I never liked the name Salvation Island. But right now, I'm tempted to call the little house beckoning to me in the distance Salvation Cottage.
It's almost nightfall and I've been running all day, but I still feel only a tiny bit exhausted. I could likely run for another few hours. It will take some time to get used to this unlimited energy.
I slide down the slope of the hill I'm on, getting ever closer to the cottage. It's tiny, probably just a room or two, but it's perfect. It's got a roof and a door, what else does a girl want. Maybe there's even a fireplace, although I doubt that there's a peat supply left. With no trees on this island, they're using peat as their source of fuel. Arnold and Bertrand had a big stack of it in a hut in their garden, but this cottage might not have that. Oh well, I'll make do with whatever I find in there.
Five minutes later, I enter my new home. The door is askew and a layer of snow has gathered in the entrance hall. The house is just as cold as the outside, but at least it's dry. There's a coat rack at the end of the tiny hallway, and a door on either side. I open the one on the left first and enter the kitchen. An old fashioned stove is surrounded by a sink and a few dust-covered cabinets, and a wooden table and two chairs complete the room. It's small but quaint. I imagine an old grandmother living here, making porridge in the large rusty pot still standing on the stove.
I rummage through the cupboard and squeal in delight when I find a lonely tin of baked beans. It's a pre-Drowning delicacy that I've only had once in my life. I'll feast like a queen tonight.
There's no other food to be found in the cupboards, this one tin must have been left by mistake when the previous occupants left. I'm about to go explore the other room when I notice a small door at the far end of the kitchen. Curiously I open it and… laugh. More food!
Dozens of tins are waiting for their new home – my stomach. It's mostly soups and stews, but I find one more can of baked beans and two of sugared peaches. I remember my mother putting those on pancakes, together with a generous sprinkling of cinnamon, and my stomach growls.
I'm tempted to open one immediately and devour all the sugary goodness in one go, but my mind wins the fight with my stomach. Let's explore the house first before I eat.
The other room is a small bedroom with an old-fashioned double bed. It looks like one of those creaking beds where you can feel every single spring whenever you turn. There is no bedding left on it, but I find a scratchy blanket in the wardrobe – together with some clothes. Granted, they're twice my size and stuff that was in fashion fifty years ago, but it'll do. Better than walking around in a nightie. I choose some leggings and a large fluffy jumper and immediately feel more comfortable. I even find a scarf to wrap around my waist like a belt to keep the jumper from getting in the way. The only shoes though are high heels which are at least two sizes too small, and a pair of felt slippers. I will need to find an alternative for outside, but for now, the slippers will do. The floor is covered in dust and my bare feet already have a grey shine to them.
There's a small fireplace opposite the bed and I make a mental note to look for peat later on. Maybe there's a stash somewhere outside. A box of matches is lying on the mantelpiece, so that's a good sign. Even though I'm not cold now doesn't mean it will stay that way. I prefer to be prepared.
I make another discovery when I open the drawer of the bedside table. A book! Grimm's fairy tales. Guess what I'm doing tonight – oh. No electricity means no light. I should better hurry up before it's too dark to see anything.
A door with a large crack in it leads to a bathroom. The shower is no longer working and neither is the tap. Guess I will have to use snow to wash for now, until I find a stream or even the sea. And I'll dig a hole outside to become my toilet – without a working flush, this one is useless. A mirror catches my view and I use my sleeve to wipe it clean. My blue eyes stare back at me and I'm tempted to look away. They are too bright, too intense. And there's something else that's different… it takes me a moment to figure out what it is. My hair now has thin pale blonde streaks. It's always been a boring brown until now, nothing special, but those new highlights… I grudgingly admit that I like them. Even if they remind me of Torben's blond hair. Damn that man. He's even infiltrated my hair – wasn't my heart and mind enough?
I look down at my hands and smile as I see that my normal fingernails have returned. I wonder if the claws were a one-off, but judging from Torben's expression when he saw them for the first time, I don't think so. I've changed permanently and I still don't know the extent of these changes.
