Epilogue.
It was snowing outside of the Brooklyn apartment building in which she lived. She was a middle aged woman with dark curly hair that reached her shoulders sitting at her kitchen table reading a letter. She had her father's eyes, bright blue. They had lived in a small-ish town in California until she graduated high school and left for college in New York. She begged her parents to come with her but they wouldn't. "Too much history here," they said.
She would come back and visit them as often as she could but those visits came farther and farther apart. Each time she did her father looked older, those beautiful blue eyes became paler, the spark she used to see in them when she was little started to dim until it was no longer there. He became more solemn and took several hours to be by himself, just thinking. Her mother started to become worried about him. He'd go to the old high school and just sit on the bleachers by himself, staring at the field. She found him sitting there one day on one of her visits. She sat down next to him.
It was fairly early in the morning, a layer of mist still hovering above the grass and a slight chill in the air. He was wearing a sweater under a thick black coat and jeans. She could see curly grey hair peeking out below his newsboy hat.
"Is everything ok, dad?" She asked. Her dad looked as though he was lost in a memory. He snapped out of it and looked at her.
"Of course, honey. Why wouldn't it be?"
"Well, you've been going off on your own a lot and mom's getting worried."
He gently patted her leg. "Tell your mother I'm fine, she doesn't have to worry," he said as he looked back out over the field.
She paused as she looked at her father. He was so much older than the last time she'd seen him.
"What's going on, dad?" she asked.
He looked back at her. "Nothing's going on."
"Then why do you come out here all the time?"
He looked at her, his face growing dark and then returned his gaze to the field. "To remember," he said finally.
"Remember what?" she asked, gently.
"The past," was all he said.
That was the last time she spoke to her father. Five days after she returned to New York her mother called with the news that he had passed. He went in his sleep she said. Peaceful.
This morning, a month after the funeral, a package arrived at her door. Inside were pictures and letters. She set the box on her kitchen table and went through the box. She picked up the first letter. It had her name on it in her father's handwriting.
Hello, darling.
She cried for days after the phone call. Those two words were enough to bring it all back. Her eyes began to well up with tears.
If you are reading this letter then I have passed from this world.
She put the letter down on the table and got up. She quickly walked to the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass.
She returned to the table with the wine and poured. She picked the letter back up.
There are a great many things I wished to tell you; however, I could not bring my heart, or gain the courage, to do it. The contents of this box that I have collected may be a shock to you but please know that I loved your mother very much. As do I love you, my girl.
She took a large sip of her wine.
There are things about my life that you do not know. This letter and the box accompanying it will hopefully help you understand.
Let me just tell you that what you are about to read will seem incredibly ridiculous and impossible. You must, however, throw away any preconceived notions you have about our world for there are things out there that defy imagining and in order to see them you must open your mind and be able to accept what is impossible.
When I was a teenager I was infected with lycanthropy. I was turned into a werewolf.
She dropped her glass of wine and it shattered on the wood floor.
"Damn it!" She yelled and quickly got up to clean up the mess.
Once finished she returned to the letter.
Whether you choose to believe me is entirely up to you. But before I get to that, let me tell you of my life before I was bitten.
The first thing you must know is that my father was a deeply troubled man. He lost a wife and one of his sons and I believe that was a major reason for why he acted the way he did. He became abusive towards me. He would throw things at me, lock me in a freezer, beat me, and more.
She put her free hand over her mouth. "Oh my God." She whispered to herself.
I was terrified of him. So when the chance came so that I didn't have to afraid anymore, I took it. A young man offered to make me a werewolf, make me stronger, and make me free. I didn't even have to consider it. To get away from an abusive father and a horrible, lonely life? Who wouldn't say yes?
One night my father and I got into a fight and I ran out of the house. My father must have followed me because the next day he was found dead and his car ripped apart. We would come to find out later that a supernatural creature had killed him.
But that is not what these letters are about.
These letters are about my experiences with a man and a woman who will never be equaled. I've attached a picture of them to the back of this letter.
She turned the letter around and on the back was a small picture of three people. They looked to be about seventeen or eighteen. The woman was beautiful with long dark hair that hung off her head like waves and an even more beautiful smile, she looked like her mother. The boy was shorter than her father by a head. He also had close-cropped dark hair and a crooked chin. Her father was in the center, an arm around both of them, smiling. They look so happy, she thought and turned back to the letter.