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  For the person who said, “I believe you.”

  Dear Reader,

  Howl contains content that may be triggering. For a full list, please see the bottom of the following page.

  Howl contains scenes of self-harm, homophobia, gaslighting, disordered eating, body dysmorphia, assault, and bullying. Additionally, while there are no explicit descriptions of sexual assault, much of the language used throughout is evocative of the trauma associated with sexual assault.

  ONE

  I DIDN’T SCREAM.

  TWO

  MAIN STREET WAS DARK. SUNSHINE realty, Dr. Kaluuya DDS, Gannon’s Hardware, Merritt Books and Café, Birdie Buchanan’s Bridal Shop. Doors locked, shades drawn, the elaborate displays that invited customers to come on in and sit a spell during the day went dark at sundown and remained that way until dawn.

  Signs fastened to the decorative lamps that lined the street—WELCOME TO MERRITT! alternating with MERRITT LOVES YOU!—swayed in the hot, fetid summer wind that blew in from the sprawl to the west. Shadows pooled around the weak streetlamps, herding the light into tight, inescapable circles. Canopies of Spanish moss hung from the limbs of old oak trees, choking the illumination from the cloudless night sky before it could reach the street below. It was so dark that sometimes strangers on their way to Disney World would get lost and stumble across Merritt after sunset and wonder if the town had been abandoned.

  But Merritt wasn’t abandoned. There was one light that remained on after dark. At the far end of Main Street, past Merritt Baptist Church and the old elementary school, the neon glow of a garish blue-and-pink ice cream cone stood against the backdrop of the night like a beacon.

  Every month, during the Merritt town council’s open forum, Sudie Kennon, who’d been alive and had lived in Merritt longer than some of the oak trees, spent her allotted three minutes explaining in tedious detail why the Tasty Cones Ice Cream neon sign was a blight on the town she had been born in and would, by the grace of God, die in, though not before she’d made damn sure that sign was torn down.

  Mayor Marjorie Hart and most of the members of the town council agreed with Sudie Kennon. The neon sign was garish and bright, and it did detract from Merritt’s charm. Yet any motion brought to the council regarding the Tasty Cones Ice Cream sign ultimately failed. Sudie Kennon couldn’t sway the mayor or the members of the council to join her holy war.

  John McIntyre had endured Sudie Kennon’s wrath long before he’d sat on the council. Back then, she’d been a teacher short on patience and he’d been a rambunctious sixth-grader who couldn’t sit still.

  Patty Ornston had only run for the council after being forced to remove the rainbow flag she’d hung from her veranda in support of her niece after Sudie Kennon had complained that it violated the rules regarding what decorations were allowed to adorn a house.

  Brett Sadler didn’t know why his mother and Ms. Kennon were bitter enemies, but he’d grown up hearing that Sudie was a spiteful, hateful woman whom his mother hoped would die alone and lonely, and he viewed it as his responsibility to see she got her wish.

  Each of the three council members had been, at one time or another, victimized by Sudie Kennon, and so they ignored her complaints about the Tasty Cones Ice Cream sign mostly out of spite.

  Sudie Kennon’s compulsion to meddle and the council’s petty efforts to frustrate her had probably saved my life.

  THREE

  CLOUDS OF MOSQUITOES STALKED ME as I limped down Main Street toward the enormous neon ice cream cone on the horizon. Gnats clung to the crusted blood around the gashes on my arms and became mired in the blood still oozing from the slashes across my back.

  The toe of my sole remaining sneaker caught in a pothole, and I stumbled forward, shredding my palms and knees on the asphalt. My jeans, which hung around my hips with little more than prayer, were already ruined. I crawled until I reached a bench I could lean on to help me stand.

  Where’s my phone?

  I patted my pockets. Empty.

  I need to call Dad.

  I reached for my phone, but my pockets were still empty.

  Crickets chirped and trees rustled and bats flew overhead. I jerked my head around, trying to search every shadow, but there were too many.