My stomach growls again. "Yeah, let's get you something to eat," I say to myself (and my stomach), breaking the eerie silence of the cottage. I can easily imagine the ghost of the previous occupant still lingering here. Although maybe she's still alive somewhere. But for now, I'm grateful that she has left and I can now take her home as my own. Rent-free. I smile at that. Money used to be so important before the Drowning. I spent most of the week making plans for what I'd spend my pocket money on. Now I couldn't care less. Money was irrelevant, all that was important was having enough food and supplies to survive. Which I had, for now. I should really be rationing the canned goods I had. Arnold and Bertrand had talked about a trading ship coming here occasionally, but I had nothing to trade for. Thinking about it, even the clothes I was wearing weren't mine. If I thought I was poor before, it was nothing against now.
But I had myself. That sounded really sad. Okay, I had Bonnie and Clyde as well. And my rumbling stomach. All three of which were not the best company. I better get used to being on my own. Alone with my thoughts.
The baked beans are delicious, even though they're cold. Sweet and savoury at the same time… yummy. I had planned to eat only half the tin, but hunger took over. Now it's empty and I curse my missing self-control. I better explore my surroundings tomorrow, maybe I'll find a source of food somewhere. Even if it's just some roots.
It's getting dark quickly so I retire to my bedroom. Strange how in my mind, it's already 'my' room. My new home.
As expected, the blanket is very scratchy and the mattress uncomfortable, but exhaustion has finally caught up with me and I fall asleep quickly.
A loud knock wakes me and I jump out of bed, fully awake. A sharp pain in my fingertips tells me my claws have come out again. I tiptoe to the front door which I managed to pull shut last night despite the cracks and mouldy bits in the wood.
"Hello?" I call but there's no reply. I walk into the kitchen to look out of the window. Nothing. Maybe I imagined the knocking.
I open the front door and freeze as I see large paw prints in the fresh snow. Someone was here, but the trail runs to and away from the house. Whoever was here has already left. The prints come all the way to the door and – oh. A basket is lying right in front of me. How did I not notice that before? I'm a terrible detective.
I hesitate. If I take it, is that a sign of defeat? Of giving in to their pressure? Should I leave it as a clear sign that I no longer want anything to do with them?
But I can't resist my curiosity and take the basket inside. Probably a mistake, but I couldn't do anything today without wondering what they brought me. Bastards, manipulating me in this way.
There's a piece of folded paper on top of the basket. The writing is delicate and in blue ink; I doubt it was one of the guys who wrote this.
Isla,
I've told them to give you some space, but know that you're always welcome to come back. The boys have moved into one of the houses in the village, so our spare bedroom is all yours if you wish. They've promised not to seek you out until you're ready. We'd love to explain everything as I'm sure you have many questions.
Bertie will come again tomorrow morning if you rather leave a message for us.
If you want to come back, just follow his trail.
Yours,
Arnold & Bertrand
I smile at his carefully worded letter. It's not their fault what happened. They were simply our hosts, generous ones at that. I wish I'd had the chance to get to know them better, but right now, I associate them too much with the guys. And I know that would make me lash out at them. I don't want to hurt Arnold and Bertrand, but I feel the rage in me will not differentiate between the six men. I've never felt as aggressive as now. I've always preferred talking over fighting. But not now. I want to hit something, kill something. The rage scares me and I push it back. Now is not the time to get angry.
I pull back the cloth covering the basket. Inside is a blanket, some paper and a pen, a wrapped-up sandwich, a thermos filled with hot tea and a round tin containing a cake. Where did they get a cake from? I sniff at it. Carrot cake. Heavenly. Guess what my breakfast is going to be.
I find some cutlery and sit down at the kitchen table, enjoying the cake. It really is amazing. As is the tea, still hot enough to almost burn my mouth. With every sip, my mood improves and my anger lessens. If Torben and the guys weren't still in that village, I'd return to stay with Arnold and Bertrand, at least for a while, until I decide what to do. And until I find out what's happened to me.
