The Wolf Boy disappeared from Forest Lawn Cemetery on the day I moved into my new apartment. The radio in the kitchen was playing, so I learned the news from a muffled voice coming from a distant room as I unpacked. Jason Wolf and his sixth grade class from City Academy were visiting the cemetery as the conclusion to their year-long study of local history. Somewhere between Chief Red Jacket\u2019s monument and President Millard Fillmore\u2019s grave, the teachers noticed that Jason was missing. They assumed the boy had wandered off but would soon be found.<\/p>\n
Runners-Up<\/span><\/p>\n They were wrong.<\/p>\n The police were notified and squad cars crept up and down the cemetery\u2019s curved and intertwined roadways, the cops calling his name through loudspeakers. By the time I ate my dinner that night in front of the television and surrounded by empty moving cartons, all the local channels were broadcasting live from the cemetery about Jason\u2019s disappearance. His class picture was shown along with a phone number to call if anyone had seen a ginger-haired boy wearing khaki shorts and a white golf shirt in the vicinity of Forest Lawn.<\/p>\n By morning, volunteers from Jason\u2019s school crisscrossed the grounds on foot, moving in a grid, finding nothing.<\/p>\n Searching the cemetery was no easy task. <\/p>\n Forest Lawn was inspired by the designers of Paris\u2019 P\u00e8re Lachais, who thought a cemetery should be a celebration of not only lives already lived but the life that continues after us and represented by a lush, natural, rugged setting. The cemetery consisted of 269 acres of rolling hills and valleys, spring-fed lakes, twisting creeks, and ten thousand trees. It also backed up to Delaware Park with its additional 350 acres of meadow, forest, and lake.<\/p>\n The Wolf Boy\u2019s story interested me because Jason was a middle schooler, and I had just been hired to teach English at PS 64, the public middle school in the same neighborhood as Jason\u2019s private one; I was to begin that September, and it would be my first teaching job out of college. Jason could\u2019ve been my student, lost on my watch during a class field trip. Some of my incoming students in the fall may have known him from the neighborhood, or gone to elementary school with him, or at least seen him around.<\/p>\n Over those next few days after his disappearance, however, we all got to know the Wolf Boy from the news reports: how he was an average student, an only child, and had visited the emergency room several times over the years for suspicious bumps, bruises and, once, a broken wrist. We learned how the police had been summoned to his home twice this past year on domestic disturbance calls. Another picture emerged as well: how he was a Scout and loved to hike, fish, and camp. Interviewed neighbors told how his tent was always set up in the backyard and how he would sleep in it even in foul weather. It made me wonder how bad life inside his home must have been if he always wanted to stay outside in a leaky tent. As the days passed and he was still not found, we were told how family and friends clung to the hope that his outdoor skills would help him survive until rescuers found him. But he wasn\u2019t found, and no ransom note was received, and each day the Wolf Boy was in the news less and less.<\/p>\n By September, I had nearly forgotten about him. I had my own problems to worry about. Because of a maternity leave, a nervous breakdown, and an unfortunate late-summer lawn mowing accident, PS 64\u2019s Science Department was down three teachers and I was told that I, an English teacher, would not only be teaching seventh grade science for the first semester, I\u2019d also be in charge of The Seventh Grade Fall Expedition, a semester-long study of a topic explored in depth from the perspective of as many classes as possible\u2014history, art, geography, science, math and music. In past years students explored the development of the city, the impact of immigration, and our natural waterways. The year the Wolf Boy disappeared, our expedition focused on Forest Lawn Cemetery and Delaware Park.<\/p>\n **<\/p>\n Two days before school started, I sat in my classroom reading about native plant life when I heard a knock on my open door. A petite woman standing in my doorway gave me a small, tentative smile, revealing a space between her top front teeth that I found endearing. \u201cAre you busy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, not at all,\u201d I said, standing and moving toward her. \u201cI was just reading about eleocharis tortilis<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n She bit her lip as she thought. \u201cWright\u2019s Spikerush?