I sigh. Summer is so hot in Florida that I think I’ll burn into a pile of ashes. It’s not as hot in Massachusetts, where I used to live. I peer at a squirrel scurrying by. Since I have nothing else to do, I follow it.

It races across the sidewalk and rushes into the Everglades. I pause. No one will notice if I’m gone, I have no family. I step in after the squirrel.

I wade through the swampy marshes and eye the tall grasses, making sure that an alligator won’t find me. The water rises as I go deeper into the marsh. It is up to my knees now.

I jump as a snake slithers by, but soon relax. It’s harmless. Most are harmless. Except pythons. I shudder. I did a project on pythons in third grade, and have been terrified— yet fascinated— by them ever since.

I spot the squirrel. What innocent creature would want anything to do with the Everglades? It stops to nibble on an acorn and is suddenly swallowed by a shadow.

Yes, I mean swallowed. Literally. A wolf shaped shadow leaps out of the grass and its dark mouth opens wide, ridding the squirrel from it’s very existence. I freeze.

The creature is made of Shadow. Not the animal parts that I studied in science, the science that I relied on to not be afraid. If I learned enough, I’d be fine. But this. I don’t know anything about this creature. So the fact that an animal can be made of shadows and not be the shadow of another is horrifying.

Well.

Maybe not horrifying. That may be an overstatement. But terrifying.

The shadow turns to me and smacks its lips hungrily, as if to say, you’re my next snack. I unfreeze. My brain sends my nerves one vital message.

RUN.

I zoom past the large trees casting eerie shadows over me. I race past the probably python-infested grasses and onto the sidewalk. My leggings are soaked.

Yet the shadow continues to chase me.

It skids to a stop next to me. I back away slowly. Maybe this wasn’t the end. But I knew it probably would be. It snarled and growled as it closed in on me. Was no one noticing?

Of course not. Because I’m backing away from a shadow.

That’s what it is, I think. It’s just a shadow. Why are you running?

Because it just ate that squirrel whole! The rest of my brain retorted. What are you doing? Run to the nearest homeless shelter!

The nearest homeless shelter happens to be two miles away.

An idea clicks into my brain. Shadows show up when there’s light and the object— living or non-living— blocks the light. So if I can just remove the light . . .

But what if the wolf just gets more powerful in the dark? part of me wonders. But I know that I need to take the risk.

I rush back into the Everglades and find the perfect spot. The light is all blocked off by a canopy of thick leaves. I hide under the canopy. The usually silent, shadowy wolf stays on the edge of the dark, letting out a howl. A real wolf runs past me, then skids to a stop. It backs up and slowly jumps right on top of the shadow. When the real wolf steps back, the shadow wolf steps back as well. When the real wolf jumps, the shadow wolf jumps as well. The shadow belonged to the wolf.

The wolf nods in appreciation to me and races off back into the trees. I stand in amazement. A wolf in the Everglades. No one has ever heard of such a thing.

At least, not until me.