When I woke up, Shadow was pacing around.
I could hear his nails clicking on the hardwood floor as he moved back and forth in my bedroom. He seemed almost frantic—you know, he'd been restless all evening. His ears were pinned back, and he kept pausing to stare out the window.
"What's wrong, Shadow?" I rubbed my eyes and sat up. The clock read 2:17 AM. He glanced at the window and then shot me a look.
Then, he let out this low whine, deeper than anything I'd heard before. It felt urgent. That's when I caught it.
From the woods behind my house came a howl. It was wild, long, and mournful. Honestly, it sent chills down my spine and made every hair on my arms stand up.
Suddenly, Shadow froze. His whole body tensed like a coiled spring. The first howl was followed by another, then another. It was like they were all singing together, calling to one another from different spots in the forest.
I muttered, "Just wolves," mostly to convince myself, not him. "The woods are close by. It's not unusual."
But Shadow's reaction was different this time. He threw his head back and made a noise I'd never heard from him before. It wasn't a bark or a whine. It was this frustrated, strangled sound, almost as if he wanted to howl back but couldn't.
"Shadow, no!" I jumped out of bed and grabbed his collar. "You'll wake the neighbors!"
When he looked at me with those amber eyes, my heart dropped. There was pain there—emotional pain, not just physical. It felt like something inside him was breaking.
Outside, the howls grew louder, more insistent. I could feel Shadow trembling under my hands.
"What is it? What do they want?"
He whined low in his throat and moved closer to the window, every muscle in his body vibrating with tension. He had to respond to whatever was out there. He was shaking with the urge to do something.
I stepped over to the window and peered into the dark. The shadows of the trees danced across my backyard in the wind. I had this weird feeling like we were being watched, even though I couldn't see anything—like there were a hundred eyes on us.
"There's nothing out there," I said, my voice shaking.
Shadow pressed his face against the glass, and it sounded like he was calling out in desperation as he let out that strangled howl again.
Then, the howls came back, instantly. They were closer now. So much closer.
When I realized they were circling my house, I felt my blood run cold.
"We need to back away from the window." I tugged at his collar, but he wouldn't budge. Every instinct told him to run towards those voices, not away, and he was tense, muscles locked.
Suddenly, everything went silent. The silence was worse than the noise.
Shadow's ears perked up, catching a sound outside. I couldn't tell if he was scared or angry, but he curled his lips in a silent snarl.
A branch cracked somewhere in my backyard.
"Okay, that's it. We're calling the police." As I reached for my phone, Shadow's head snapped toward me. He took my wrist gently in his mouth, holding it without biting.
When our eyes met, I saw something unbelievable. He was trying to communicate with me, like he understood more than a dog should.
"Don't call them. They won't understand."
The thought popped into my head, but it didn't feel like my own. It was alien, a deep voice full of urgency.
My heart racing, I jerked my hand away from him. "That's not an option!"
He tilted his head, studying my face, and then padded over to the bedroom door, giving me this hopeful look.
"Want to go downstairs?"
He wagged his tail once. Yes!
Despite every instinct telling me to steer clear of the windows, I followed him. He led me into the living room, standing guard in front of the back door, not blocking it.
The howling started up again, but now it was different—shorter bursts, like they were having a conversation.
With every howl, Shadow's ears perked up, and I could see him fighting the urge to respond.
"You know them, don't you?" I murmured.
He gave me a look and let out a soft whine, filled with so much loss and longing.
"Are they your family? Your pack?"
His whole body sagged, and for a moment, he looked completely heartbroken—as much as a dog can look, anyway.
Then, a deeper, more commanding voice joined in, kind of like an alpha calling home. At Shadow's ears perked up, and he made his way toward the door. Then, just like that, he turned back to look at me.
I could see the struggle in him. It was like he was weighing two options: stay close to me or answer the call of his own kind. For a moment, I thought he might choose to leave.
I could almost feel those distant voices tugging at him. But instead of heading out, he came over to me and rested his massive head against my legs. He had made his choice.
The howling went on for another hour, fading into the background as whatever was out there drifted further away from our home.
Even though Shadow was my constant companion, I sensed this inner battle between what he wanted and what he felt he should do.
By the time the woods fell silent again, he looked exhausted. He plopped down on the rug at my feet, breathing heavily, like he'd just run a race.
I knelt beside him and gently ran my fingers through his fur. "Who are you really?"
When he looked up at me with those deep, knowing eyes, it felt like I was inching closer to some kind of truth.
Shadow, whoever he truly was, was definitely more than just a dog. And those howls? Well, they weren't just from wolves calling to him.
How long could he ignore that call? That was the real question.
And honestly, did I even want him to?