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTwisted<\/em> Spikerush,\u201d I corrected, \u201cif these notes are right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Pat Green,\u201d she said, and extended her hand. \u201cThe long-term sub for Mr. Clark.\u201d<\/p>\n I squinted at her. \u201cClark? Lawn-mower-accident teacher?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, nervous-breakdown teacher.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m David,\u201d I said, shaking her hand. \u201cMaternity leave replacement teacher.\u201d<\/p>\n She was a petite with flashing dark eyes, and high, delicate cheekbones. A yellow short-sleeved blouse clung to her, and I guessed she was 10 years older than me, maybe more. I glanced at her tanned left hand and saw the pale line where she had recently worn a wedding ring. It was difficult not to stare.<\/p>\n She walked in and glanced around my bare science lab. The only things that hung on the walls were a clock that ran 12 minutes fast and, strangely, a portrait of John F. Kennedy, as if he was still the sitting president.<\/p>\n \u201cI love what you\u2019ve done with the place,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cI haven\u2019t had a chance to work on my bulletin board or hang posters. I\u2019m trying to figure out how to teach science.\u201d<\/p>\n She flashed her gapped smile. \u201cMe, too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHave you been teaching long?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m trying to get back into it,\u201d she answered, looking out on the student lab tables, as if picturing the seats filled with seventh graders. \u201cI\u2019m hoping this will turn into something full time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat would be great.\u201d<\/p>\n She turned to me, her dark eyes looking nervous and shifting, their gaze moving around my bare room until they settled on me. \u201cI wanted to talk to you about Cole.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCole?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy son. He\u2019ll be in your first period class. He should be on your roster.\u201d<\/p>\n I glanced at the rosters sitting untouched on my desk. \u201cYes, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n She nodded. \u201cI wanted to ask you for a favor. Well, two favors, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure. Anything.\u201d<\/p>\n She bit her lip again before she spoke, this time harder, so the color drained. \u201cCole is a good kid. A smart kid, really. But he has a hard time focusing and is easily distracted.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA lot of boys have that problem in middle school,\u201d I said, trying to remember if this was true or not. It sounded right.<\/p>\n \u201cHe was in trouble a lot last year because of being disruptive or just not engaging at all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI see,\u201d I said, nodding and furrowing my brows, attempting to look like a teacher.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m worried how he\u2019ll be this year. My husband and I separated over the summer, and Cole is going through a hard time. I\u2019m afraid he\u2019ll be even more of a problem this semester.\u201d<\/p>\n So she was available.<\/p>\n \u201cWhich brings me to the first favor,\u201d she said, taking a deep breath. \u201cI don\u2019t want you to treat him differently than any other student. I\u2019m not looking for special treatment.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course not,\u201d I said, and could see her pulse fluttering in the soft, kissable hollow of her throat.<\/p>\n \u201cBut if his behavior gets out of hand, if things have to be elevated, could you just let me know before you report him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbsolutely,\u201d I said, forcing my eyes to stay locked on hers and not drift downward. \u201cThat\u2019s not a problem at all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe if I know beforehand I can talk to him, try to get him to straighten up before the administrators are involved.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure,\u201d I said. \u201cI just want what\u2019s best for Cole.\u201d<\/p>\n Her whole body relaxed then, and her smile was wide. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo problem,\u201d I said, like I was accustomed to solving student problems. \u201cWhat kind of kid is he? What\u2019s he into? Sports? Music?\u201d<\/p>\n Her body once again tensed as if a key had been inserted. \u201cJason Wolf.