  Where’s my phone? And my other shoe? My shirt was gone, too, but I’d left the tattered, blood-soaked rag somewhere back in the sprawl. Sweat soaked my hair and ran down my chest. I shivered in the August heat and limped onward.

  The bright neon ice cream cone grew nearer as I slowly put one foot in front of the other. I was close enough to the parking lot that I could hear trucks idling. Big things built for pulling trailers and boats and for tearing through the mud and swamps that surrounded Merritt. Beasts with chrome bumpers decorated with Confederate flags, rubber testicles that dangled from the hitch, or stickers stuck to the back that said things like IF YOU CAN READ THIS THEN YOU’RE IN RANGE.

  What time is it? Grandma’s gonna be so pissed.

  I hesitated. The lights were too bright. The sounds too loud. What if people had gotten bored of the party and had decided to get ice cream? Tasty Cones was the only place open after dark, so it was Merritt’s natural hangout. I didn’t want anyone to see me. The only thing capable of traveling faster than light was gossip.

  But I needed help.

  I spotted Pastor Wallace and Mrs. Wallace leaning against the hood of their minivan holding court. Missy Pierce was being fed ice cream by Coach Munford in a display that probably should’ve been private. The Hunt brood, all eleven of them, were running circles around their mom, who stood staring at a sad cone with a single scoop of vanilla ice cream melting over her fingers. I didn’t recognize anyone from Finn’s party. There were still people inside the shop I couldn’t see, though. It was busy for a Thursday night.

  I raked a hand through my hair as I shuffled out of the dark and into the halo of neon light, though the gesture was as futile as trying to put out a fire with a thimble of water. Luca would’ve said I was silly for caring. He would’ve been right.

  I tried to speak, to call for help, but my throat was as dry as a California summer. No one was looking my way. I was invisible. The frantic strength that had carried me from the sprawl to Main Street and from Main to Tasty Cones evaporated all at once. My knees wobbled. They were on the verge of giving out, and if they did, I was certain I would die at the edge of the parking lot, unnoticed until a Tasty Cones employee eventually found my cold, bloody body on the pavement while taking out the garbage.

  Earlier, somewhere between the party and the parking lot, I’d said I wanted to die—I’d spoken the words aloud, and I’d asked nicely. In the moment, I’d meant it. Now I wanted to take it back.

  Please let me take it back.

  With the last surge of will I could muster, I threw my body forward, stumbling a few steps and then finally collapsing.

  One of the Hunt children, Nine of Eleven maybe, shrieked in terror. Every conversation in the parking lot skidded to a halt as the child’s sound split the night, accomplishing the one thing I’d failed to do. Mrs. Hunt dropped her uneaten cone. Pastor Wallace shouted, “What in the Yankee Doodle?” Coach Munford said, “That ain’t blood, is it?” while Missy Pierce slapped his arm and said, “Call the police, stupid!”

  I shut my eyes, invis
ible no more.

  “Is that Virgil Knox?”

  A hand touched my shoulder. I would’ve flinched, but it took all my strength to keep breathing.

  “Virgil? Virgil, what happened to you, son?”

  “Put your phone away, Tyson. He don’t need you recording this.”

  “Ambulance is on the way.”

  “Someone call his daddy.”

  “Virgil? What happened? Did someone do this to you?”

  Tears welled in my eyes and rolled across my nose.

  “A monster,” I managed in a hoarse whisper. “I was attacked by a monster.”

  FOUR

  I SWAM THROUGH A WARM pool of painkillers. The serenity was only interrupted by the numb tugging on my skin as a doctor with more jokes than skill stitched closed the wounds on my back and arm, and by the two cops at the foot of my hospital bed, snickering and not bothering to be quiet about it.

  Officer Delerue looked like the kind of man who’d become a cop because he’d had a taste of power in high school and had become addicted to it. His hand rarely strayed far from his holster, and his lip, nearly overshadowed by a bristly brown mustache, remained frozen in a permanent sneer.

