The Walking Wolves of Tahoe: Slaughter

Chapter 22

I received a package by carrier from Lou. Inside was a new cell phone. I almost threw it away, but decided against it. I needed a phone, but I quickly regretted it as it began to ring non-stop from callers identified by the cell phone as my so-called girlfriends and by Lou, himself.

I blocked all their numbers and things are back to being quiet.

I did use it to call the local U-Haul moving company to deliver boxes to my house and I've begun to pack. I just don't think I can live here anymore if Tahoe is crawling with...with Werewolves.

I don't know where I'll go. I don't really want to move. I like it here. I liked my job. I had friends. I had someone I cared about...but all of that seems gone...by my choice.

I refuse to talk to Lou.

I refuse to communicate with my deceitful friends.

I refuse to go to work.

All I want to do is slowly pack my boxes and cry...a lot.

I know that I'm falling apart mentally as well as physically and emotionally. I'm not really eating...or bathing...or taking care of myself in anyway.

I'm afraid to get into the shower. All I envision is that shower scene from the movie Psycho happening except with a seven-foot hound from Hell tearing me to shreds. I just can't do it. Pull back the shower curtain and... surprise!

Nope, I'd rather wallow in my own grimy skin with no surprises.

As far as sleeping?! I don't get a lot of that. When I do, it's during the day curled up with my shotgun in the closet. I now understand why Ancel slept in the closet. Nothing can sneak up on you from any side except the front when you're curled up in the closet. If it's good enough for a Werewolf to feel safe...then it was good enough for me to feel safe enough to sleep just a couple hours too.

I don't really like to sleep though. All I see are snarling canine faces with huge fangs dripping saliva, all drooling like rabid dogs. I keep hearing that voice...that raspy, non-human voice, saying my name over and over every time I close my eyes... 'Lola...Lola'. I get very little sleep.

I guess, if you're looking for the right word to describe me, the word would be 'traumatized'.

How do you go back to a normal life after witnessing what I did?

How do you forget and move on?

How do you trust anyone?

I refuse to open the curtains. I re-check the locks on all the windows and doors multiple times during the day. The front door and back door are barricaded with dining room chairs wedged under the door knobs. I keep the TV on for companionship only because I can't concentrate long enough to sit and watch anything. And I pack boxes...or at least, try to.

During the day, I'm scared but not terrified. Every time there is a knock on the door, I jump out of my skin, a nervous wreck. My new cell phone no longer rings with blocked numbers, so now everyone comes to pound on my door, yell my name, and check up on me.

This both saddens me and angers me. Nobody came to 'check on me' when I was dating Lou...and they all knew what he was. They all come to 'check on me' after I know the truth, worried...worried about me or that I'll tell the world what walks around Lake Tahoe?!

At night, I sit on the couch and drink coffee, a lot of coffee, with my Pa's shotgun across my lap and my cell phone set to dial 911...listening and waiting. The TV is still on. The lights are on. And I'm all alone in my paranoid state of anxiety-filled terror.