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s what he\u2019s into. Jason Wolf. He\u2019s become obsessed with him ever since his disappearance. He cuts out articles about him and hangs them in his room. He draws pictures of him in the woods, living in a cave and fishing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey were in Scouts together until Cole decided scouting was stupid and dropped out. Jason was always the top scout. The newspaper\u2019s right: He is a regular Daniel Boone. He had more merit badges than anybody. Cole is convinced that Jason is alive, that he planned the whole thing, that he\u2019s living out in the park and cemetery like some savage. And right now, unfortunately, the idea of living in the woods, away from his family situation, is very attractive to Cole.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you afraid he might sneak off during the expedition? To try to be with the Wolf \u2026 Jason?\u201d<\/p>\n Her chin quivered as she nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Pat,\u201d I said, and reached out and stroked her warm arm, her arm so richly tanned I imagined her massaging coconut-scented creams and lotions into her skin until it glistened in the summer sun.<\/p>\n She took a deep breath, recomposing herself, before she continued. \u201cMy second favor is if I could co-chair the science part of the expedition with you. If I\u2019m involved in all the planning, if I know what\u2019s to take place and when, if I\u2019m there as a chaperone to keep an eye on him, it would make me feel as if I\u2019m in control somehow.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/p>\n \u201cSure. Absolutely,\u201d I said, imagining us working closely together and getting to know each other. <\/p>\n \u201cThank you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n I looked at the clock running 12 minutes fast. \u201cIt\u2019s getting late. Do you want to go for coffee or a drink and figure this expedition out? I have the folder Mrs. Durant started on the expedition we could go through,\u201d I said, and half turned, pointing to a stack of folders on my desk with my thumb. I was almost certain I saw a folder on the expedition in the pile.<\/p>\n She hesitated for a moment, weighing the pros and the cons, the implications, the messages, real or perceived, which were being sent, and then, finally, said no.<\/p>\n **<\/p>\n My students were confused on the first day of school. They\u2019d walk through my door, take two steps into the classroom, then stop when they saw my posters of Dickens and Steinbeck hanging on the wall, the bust of Hemingway on the lab table in front of the room, and my “Read Banned Books” bulletin board. They would look down at their class schedules, check the room number, and then look up at me, uncertainty and a touch of fear splashed across their faces. <\/p>\n \u201cCome in,\u201d I said to them. \u201cYou\u2019re in the right room if you have Science this period. I\u2019m Mr. Sanders.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s with all the stupid book posters then?\u201d one boy said, slouching his way to an open desk. He wore his hair long, and it hung in his eyes; he\u2019d flick his head, tossing his hair aside so he could see. Even if Pat hadn\u2019t showed me the picture she carried in her wallet, I would have recognized her son right away. They shared the same dark, almond-shaped eyes, and identical cheekbones. He was a sullen version of her.<\/p>\n \u201cThose posters will be replaced with more science-oriented ones as the semester goes on. I just wanted to have something on the walls for now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWeird,\u201d Cole muttered as he slid into his seat and began immediately to draw.<\/p>\n As more of my students filed into the classroom and filled the empty desks, the more I found myself pacing in front of the lab table, a manic energy coursing through me as I greeted them. I\u2019m sure I would have been nervous on my very first day of teaching no matter what, but my anxiety was compounded by not only being forced to teach an unfamiliar subject, but also by having Cole in my class. Pat and I had stayed late twice to plan the expedition, and each time I asked if she\u2019d like to get a drink or a bite to eat afterwards, and each time she had politely refused. I had a feeling that if I was to get anywhere with her, Cole was the key. I wanted all my students to like me, to think I was the cool new teacher, but especially Cole. If I could win him over, I was certain I could win over Pat as well. <\/p>\n After the bell rang signaling the start of class, the majority of the period was spent doing housekeeping tasks: reviewing homework, attendance, and detention policies; explaining the grading system for the semester; handing out lab books. Cole ignored me the entire time, his head bent to his drawing. Occasionally, I would hear him sigh or mutter \u201cBoring\u201d under his breath.