There was a forest, dark and green and inviting. It was light-filled, sprinkled with green and blue shadows and yellow dapples. It was the forest behind Fellowship House at Green Acre Bahá’í School, in Maine, the land sloping downward and away from the white building into thick deciduous trees. I visited the woods feeling light and happy there.
While walking I noticed a threshold on the ground, a smoothly-worn length of wood, like what you would cross in a doorway, half-buried. It lay across a well-traveled, wide path not far into the woods. Beyond it the woods were dramatically different. The trees past the threshold were dead-looking, but also more vast, and taller, and there was more space between them. A few sickly pines were scattered among them, bare 30 feet up the trunks, to short jutting branches and a weak show of needles above. The place did not appear to thrive, but looked ancient and forlorn.
I was with River, and together we crossed the threshold while browsing the woods. We walked deep into that part of the forest. At the time I did not yet realize that it was so different. I had not taken note of the threshold. We were laughing, focused on each other and the conversation. We were collecting wood and being functional.
Later I was back in the forest with River again, this time in the happier part close to Fellowship House, away from the threshold. Only this time I felt scared because I had learned that werewolves lived in the deep woods. People were getting eaten up and there were warnings against crossing the threshold. Fearful, I kept scanning far into the woods to see what could be seen. It was quiet and still.
River didn’t think we should be scared. We went into the forest and boldly crossed the threshold. Everything slowed down around me at that moment. My legs felt like heavy weights and the air became too dense to breathe. Crossing the threshold made us vulnerable. We cautiously went about our business, collecting more wood and plants. We finished, and turned around to go back up the hill. The sun was shining distantly through the trees, filling the empty spaces of that part of the woods, and making us feel warm despite the eerie serenity. While walking, we approached the threshold and I began to feel relief in anticipation of crossing it. It occurred to me that the werewolf attacks were exaggerated tales of dogs or boars.
River let out a shout and moved to protect me. I could sense something behind me, the air a-tingle, the hairs of my neck on end, but could see nothing in the moments that followed. I knew that it was a werewolf and that it wanted me, not River, and then I felt long terrible cold fangs on my skin, the werewolf’s head tilted just so, his jaws a vice pinching my neck and shoulder to immobilize me. The fangs closed on me slowly, lovingly, relentlessly. I was inches from the threshold but had not reached it. I waited to feel my skin pierced, or to die, but there was no pain; there was only a terrible, paralyzing fear, and a knowledge that I was now cursed. I was so disappointed. A split second more, I would have been safe. My fear alone had drawn him to me as a willing victim. I had disappointed myself by not being more blasé. The fangs closed tighter and such thoughts were wiped away; I had to either die or do something. River was still nearby, helpless. The moment dragged on, the werewolf appearing indecisive, not breaking the skin, his terrible hot breath and panting lending a revulsion that overwhelmed me. Then somehow we had managed to step over the threshold, and I was released; the werewolf seemed to become a wisp of nothing and was no longer there at all.
Back in Fellowship House, a gathering of Bahá’ís were discussing matters of urgent importance in various rooms. In a large, fancy room (which doesn’t exist there in waking life), a small group of men were huddled and talking in hushed tones, their voices rising and falling with passion and fear. I recognized one of them, John, from my own community. I could hear him talking as I walked by the room, “We’ll get them into the woods later, and that won’t be a problem anymore; and now one of you has to send some of those animals in there so we can sustain some of that life, if you know what I mean, and I’ll go fetch Earl and make sure he hears about this, and now I want you to go take care of that thing we talked about.” Apparently these Bahá’ís were carefully fostering the presence of werewolves in the forest, perhaps to maintain leverage and status in the community, for a quiet way to eliminate people they selected.
I waited in the kitchen until I knew that John was in a bathroom upstairs. I went up there and charged in on him. At first he yelled out to leave him be, as the toilet was occupied, but then he quickly saw the look on my face and knew that I was not politely trying to find out if someone was on the toilet. I was very angry-looking. I pointed my finger at him violently, and in a loud, harsh whisper, I told him, “I know what you are doing, and you are not going to be able to get away with it. You think I don’t know about what’s in that forest? I just narrowly escaped with my own life. You can bet that I am not going to keep it a secret, or try to play along with your evil game! You will regret what you’ve done!” I was shaking.
John’s face changed as I yelled at him. At first he was indignant that I had barged in on him. He was mostly nude, sitting on the toilet, and that was embarrassing for both of us, although I hid my embarrassment with my anger. He was shocked and obviously very vulnerable. As he listened to me, he became rigid and defensive. Slowly he began to slump and looked down. He did not speak—just looked at the floor and sagged his head. I turned around and left.
It occurred to me that maybe I would become a werewolf after all, and that I had escaped because the werewolf who bit me wanted me to join them somehow. While I could scold and threaten John, I felt drawn to the possibility that something good was developing from the corruption he had brought about.