune-like…if such a thing as prunes exists in her new world. They existed in her old world; so did her job, her car, her house, her son….her son, her beloved son.
Her hand fell from the wall…or did the wall fall from her hand? Her son, Tyler, the love of her life, the little ball of energy and laughter; surely he still existed, but where was he? She tried to think back but the howls halted her thoughts. She pushed against the crescendo of agonizing screams. Her brain struggled through the memories of the weeklong descent into another world. Tyler, where was Tyler? She missed his shining blue eyes, his giggling voice, his ruffled blonde hair…blonde fur…his limbs…the stilled limbs…oh dear…
She fell away from the water, from the shower, from the house, from the world we all think we know. She fell away screaming. She fell away howling. Wanda DeWise was no more. Wanda DeWise was the lonely howl in the cold, harsh night.
The End
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