<\/p>\n \u201cThe real foundation for the fall semester is The Seventh Grade Expedition. Does anyone know what that is?\u201d I asked, looking out on rows of blank, bored faces.<\/p>\n I looked toward Cole, but his head was resting on the crook of his arm. Pat had told me she wasn\u2019t going to tell him about the trip until she had to; she was afraid he\u2019d start making plans like Jason had.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t we go somewhere and study something?\u201d a girl in the front row answered. I think her name was Jill. Or Judy.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd this year, all the seventh graders, not just this class, the whole seventh grade, will go camping in Delaware Park and Forest Lawn to study the wildlife and plant life of the region. It will give you a feel for how real biologists and botanists work in the field and the skills and tools they use to conduct research.\u201d<\/p>\n Cole\u2019s head snapped up. \u201cThe cemetery?\u201d<\/p>\n Jill-Judy wrinkled her nose. \u201cWe\u2019re going to camp out on graves?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, we\u2019ll camp in the park, but we\u2019ll spend a lot of time studying the flora of cemetery. They named it Forest Lawn for a reason, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Wolf Boy lives in the cemetery,\u201d Cole said.<\/p>\n Jill-Judy half-turned in her seat and looked back at Cole. \u201cNo, he doesn\u2019t. He disappeared from<\/em> the cemetery. He doesn\u2019t live<\/em> there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, he does,\u201d Cole answered. \u201cHe\u2019s like Mega-Scout. He could live anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI heard that, too,\u201d another boy with a mouthful of silver braces said. \u201cHe\u2019s a jungle boy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think he\u2019s part Indian,\u201d a girl with acne said. \u201cIroquois or something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe is not. I went to Sunday School with him,\u201d a redheaded kid said. \u201cI think he\u2019s German.\u201d<\/p>\n Suddenly my class was alive. For the first time that morning they were attentive, engaged, and talking. They had found a topic that interested them \u2013 the Wolf Boy\u2013 and everybody had an opinion.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy couldn\u2019t the police find him in the cemetery then?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause he\u2019s the Wolf Boy!\u201d Cole yelled.<\/p>\n \u201cSome psycho got him. They\u2019ll find his chopped up and rotted body next spring when the snow melts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGross.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, and what about the snow? How\u2019s he going to survive the winter?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI heard he runs around the cemetery naked,\u201d a kid in the back of the room said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re weird,\u201d the girl next to him replied.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat does he eat?\u201d Jill-Judy asked.<\/p>\n Suddenly I saw how I could reach them, how I might actually educate them. \u201cOK, OK. Time out,\u201d I said, making a \u2018T\u2019 with my hands like a referee. \u201cJill raises a good question.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJudy,\u201d she corrected.<\/p>\n \u201cJudy,\u201d I repeated, and smiled apologetically before walking toward the chalkboard. \u201cWhat would<\/em> the Wolf Boy eat if he was living in Delaware Park and Forest Lawn?\u201d<\/p>\n No one answered.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on,\u201d I said, the chalk poised above the board, my heart beating fast. \u201cWhat would he eat? Call them out.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlants?\u201d Judy asked.<\/p>\n \u201cAbsolutely,\u201d I said, writing it down.<\/p>\n \u201cNuts,\u201d someone else called.<\/p>\n I added it to the list.<\/p>\n \u201cBerries.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFish.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSquirrels.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s deer in the park.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s he going to kill a deer?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s the Wolf Boy,\u201d Cole said. \u201cHe can do anything.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s lots of birds there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDucks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGeese.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRabbits.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI saw a turtle there once.