One snowy December day in the woods, a baby girl
was found swaddled up in white silk blankets. A young mother, her name
was Malia, picked up the child, who looked not even a year old, and she
took her to her cabin. Where she found her husband, who was named Roger,
her three boys and her two girls were all playing. The children were
Heather, the eldest at age seventeen; Jake, the second oldest at age
fourteen; Jacob and Caleb, the middle children at age ten; and lastly
little Lora, who was only five. Her husband saw the child and said,
“What is that that you carry? Put it back where it belongs.”
And the wife answered, “I found this child alone in the woods. Did you
expect me to leave it there? It is not even a year old and it's winter.”
There was a moment of silence. Then the husband walked behind her as to
see the child, as did his five others, and said, “So, what shall be her
The mother replied softly, “Cora.”
The baby grew; so did the others. At the age of five, Cora, like all the
was scared. “Wolf Week” was coming. At this time, she had a
twenty-two-year-old sister and a ten-year-old sister. She also had a
nineteen-year-old brother and a ten-year-old brother. Wolf Week was
dangerous. Sadly, her own father had almost died in Wolf Week; he was
now crippled and ill.
Malia found out something crazy. This Wolf Week, Lora had died, along
with Caleb, but she knew who did it. Roger was too ill to know; if he
did, he probably would have died. All Malia had left was her four
children: Heather, Jake, Jacob, and Cora.
During Wolf Week every five years, Malia would lock down her house so
her wolf-girl wouldn’t get out. But when Cora was fifteen, love was in
the air. Cora had fallen in love with a tall blond-haired wolf hunter.
“These crazy creatures,” he would say. “I’m gonna kill them.” He was not
the right man for her.
Wolf Week was approaching fast. Cora killed almost everyone except the
wolf hunter. He got to her first; sadly, he pierced her heart with
silver and she died.