  Officer Bruford had almost fooled me into believing he was on my side, with his friendly smile and sympathetic eyes, but I saw the wolf hiding in that sheep’s clothing. Bruford was the type who’d learned early on that those with real power didn’t need to wield it like a cudgel. Delerue might’ve taken the lead during the questioning, but Bruford was in charge.

  “So, are we talking Bigfoot?” Delerue asked. “What d’you think, Bruford? We got a Sasquatch out in the sprawl?”

  Dr. Patterson chortled. “I would imagine the swamp’s too hot for a Sasquatch.”

  Delerue and Bruford had been questioning me for ten minutes that had felt like an hour while the doctor stitched me up. If I could’ve trusted my legs to support me, I would’ve hopped out of bed and run.

  “I seen a show about windigo,” Delerue said.

  “Don’t they usually eat folks?” Bruford asked.

  Delerue motioned at me with his chin. “Guess this one ain’t got enough meat on him to bother. Monster got a taste and threw him back.”

  Bruford held his phone in his hand, but he’d long since given up the pretense of taking notes. “You and your daddy moved here from Seattle, ain’t that right?”

  “I went to school with Tommy,” Delerue said. Something passed between him and Bruford that I couldn’t read. A raised eyebrow, a lip twitch.

  “Your folks are divorcing, is what I heard,” Bruford said to me.

  “So? I wasn’t attacked by my parents’ divorce.”

  Bruford shrugged. “But I bet you’re pretty pissed off about it.” He glanced at Delerue. “Remember Michael Miller? Set a couple fires to get his folks’ attention?”

  “Right. I did this to myself. I was at a party and decided to claw my own back because I was angry at my parents.”

  “Uh-oh,” Delerue said. “Looks like you hit a sore spot.” Both men chuckled.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” my grandpa said as he marched into the room, followed by my grandma.

  Roy Knox had lived in Merritt since he was seven years old. He’d become a local hero playing quarterback for the Merritt High Coyotes, and he had only left Merritt twice in his life. The first when he enlisted to fight in the Vietnam War, the second when he went to Gainesville to study veterinary medicine at the University of Florida. He’d survived war, hurricanes, and two tussles with prostate cancer. He was an intimidating man, but he was a puppy compared to my grandma.

  “Boys,” she said, and both police officers wiped the smirks off their faces and snapped to attention.

  Harper Lynn Thurston Knox believed there was no situation good manners couldn’t improve. She’d grown up in South Carolina and had met Grandpa while he was in Gainesville. Her unassuming demeanor hid a wealth of strange skills and talents. She could fly a crop duster or field dress a deer carcass as easily as plan an elaborate menu for a local meeting of the Daughters of the American Revolution.

  “What happened?” It wasn’t clear if Grandpa was talking to me or the cops, but Bruford answered.

  “The boy wandered into the Tasty Cones parking lot covered in blood. Lance Munford phoned it in.”

  Delerue cleared his throat. “He claims he was out in the sprawl when a wild animal attacked him. Maybe a raccoon or something.” He shrugged. “We got word of panthers up north, but we ain’t seen ’em around here. Doc treated him for rabies just in case.”

  Grandma moved closer to my bed, edging Dr. Patterson, who was finishing up, out of the way. She looked at the bandages covering my left arm. “Do you honestly expect me to believe a raccoon did this?”

  “Could’ve been a gator,” Delerue said. “Or a bear.”

  Grandpa stood with his arms folded across his chest, staring at Bruford and Delerue without blinking or speaking for so long that it made me anxious. Finally, he said, “Why don’t we talk outside?”

  The officers looked like they were being led to their executions. I struggled to find an ounce of sympathy for them.

  “Where’s Dad?” My throat was dry. I reached for the cup of ice chips sitting on the table beside me.

  “Right where he ought to be,” Grandma said. “Working.”

  “Did you call him?”

  It was the middle of the night, and Grandpa and Grandma had almost definitely been sleeping when the call had come from the hospital, but Grandma had still taken the time to put on her face and her pearls and to make her hair presentable.