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe could set out buckets and drink rain water.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s he going to get a bucket?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe could kill the deer with the bucket. Just sneak up on it and smack it in the head.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMoron.\u201d<\/p>\n I turned to face them. \u201cOK, settle down,\u201d I said, and miraculously they quieted. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. \u201cThat\u2019s a pretty good list you came up with, and you came up with it fast. And guess what? That\u2019s what we\u2019re going to study during the expedition. We\u2019re going to study the plants and animals of the park. We\u2019ll identify and name them. Categorize them by their species and scientific names. The specific<\/em> plants. The specific<\/em> berries. The specific<\/em> nuts. The types of birds that live there. What would the Wolf Boy eat? What plants would make him sick? Which flowers are edible?\u201d<\/p>\n For the first time all period, Cole raised his hand, his eyes bright, his face flushed. \u201cYou mean the whole semester is going to be about the Wolf Boy?\u201d<\/p>\n The bell rang like an alarm, signaling the end of class. \u201cYes,\u201d I said, the words rushing from my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. \u201cThis whole semester is going to be about the Wolf Boy.\u201d <\/p>\n **<\/p>\n I was sitting at my kitchen table that night, trying to learn the next day\u2019s lesson plans, when the phone rang. Pat\u2019s voice was low and angry on the other end of the receiver. \u201cThis semester is not<\/em> about Jason,\u201d she said, and I imagined her spitting the words through the adorable space between her teeth. \u201cHow could you say<\/em> that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI reached them, Pat! All of them, but especially Cole.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis is not<\/em> what we talked about. This is not<\/em> what we planned.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know, but they got excited. They got excited about learning. They got excited about nuts<\/em>. Wasn\u2019t Cole excited?\u201d<\/p>\n There was a pause on the line, and then Pat said, \u201cIt\u2019s all he\u2019s been talking about since he got home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSee? When\u2019s the last time he\u2019s been this eager to learn?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNever,\u201d she said, her voice still low, but the anger now drained from it.<\/p>\n \u201cI think I\u2019m on to something with this Wolf Boy angle, Pat. I really do. I think it will work. Why don\u2019t we meet for a beer and brainstorm about it?\u201d<\/p>\n She hung up without saying goodbye.<\/p>\n **<\/p>\n The next several weeks were spent preparing for our excursion to the park and cemetery. In history, they learned about Fredrick Law Olmsted, the designer of Delaware Park, and his other work around the city as well as the lives of those buried in Forest Lawn\u2014Chief Red Jacket, President Fillmore, Civil War General Daniel Bidwell, and the 19th-century industrialists who brought the city into its golden age. In art, the students learned sketching techniques and studied the artists\u2013Charles Cary Rumsey, Grace Goodyear, Antonio Ugo\u2014whose bronze sculptures are found in the cemetery. In health class they learned emergency first aid, survival techniques, and identifying poison ivy, oak, and sumac.<\/p>\n In my class, they learned about the Wolf Boy.<\/p>\n I broke my students into teams. One group researched the plants the Wolf Boy could eat and how to identify them. Another group reported on the poisonous ones he had to avoid. A third group cataloged the fauna and ranked them from the easiest to hardest to catch. Cole led the team studying the cemetery\u2019s and park\u2019s physical layout. He poured over maps like Eisenhower planning D-Day; he found aerial photographs; he studied Olmsted\u2019s original design; he identified areas where the Wolf Boy most likely lived.<\/p>\n \u201cHeavily wooded to avoid detection and close to a water supply,\u201d he told us when he presented his findings to the class, pointing to the map he\u2019d hung on the wall, replacing my Steinbeck poster. Since I had announced that the whole semester was going to be about the Wolf Boy, Cole had become my best student. He gave his presentation without reading from his notes and referenced the art work and monuments he had learned about in his other classes. He knew more about Delaware Park and Forest Lawn than anybody.