A Wolf At The Door

Deux

He did this several times with each new bucket. Each time growing a little easier for him.

When ten buckets were filled and placed inside the monastery, Olivier began his new task. Careful not to dirty his robe, he lifted the hem of it as he knelt beside the crop of sweet potatoes. In a spray of dirt, he pulled them from the soil, examining their purple shade.

It was as he weighed one in the palm of his hand did a sudden shiver run down his spine.

The sensation was too strong to ignore. Someone was watching him.

He looked around, dropping the potato instantly. It fell to the dirt, coming to a rest beside his sandal.

There was a woman standing on the other end of the fence that surrounded the garden.

"Who- Who are you?" He spoke, slowly beginning to approach the stone fence. "What are you doing here?"

The woman rested her hand on the iron railing and wrapped her fingers around it- the silver ring clinking against the rod. "I apologize if I startled you. I was just walking along when I saw you." Her voice was soft and tinged with a slight accent, one Olivier was not familiar with. 

"No, you did not startle me." He was now right in front of her. If he wanted to, he could have reached out and touched her. A part of him did, just to ensure she was real and not just a figment of his imagination. 

"You are very young to be a monk." She tilted her head, studying him from head to toe.

"I am not a monk yet. I am still preparing to be," he answered, gazing at her elaborate gown. He never knew clothing could be so colorful, so decorative. The clothing he was used to was drab and plain, nothing but slightly different shades of brown. 

Her eyes followed his gaze, catching sight of his eyes lingering on her. The ghost of a smile played on her lips, seemingly unbothered by his stare. "Oh. What a strange choice. Were you sent here?"

Olivier's brown curls bounced as he shook his head. "No, I was raised here."

Her dark brown eyes widened slightly. "Raised here? In a monastery? Why?"

"I-I do not know." He cast his eyes downward. "I have asked myself that many times."

Her eyes softened as she leaned her face in closer between the railing. "The other monks have not told you how you came to be here?"

Olivier shook his head again. "They do not talk to me much. To be honest, it's almost as if they distrust me."

"Why would they distrust you?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper. Both of her hands were on the railing now; her face only inches apart from his.

But before he could answer, he was suddenly yanked back from the fence by a pair of strong hands.

"Olivier!" Father Samuel glowered down at him. "Who were you speaking to?"

"No- No one! I swear!" The boy stammered, raising his hands up in defense.

"You swear it?" Father Samuel pushed him aside, peering between the railing.

There was no there, only the desolate grounds of the swamp. Had she been a figment of his imagination after all? Or perhaps an apparition? 

Father Samuel turned back to the mortified boy, snapping him out of his thoughts. "If I find out you are lying to me-"

"I am not!" Olivier protested. "I was just looking at a funny bird that was on the other side."

"I have been calling you!" The man started leading him back towards the monastery. "When you did not answer, I became worried. And here I come out and find you staring at birds, being idle!"

"I-I am sorry, Father Samuel. I will not do it again." He lowered his head, fighting the desperate urge to look behind him. 

**

That night at supper, Olivier found himself thinking about the woman. Since Father Samuel had made sure he was occupied for the rest of the day, he had not had time to think about her.

But as he ate his tomato soup, he recalled how her long, brown hair shined in the morning sun.

Even during his evening prayer, he thought about how her light green dress seemed too large for her petite body. How her accent was soothing to his ears and filled him with a calmness he had never known before. No matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind kept wandering back to the woman. So as he lied in bed, he tossed and turned, unable to stop imagining her face each time he closed his eyes.

It was only when the monastery started to rattle from the wind did her image fade.

Olivier quickly sat up, curling his knees into his chest. The window trembled above and he feared it would swing open, letting whatever evil was outside in. He had heard fierce winds blow before, but never like this.

This was something else.

Shutting his eyes, he remained there all night, listening to the howls that sounded just like a wolf.