A creature moved through the forest below like black silk. Smooth and graceful, even through the slush that marked the transition from winter to spring. It was said to be the perfect blend created by the gods. And I imagine, that once upon a time, werewolves just like this one, roamed the earth thinking that they were unbeatable. The intelligence of a human paired with the speed and senses of the noble wolf, who was there to get in their way? Who was to stop them from destroying humanity itself?

I took a slow even breath into my lungs and made sure that I was perfectly balanced on the thick tree limb. I had done this countless times, but somehow, the rush of the kill never left me. A silver tipped arrow dangled from my fingers before I adjusted my bow just perfectly. My recurve bow was a thing of beauty, drawing smoothly and sending the arrow soaring with speed that even the great werewolf could not dodge. Poor beast barely caught the sound of the arrow whizzing through the air with those massive ears before the arrow was imbedded in its side, dropping it.

My training told me that I should wait in the tree, out of sight, until I was sure the creature was dead. My confidence didn't care. Silver, even in small amounts was toxic to werewolves, searing anything it came into contact with and stopping their ability to heal themselves from otherwise catastrophic wounds. Not that the beast could recover from an arrow to the heart or lung. It would bleed out in the forest, alone and afraid. Because even the favorite creature of the gods was killable.

I pulled my backpack over my shoulder and swung down from the tree limb, deciding that was just fine with me. it was fitting to me to have a creature that felt all powerful should die a lonely and sad death and the hands of a twenty-something girl with an Adidas backpack who couldn't even been bothered to look over her shoulder when she walked away.

But even with all of the arrogance rolling off me in waves, I pressed my palm to the small silver pocket knife that I always had close by. I had never been caught unawares before, and today would not be the day. Werewolves were social animals, always traveling in packs. Where there was one, there could be thousands. And when the body was discovered, they would swarm like normal, mourning humans.

My tight schedule would not allow me to wait and watch the pitiful party, and to be frank, the last thing I wanted right now was to watch those beings weep as if they had done no wrong, as if they couldn't fathom why someone wanted to hurt them. My stomach turned sour at the thought of the self-righteous cowards, but I pressed on, hiking through the dense woods until they finally gave out to a dead highway in the middle of rural British Columbia.

Here, it was not uncommon for cars to be left seemingly abandoned on the side of the road. This province was all soaring mountains and thick wilderness that coaxed even the tamest of hearts into exploring. So, no one was going to bat an eye that my Subaru forester had been sitting alone for a few hours now. I unlocked the old car and slid into the worn-out seats before starting the engine.

Right on time, just as I had suspected. That meant that I could still go see my parents before my shift began.

I think that most people my age thought of leftovers and fights about politics when they considered visiting their family. There could be card games and talks of college, or of boyfriends and girlfriends, or gossip over washing dishes after dinner. My life, however, was not so cohesive with the American dream, or the Canadian one, in fact.

So, I found myself driving to an assisted living complex where both of my parents were housed. I greeted the staff as I always did, commenting on someone's new scrubs or giggling about a patient that I knew caused them problems before finding my way to my parents' quarters. I could sit in a tree with a single arrow and kill a werewolf without even considering a second thought. But opening the door to my parents' place was always hard.

This was where my dreams came to die.

I sucked in a deep breath to steady my soul and entered the room. There was no chatter. No conversations about work or demanding to have me provide grandbabies. My dad wasn't getting riled up about politics like he usually was, getting so heated that my mother would roll her eyes. My brother wasn't there to make snarky remarks.

Sure, at some point in my life, I had wished my mother would stop asking me about my reproductive future. And sure, I wished my father wouldn't have his political views. Sometimes I wanted to stab my brother with a pencil too.

But I would have given anything to have those conversations now. Because two bodies sitting side by side on a couch, staring at an informercial were not the parents I remembered.

"Hey guys," I greeted softly. I ambled through the space that was optimistically called a kitchen but it only housed a small fridge, a microwave, and a little round dining table for four. There was no reaction from either of them, just like there was no reaction when I set my hands on my father's shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. "How are we today?" Nothing.

I forced myself to walk in front of the couch, though this was always the part that stung the most. I sat cross-legged in front of the blaring TV, facing them. Their eyes were neither looking at me, nor the television. Vacant.

"The old Subaru is still going," I said to my dad, who didn't even blink. "I'm still taking it to that mechanic you always liked."

"And I'm still working at the coffee shop, but nothing ever really happens there, you know? Get an order, fill an order, that's all." Those words were pointed at my mother. Not even a sigh. Just the same empty stare.

It was so easy to remember the way her golden eyes sparkled at a challenge, how they crinkled at the corner when she let out her booming laugh. Now, they had lost their luster and seemed to get duller each time I came. It was hard to fathom that she was the kind of person who commanded a room. The hair that I inherited, a subtle strawberry blonde that sang when the sun hit it just right, was now almost completely grey. Something she would never allow. She had gone ages without doing the skincare routine she pounded into me as a dermatologist.

And my father looked like he hadn't shaved in months. Or that he had tried to shave and done a poor job of it. The man who sat in a frumpy sweater with a hunched back was certainly not the man who always told me to put my best foot forward. He was a shell. A remnant.

And to doctors, an anomaly. Something never seen before. Something that no one could explain. One day, both of them were happy and healthy. The next, one of them left the stove burner on all day, another forgot how to drive. It was a miracle they both lived through that day to be honest. For a while, both of them had the good sense to be baffled by what was happening to them. That good sense started to fade very soon after. Jobs were forgotten first and life skills like cleaning and cooking, then my brother, then me, and finally, each other.

Doctors did the best they could. It felt like a million tests had been run. It wasn't dementia. There was no evidence of stroke. No Parkinson's. No epilepsy. No mental disorders.

Just two healthy people who suddenly couldn't even recall their own children, who didn't know that they were married. And each day, those eyes got foggier and foggier. My brother drew away further and further. And I had to work harder and hard to keep my parents afloat and provide the care they could no longer comprehend.

I had been so angry back then. My parents had lost their minds and no one could help. Now, I wasn't angry. I was just heartbroken.

I hadn't even realized that I was crying softly into the blanket covering my mother's lap until I felt a cool hand touch the back of my head. I sniffled pathetically and lifted my head to peer up at her. And she was staring right at me, her gaze suddenly so focused.

"Georgia?" she whispered.

I jerked upright immediately. "It's me. It's me, mom."

But it was too late. The moment of realization was lost. Her eyes returned to their vacant stare. My heart returned to frost.

The medical professionals might not have known what to call it. And when more cases began to spring up, they remained confused. Because this was no a disease that humans could so easily wrap their minds around. Because one would have to first understand that fairytales, myths, and legends were not all fiction like we had originally thought.

To understand wolf-drain syndrome, you had to first understand werewolves and why they needed to be wiped off the face of this earth before they turned us all into mindless zombies.

~~~Distraction Section~~~

Hello! Welcome to the first distraction of this novel. If this is your first work of mine, welcome! I hope you stay a while. If you are not new to my work, thanks for coming back!

In distraction sections I ask a question of the day. It started out during covid in an effort to help everyone think about something other than the situation at hand. Turned out to be a really fun way to get to know my readers and a fun way for you to maybe consider me as more than a faceless stranger who produces content.

Question of the Day: What is something that you always buy locally?