A Dangerous Animal

I type rapidly on my laptop as the wolf-eared girl sniffs along the bookshelf, her tail swaying lazily behind her. Every movement - every ear twitch, every flick of her eyes - is carefully documented, even as I struggle to type and keep one eye on her slender form.

Dark grey hair spills down her shoulders, matching her equally dark, worn clothes: a skirt and a t-shirt, both frayed and faded. Still, it’s better than how I found her.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t quite know what I was looking for when I moved to this rural town. A small house on the outskirts, bordering a vast, untouched forest. I’d heard rumours, of course - whispers of a beast that stalked those woods like a ghost. A ghost that howled at the full moon.

I understand the locals’ point of view now. Catching glimpses of shimmering grey hair between the trees at night would frighten anyone, especially when it’s paired with low growls echoing through the undergrowth. But I’m a cryptozoologist. Rumours like that aren’t warnings to me - they’re invitations.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for what appeared when one of my camera traps finally triggered.

A girl. Walking upright, completely naked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Wolf ears rose from her head, and a thick tail swayed behind her. Real ones.

I’d had my suspicions at first, but I quickly proved they weren’t prosthetics. No implant existed that could function like that. Her ears reacted instantly to sound, swivelling independently as she moved. She used them. Because of that, I was never able to get close.

Now, though, I watch her crawl into the kitchen, opening drawers with her hands. Not clumsily. Deliberately. She’s intelligent. Very intelligent.

Which is how I was finally able to see her properly.

Well… not quite. It was the other way around - she allowed me to see her.

I began leaving food out in the forest. Cooked meat. I waited three weeks before anything happened. I was inside my duck blind - really just a well-hidden bivouac - when I suddenly felt a presence behind me. I turned in panic and found her standing there, watching me with a hollow, unreadable expression.

She’d already determined that I wasn’t a threat. What intrigued her was what I was trying to do.

The next day, I didn’t leave the food outside. I kept it inside the tent with me. Just like before, she appeared without a sound, nearly stopping my heart. This time, she sat just outside the entrance and ate.

She wouldn’t let me hand-feed her, but that was expected.

I managed to take several remarkably clear photographs. It was then I realized that if I wanted to publish my findings, I’d need to address a significant problem.

Her nakedness.

So the following day, I brought clothes.

The same ones she’s wearing now, as she clatters through a drawer full of pots and pans.

She didn’t understand what they were for. She pawed at the fabric with rough fingers while chewing on a chicken drumstick, completely uninterested. I tried miming how to wear them. She only tilted her head.

When I approached her - slowly, carefully - she growled. A deep, rumbling sound from her chest, powerful and primal in a way I could never hope to imitate.

So I waited.

The next day, rain poured down in sheets, and she finally stepped into the bivouac for shelter. This time, I demonstrated again, putting the clothes on myself while she watched with wide, dark eyes. When I laid them out for her, she copied me.

She seemed… relieved. Comfortable. Which wasn’t what I’d expected at all.

That night, I took the first publishable photographs of the wolf-girl of the forest. My report was submitted before I slept.

The rejection email arrived the next morning.

Rejected for suspected AI usage and/or faked images.

I was dumbfounded at first. Then I realized how ridiculous it must have looked from their perspective. A pretty woman in convincing cosplay would’ve been the obvious conclusion. And I could understand the suspicion of AI, too.

But I wasn’t discouraged.

I kept going. Kept documenting. Kept easing closer.

The day she finally took a barbecued rib from my hand was incredible. A turning point. Proof.

Then she disappeared.

I waited a week. I found nothing. Saw nothing. Heard nothing.

I chuckle softly at the memory of my spiralling anxiety, the sound drawing her attention. She looks up at me now, ears flicking forward, clearly unsure what the noise means.

If only she knew.

Because the following morning, I heard scratching at my back door.

She was there.

And she looked terrible.

Her clothes were torn, dirt-stained, hanging loosely from her frame. She’d lost weight - enough that it was immediately obvious. I scrambled to get food, and the moment I handed it to her, she fled back into the forest.

But she returned the next day.

And the next.

Until today, when something changed.

Instead of running, she pointed into the house.

I hesitated, unsure of what she wanted. Then I stepped aside and let her in.

That’s where she is now.

Thankfully, the main room is open-plan, allowing me to type while keeping her in sight. Having apparently decided that my earlier laughter carries no meaning, she shuts the final kitchen drawer and straightens up. I stop typing as she pads calmly down the hallway, figures out the handle to my bedroom door, and pushes it open.

I hesitate before following. A cornered animal is a dangerous animal.

But collecting evidence is critical - especially now that she’s literally inside my house.

I peer through the doorway just in time to see her climb onto my bed, circling it a few times before curling into a tight ball, tail tucked neatly around herself. Like a dog.

I freeze, unsure what to do as her breathing slows and evens out.

She isn’t leaving anytime soon.

But the fact that she knows what a bed is for…

She must have been watching me.

The thought makes my skin prickle. No wonder the rumours spread so far. She must have learned everything about houses by observing from the outside. Windows. Doors. That would explain the handles. The drawers.

Her exploration earlier wasn’t random.

And then it hits me.

She’s doing research.

Just as I’ve been studying her, she’s been studying humans.

My mind floods with ideas. Possibilities.

Maybe I can help her.

And maybe - unknowingly - she can help me too.

For now, though, I’ll sleep on the couch. I doubt a feral wolf-girl would appreciate me climbing into bed beside her.

Still…

The future excites me.