  “What good would that have done, Virgil? You’re safe, and it’s not like your daddy can do anything for you. What use would it be for him drive two hours back to Merritt so he could sit by your bed and watch you sleep?”

  Everything Grandma said made sense—Dad was a firefighter and a paramedic, but the only work he could get was in a town two hours south of Merritt. He worked twenty-four-hour shifts and wouldn’t be home until the next morning—but that didn’t stop me from wishing he was with me.

  “What about my mom?”

  “You can call Clara when we get home. I’m sure she doesn’t need you disturbing her beauty sleep.”

  Mom was on the West Coast, where it was only a little after ten in the evening. She would’ve still been awake, lying in bed with a glass of red wine and her laptop. But I didn’t want to talk to her while Grandma was around, anyway.

  “I wasn’t attacked by a raccoon. Or a gator.”

  Grandma patted my arm. “Hush, now.”

  “It was a monster—”

  “You’re safe, Virgil.” Her voice was as sharp as a talon. “There’s no loitering in the past. All talking about it can do now is keep you from moving forward.”

  The past. Like it happened a year ago instead of a couple of hours.

  Grandpa marched in, his hands in his pockets. “What were you doing in the sprawl, Virgil?”

  Wanna see something cool?

  “How many times have I told you the sprawl’s nothing but swamp and to stay away from it?”

  “I thought you were at the Ducketts’ house?” Grandma said.

  “I was—”

  “Boyd Bruford said he smelled alcohol on you.” Grandpa’s thick, wiry eyebrows underlined the question his statement implied.

  Grandma’s lips thinned to two sharp wires. “Kitty and Douglas let Finn run wild. I’m playing tennis with Kitty Sunday, and I’ve half a mind to say something.”

  “How much were you drinking?” Grandpa asked.

  “Not much,” I said. “A beer. Maybe two.”

  “And then you went wandering where I’ve told you explicitly not to go?” Grandpa shook his head. “You’re lucky a couple cuts is all you walked away with.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I don’t want to hear any more of this monster business,” Grandpa said. “Anyone asks, you tell them it was a cougar or a bear.”

&
nbsp; It wasn’t a cougar or a bear.

  “Bad enough Missy Pierce heard you talking that nonsense.”

  Grandma nodded along. “No doubt she’s already spreading rumors on those internet sites.” There were only two things my grandma refused to do: clean toilets and use the internet.

  “I just want to go home,” I said. “Can I please go home?”

  Grandpa’s back was rigid, his face stern. “I suppose there’s no reason for you to stay. I’ll see about getting you discharged.”

  Grandma kissed the side of my head. “We’ll have you home in no time.”

  But their home wasn’t what I’d meant.

  FIVE

  HOT BREATH SOAKS MY NECK; a clawed hand pushes my face deeper into the mud. Bristly, wiry hair brushes the back of my arms. My shoulder burns where its teeth penetrated me, and I feel its poison in my blood.

  It lowers itself onto my back, and I don’t scream.

  I wonder what Luca and Deja are having for dinner. Deja will eat anything, but Luca’s so damn picky. I wonder if anyone at the party noticed I left. I wonder if Jarrett found someone else to pin against a wall in an empty room. I wonder how long it will take Grandma and Grandpa to realize I haven’t come home yet. Dad told me Grandpa used to wait up for him with a clock and a belt. If Dad didn’t beat one, Grandpa would whoop him with the other.

  A whimper escapes my lips as it rakes its claws across my back. I clench my eyes shut as tightly as I can and try to pretend I’m sleeping. I go still and hope it kills me quickly.

  “Virgil,” it whispers in my ear. “Virgil, where are you?”

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes and shifted, yelping when I accidentally rolled onto my back.

  “Virgil?” Morning light spilled into the closet as my dad opened the door. He loomed over me, his hands on his hips, wearing his blue cargo pants and work shirt. “What the hell are you doing in the closet?”