The Girl and The Falcon

1. Homeless

I was a wolf again. I was traveling through a forest, twigs snapping under my paws, hunting forest animals. I’d look into their terrified eyes as they crouched, frozen. I’d briefly smell the fear pulsing out of them in waves—then pounce. I was about to spring upon a rabbit when suddenly I heard the sound of flapping wings and woke up.

The sound was in my room, only louder—just above my head. I turned on the lamp and immediately gasped when I saw a small black bat circling my room, trying to find its way back out my open window. I heard a faint clicking as it navigated around the ceiling fan, its wing tips narrowly avoiding the fan’s long string switch. The window was open just a few feet from my bed, which explained why my room was so cold, but the bat couldn’t seem to get out. I stared at it, my heart racing, and tried to figure out what to do. When it finally dipped down close to my bed, its long black wings only a few feet from my head, I couldn’t help it: I screamed.

            My mom was in my room in seconds—impressive, really—in her tee shirt and flannel pants. Her nearly bald head and hollow cheeks made her look almost ghoulish in the dim light.

            “Are you okay?” she shouted.

            “It’s a bat! Get down!” I yelled, and she slammed the door behind her and fell to her hands and knees.

            My mom looked up at the bat and shook her head, ducking even lower every time it dipped too low in its awkward, clumsy flight. “Get down on the floor with me!” she whispered. I slipped out of bed and onto the cold hardwood floor with her. We both ducked down with a shout as the bat dipped towards us again.

            “You got the broom in here still?” she whispered.

            I looked around and saw the broom in the corner, propped next to the bookshelf by my other window—I was terrible about putting things back where they belonged. I crawled over to it and pulled it down to the floor slowly, then slid it over to my mom.

            “Don’t hurt it!” I whispered.

            My mom gently tried to guide it slowly towards the window. She maneuvered the broom in a half-crouched position, giving a small shout every time the bat got to close to her. She looked so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but laugh.

            “Quiet!” she said as she looked over at me, a large grin on her face. “I can’t concentrate!” She started to giggle.

            “Just don’t hurt him!” I shouted back as I tried to hold back my laughter. But it only made it worse. Soon my mom couldn’t stand up without doubling over with laughter, and I had to shout at her several times to duck as the bat came near her head. Suddenly, without meaning to, my mom took a heavy swing at the bat, and it fluttered to the floor like a kite that just lost its wind.

            We both cried out and crawled over to it. It was still breathing, its small chest heaving in and out as it moved its head around and blinked its dark, wide eyes. Finally, it looked at us, its wings splayed out, its lips pulled back in a snarl, and hissed.

            We both screamed.

            “We have to get this thing out of here,” my mom said, “dead or alive.”

            “Don’t kill it! We can just pick him up and put him outside!”

            My mom looked at me sharply, the fuzz on her head glinting in the dim light. “Are you nuts? These things have diseases, kiddo. Let me grab the utility gloves. Don’t touch it, promise?”