Fossils of the Missing Ones – IX: The Realm of the Wolves
Like the night before,
the boy had taken control of my voice,
this time, however,
his spirit burrowed through my open wound;
his clammy hand
had cunningly taken off
the blood-soaked bandage,
and he wriggled himself
into my soul.
‘I’ started addressing Professor Sullivan,
who, mouth still agape,
looked like a character
from a frightening nightmare,
The Victim, in this particular instance (mine?),
unable to move:
“I am but a messenger from another realm,
if you wish to know.
Haven’t you sometimes wondered where the souls
of the young go when they die?
They go to the Realm of Wolves,
but more about that later, if you don’t mind.
You are kneeling on a mass grave, Professor, dear.
After my father and all the other hunters
had mistaken the Barbarian women
and children for wild wolves,
they buried them here.
This is where I died;
on this exact spot where you are weeping,
my father and I and all his hunter friends,
in the hope of not being discovered.
Shall the truth prevail?”