<\/p>\n Pat stood in the doorway watching, a mix of fear and pride alternating across her pretty face. Cole\u2019s presentation ran long, right up until the bell rang; the other students clapped when he finished. When Cole passed me to head to his next class, he gave me a high five, slapping my hand hard.<\/p>\n After the last student hurried out, I turned to Pat, smiling. \u201cHe was good, wasn\u2019t he? It was the best presentation so far.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCongratulations,\u201d she said, her eyes as black and hard as stones. \u201cYou\u2019ve turned my son into the Wolf Boy.\u201d<\/p>\n She left my classroom before I could answer, her heels clicking down the hallway like low caliber gunfire.<\/p>\n **<\/p>\n The Expedition took place over Columbus Day Weekend that year. The temperature was still warm enough that we could wear shorts during the day and hold off donning sweatshirts or light jackets until early evening when the air turned crisp, foreshadowing the colder, darker hours ahead. The foliage was near peak. Oaks and elms were ablaze with color and fallen acorns crunched under our feet as we hiked to our campsite. The kids kicked chestnuts at each other.<\/p>\n \u201cThere are a ton of these,\u201d a voice behind me said.<\/p>\n \u201cCastanea dentata<\/em>,\u201d another voice said.<\/p>\n \u201cHe could roast them,\u201d the first student answered. \u201cHe could eat these all winter.\u201d<\/p>\n I smiled. <\/p>\n They had learned something. <\/p>\n I had taught them.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t look so damned pleased with yourself,\u201d Pat said in a low voice, hiking next to me. Cole was about 10 feet ahead of us on the path; Pat never took her eyes off him.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019ll be fine, Pat. All the chaperones know the situation. Everyone\u2019s keeping an eye on him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know anything. When you\u2019re a parent you\u2019ll understand. Christ, you\u2019re just a kid yourself,\u201d she said, and she hurried away from me to catch up with her son, her words stinging, but I still couldn\u2019t take my eyes off her calves.<\/p>\n **<\/p>\n Cole disappeared the second night of the expedition.<\/p>\n He\u2019d snuck off with his sleeping bag and backpack sometime after lights-out, not disturbing anyone. I imagined him dressed in black, creeping past chaperones who were supposed to be vigilant, his mother who swore she wouldn\u2019t sleep the entire trip, and rows of tents containing his slumbering classmates. <\/p>\n The news spread quickly through the camp. Students huddled together in front of their tents as the soft morning light of autumn fell on them. Some cried, others looked scared; a few wore dazed expressions, bordering on awe.<\/p>\n \u201cHe did it. He actually did<\/em> it,\u201d Jeremy, the boy with braces, said, as if Cole had shared his plan ahead of time.<\/p>\n Pat came up to me, hate and fear in her dark eyes, tears streaming down her pretty face. She punched me hard in the heart with the side of her fist, like she was hammering a spike through it. \u201cI told<\/em> you this would happen.\u201d <\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll find him, Pat,\u201d I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. \u201cHe\u2019s not gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s not? Then where hell is he, David?\u201d<\/p>\n Panic gripped me; I\u2019d never thought Cole would sneak away. He\u2019d seemed so happy these last few weeks, so engaged, a different boy from the one who had slouched into my classroom six weeks earlier. Everyone\u2014Pat, the students, the other chaperones\u2014stared, waiting for me to answer Pat\u2019s question, waiting for me to take charge, waiting for me to teach. <\/p>\n \u201cThe rugged part of the cemetery,\u201d I said, pointing toward Forest Lawn, the idea just coming to me but certain I was right. \u201cOn that ridge where it\u2019s all overgrown. That\u2019s where he\u2019ll look for the Wolf Boy first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you know?\u201d Pat asked.<\/p>\n \u201cHe told us in his presentation. Heavily wooded and close to water, remember? The stream runs right through there. That\u2019s the closest spot that\u2019s like that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re just guessing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf he\u2019s not there, we\u2019ll try the next rugged spot and then the next and work our way to the woods, following the stream. That\u2019s what he\u2019ll do. He\u2019s trying to find the Wolf Boy, Pat. I\u2019m certain of it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDamn you, David.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe need to go now<\/em>,\u201d I said, and she and the others believed me.