How she would steal away in the middle of the night and take her boat for a ride to that island. That haunted island. Wasn't she the one who told them the stories about the howling wolves that hid in the little cave? About the missing boys and the blood on the sand afterwards?
She was different because she was no longer part of that world.
From that first day back they had been telling her how she had changed. She would smile and pretend she heard nothing. So no one ever said anything anymore. After all, they didn't know how she crept away at night to that haunted island.
They didn't know she spent hours standing on the white sand, hoping hard that in the distant horizon she would see a pulsing blue light. That in that light there would be twofamiliar shadows rushing towards her. Rushing to get back home.
Some part of her hoped it would never be that way. Because then she wouldn't be able to stop herself from jumping into the water and swimming. And if it turned out to be her hallucinations, wouldn't she lose even more? Wouldn't she drown in her disappointments--her fruitless waiting?
So she stood on the edge of the water unsure of what she wanted. What her heart was continuously longing for. What that bleeding monster in her chest was wailing about—the cries echoing in her own throat and coming out in a beastly howl.
The next morning the townspeople talked about the menacing wolf on the haunted island. The wolf that killed those two poor boys.
She would just smile and pretend she heard nothing. In her head she heard her own broken cry rising into the sky. She wondered if they could hear her.