Even though I don't want to believe it, I think it must be a partial shift that's somehow got something to do with sleeping with Torben. Although I don't think losing your virginity usually changes your eye colour and causes you to grow claws. If it did, there'd be no children. I imagine holding a baby in my clawed hands and shiver. And remember last night. And shiver again. We didn't use any protection. Can humans get pregnant with bear shifters? Or are our genes incompatible? I really hope the latter. I've got enough to deal with right now.
Now that I'm sated, I think about what to do today. I should probably explore my surroundings. If I stay here for a while, I need to figure out where exactly I am and what kind of resources I have around me. Oh, and build a toilet. That's becoming a rather pressing matter.
I decide to go barefoot again. The only shoes I have don't fit and I want to keep the slippers dry. I didn't feel the cold yesterday, and I don't feel it now either. It's like walking on sun-warmed sand rather than on snow. Weird. My eyes are telling me that it should be freezing, but my body refuses to believe that. How am I able to produce this much body heat without being feverish?
Now that I'm outside, I can see more bear tracks around the house. Either Bertrand came to visit me several times or someone else was here. I guess it was wishful thinking that the guys would leave me alone. They may have promised Arnold that they would not seek me out, but promises don't seem to matter to them. How did I ever think they were trustworthy? I should have run as soon as I found out what they were. If I hadn't hurt my ankle, I likely would have. But instead, they managed to weasel their way into my heart. And now it's broken. Damn bears.
I try not to look at the tracks, they only make me angry. Instead, I walk around the house, looking for any tools that might help. I don't find any peat for a fire, but hidden under a foot of snow is a small shovel.
Time to practice my toilet-building skills.
The day passes quickly. I've walked for about a mile in each direction but there's not been anything exciting. To the west, I found a small stream that is currently covered in ice. For now, I'm melting snow to use as drinking and washing water, but it's good to know that there's an alternative not too far away. The sandwich Bertrand brought me is a lovely dinner. I'm surprised that all the physical exertion isn't making me hungrier, but the opposite is true. I missed lunch but didn't feel hungry at all. The only reason I'm eating the sandwich now is because it's a habit to eat something in the evening.
The piece of paper is lying next to me, waiting to be filled with words. I don't know what to write. If I want to write something at all. On one hand, I've got so many questions, but on the other hand, I just want to ignore it all and be by myself. Get away from the world for a bit. With the 'world' being four bear shifters in particular.
I sigh and take the pen, drawing a random doodle into one corner. This is going to be one hell of a difficult letter.
Dear Arnold & Bertrand,
Thanks for the food. I'd prefer to stay here, I don't want to see the guys.
Can you tell me what happened to me?
My symptoms are:
- Claws on my fingers and toes
- Changed eye colour (blue instead of brown) and hair colour (blonde highlights)
- Increased speed and strength
- Better eyesight and hearing
- Increased body temperature
- No appetite
I wonder if I should include my anger, but that might just be because of the bears' betrayal. Maybe I'm interpreting too much into the rage that is still bubbling inside me. It might go away soon. Hopefully. I'm not used to this anger. I don't know how to let it out, how to get rid of it.
I sigh, then I write down the question that's been running through my head all day. And all night, to be honest.
Am I turning into a bear?
Isla
That question sounds so silly that I want to erase it as soon as I've written it. No sane person would ask whether they're turning into a bear… unless they've been living with bears. I know they were all born as bear shifters, but in the werewolf stories in books people can be turned into wolves, so who says the same isn't true for bears? The claws and eye colour change are definitely not normal. The other things I could probably explain away somehow, but claws… nah.
I put the letter into the basket, add the empty thermos and place it outside for Bertrand in case he comes again in the morning.
It'll be hard not to stay up all night to wait for him to arrive. And then it'll be another day to wait for the answer to come. Maybe I should just go back to their house to ask my questions. Much faster. But no. The image of Torben steals itself back into my mind and my anger comes forward, hot and intense. He made me into this… abomination. I'm no longer human, and I hate him for it.