<\/p>\n We didn\u2019t break camp; the tents were left standing in the park. The students were mobilized, eating granola bars and drinking juice pouches as we marched toward the cemetery. I told them not to call out Cole\u2019s name as that would make him hide from us, but occasionally a student would yell for him, or howl like a wolf, or get excited and point out a red-tailed hawk\u2014\u201cButeo jamaicensis<\/em>!\u201d\u2014and Pat would snap at them to be quiet.<\/p>\n We marched past headstones dating back to the 1830s, the inscriptions worn by time and weather. We circled Mirror Lake and past the Birge Memorial, a massive monument with 12 Doric columns with the president of the old Pierce Arrow Motor Car Company buried beneath the marble. <\/p>\n I kept my eyes on the rough ridge on the other side of the lake, periodically raising my binoculars and scanning the tree line for movement, spotting nothing but a doe on the move, doing her best to avoid the young bucks during rutting season. My hands shook as I held the binoculars.<\/p>\n We fanned into a line of students and chaperones as we ascended the hill, the ground getting steeper, rockier with each step. My plan was to march to the stream maintaining that line, trapping Cole between us and the water\u2019s edge. As we moved forward, I looked for some sign that he had been there \u2014 a discarded wrapper, an apple core, some piece of his old life he was trying to leave behind. Then I found myself looking for some sign of the Wolf Boy \u2013 a smoldering campfire, the gutted remains of a small animal, remnants of shed clothing. I saw none of these things, and a dizzying fear touched me deep to the marrow that maybe both boys were really gone.<\/p>\n Then we heard the scream.<\/p>\n Raw. Primal. Like a howl. The sound froze us. Pat\u2019s eyes locked on mine, growing wider as the shriek continued. She mouthed Cole\u2019s name, somehow recognizing it as her son\u2019s wail. It sounded like he was in agony.<\/p>\n When the screaming stopped, we moved toward where we thought the sound had come. Then the wailing began again, the throat-ripping sound guiding us. We stumbled over rocks and roots, our feet slipping on loose stones and dirt, as we headed toward the fading cry. <\/p>\n We found Cole at the base of a rocky embankment on his knees, his arms wrapped around himself, his upper body rocking. He was kneeling three feet from the Wolf Boy. Pat slid down to him and threw her arms around his shoulders, trying to turn her son away from the corpse. <\/p>\n It didn\u2019t take a biologist or a coroner or even a science teacher to see that Jason had been dead a long time. The elements and animals had left too much evidence to dispute that. Later we\u2019d learn from the paper that he had died soon after his disappearance, that he had lost his footing, toppled down the hill, and struck his ginger-haired head on a rock, killing him instantly. Authorities speculated that he had evaded them until the search had been called off. There\u2019d been no campfires, no living off the land, no months of survival on his own.<\/p>\n There\u2019d been no Wolf Boy.<\/p>\n There\u2019d only been Jason Wolf, an 11-year-old boy who\u2019d grow no older.<\/p>\n Cole had stopped howling as Pat held him and now sobbed and moaned in his mother\u2019s arms. The cemetery had grown very still. The children were all silent, too stunned to even cry, and even the birds\u2014Buteo jamaicensis<\/em>, Dendroica petechia<\/em>, Agelaius phoenicus<\/em>\u2014stopped calling to each other from the limbs above. The only sound I heard was my own breathing and a humming in my ear as if someone was holding a tuning fork close to my head. Some of the chaperones tried to push the students back, telling them to wait at the bottom of the hill, to not look at Jason, or what was left of him. I didn\u2019t do that. I let my kids look. I let them get close, letting them see a real horror story, and hoped I was teaching them something. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Wolf Boy disappeared from Forest Lawn Cemetery on the day I moved into my new apartment. The radio in the kitchen was playing, so I learned the news from a muffled voice coming from a distant room as I unpacked. Jason Wolf and his sixth grade class from City Academy were visiting the cemetery … <\/p>\n
\nRead all the winning stories from the Great American Fiction Contest 2013:<\/b><\/span>
\n
\nWinner<\/span><\/p>\n\n
by Lucy Jane Bledsoe<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n
by PJ Devlin<\/li>\n
by Stephen G. Eoannou<\/li>\n
by Andrew Hamilton<\/li>\n
by Cynthia McGean<\/li>\n
by Marvin Pletzke<\/li>\n
by Caroline Sposto<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n