Excerpt of Wolf Den Hollow by Donna Murray

Up the grand staircase through the smoke-filled air, I fought my way to the second floor. The hungry flames spread quickly, but I had no time to think of that now. I raced to my bedroom, where, tucked in a drawer, there was something I had left behind.

As I turned to make my escape, the floor shook beneath me with a thunderous sound. The grand staircase came crashing down—my only way out was suddenly gone.

Consumed in a shroud of thick black smoke, there was no breath to be found. Gasping for air, I slumped to the floor. Amid the roar of the blaze, I found myself in a peaceful place. . . and I thought my journey to the spirit world had begun.

Holding my precious pearls, I saw Charley’s face. And then there we were: dancing by moonlight in our rustic cabin where our love story began. He held me close in his strong, worked arms.

“Charley,” I whispered. “Please forgive me . . .”

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I ran through the backwoods like a hunted animal, stumbling and falling along the way. The bitter temperature was unforgiving, and my blood ran cold. There was a chance I would not survive, but I would rather die in Mother Nature than by my husband’s brutal hand.

With the first sign of daylight, my weary legs gave out. I lay listening to the fierce wind whipping through the trees and could feel the early burn of frostbite, first the pins and needles and then the numbness setting in. My eyes grew heavy, but I was startled by the cry of the hawk: the messenger.

Large flakes were falling as I got to my feet. I walked blindly through the trees, and my mind was beginning to wander when an old oak called to me. He stood tall and strong, with his many branches laden in white. I curled up against the foot of his trunk, feeling his warmth from within, and I stayed through the night.

By morning, the snow had stopped, leaving a ceiling of dark gray clouds. A cluster of boulders caught my eye, and I bid the old oak goodbye. Walking away, I looked back. “I will never forget you,” I called.

Reaching the boulders, I saw my hunch had been right: there was a cave waiting to be found. The cry of the hawk, and the old oak, had saved my life.

I crept inside without a sound, hoping not to find an unwanted surprise. In the dampness, I could hear the trickle of water. Starting a fire, I breathed a sigh of relief, for I knew I was safe for now. Bats were hanging dormant on the back wall, a good omen from the spirit world. I pulled off my mittens and my husband’s old boots. My poor blistered feet were rubbed nearly raw. And I feared my ribs were broken. My husband . . . I could still taste the blood in my mouth. As my fingers and toes slowly warmed by the fire, the feeling began to come back, paired with the pain from the heartless beating I had taken from him.