Hour of the Wolf

By Deanna Madden

Nightmares provide a frightening portal to the past for a young woman on the brink of adulthood in this time-slip novel about courage in the face of unspeakable evil.

In the summer after graduation Jodie Graham is plagued by dreams of a city with cobblestone streets where she follows an old woman through early morning fog. During the day she works at a pizzeria in Chicago and hangs out with friends while waiting for college to start, but in the dead of night her dreams transport her to another time and place where she senses something terrible is about to happen.

At first she doesn’t know what threatens the city with the cobblestone streets and the people who live there. The old woman she follows through the fog wants her to save a young boy, and there are other children who need saving as well. But how is she to save them in an unfamiliar city where danger lurks all around? Only when the dreams grow more ominous does she realize what threatens is the horror of the Holocaust.

But why is she dreaming about the Holocaust, and who in her own time will believe she is flung back into the past when she dreams? As she scrambles for answers, the danger escalates, and it becomes increasingly urgent not only to save the children but to figure out how to stop the dreams before she becomes one more victim of the Holocaust.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deanna Madden
• Release date: May 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215230046

Deanna Madden

Deanna Madden has taught literature and writing courses at colleges in Miami, FL, upstate New York, and Hawaii. Her novels cross genre lines but often fall into the territory of historicals and speculative fiction. She lives in Honolulu, and when she isn't writing, she can be found reading a book, enjoying the lush landscape of Hawaii, or spending time with her family.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I dreamed about the old woman again last night. As before, I was following her down a narrow cobblestone street in a strange city. Buildings shrouded in fog loomed on both sides of me. It was early morning, sounds oddly muffled, the cold penetrating my bones in spite of the coat I wore. I felt lost and alone as I trudged after the old woman, desperate not to lose sight of her, filled with a sense of dread. I wanted to wake up, but I couldn’t. The dream held me in its spell, and I followed helplessly behind the old woman until I tripped over the uneven cobblestones in my heavy shoes and fell to my knees.

I woke up sweating, my heart pounding, relieved to see my room take shape around me, shadowy but familiar in its outlines, the curtains at my window framing the pale light of early dawn, my phone on the nightstand within easy reach. I checked the time. Five o’clock. Too early to get up, but I didn’t want to fall back to sleep either and find myself in that strange city again. I had had the dream half a dozen times now. It was always the same—the old woman hobbling along the narrow cobblestone street, the heavy fog, the cold, the sense of dread. I had had nightmares before, but none like this. None so real I could have sworn I was actually there.

Even now, awake, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of disquiet the dream had left in its wake, and my knees still hurt. I flipped on the light by my bed and examined them. Red but the skin wasn’t broken. When had that happened? Odd that I hadn’t noticed before. Since I didn’t want to go back to sleep, I rose and did my morning yoga stretches. Afterward I showered and dressed, careful not to wake anyone else in the house.

At last I heard my parents stirring, and by the time I ventured downstairs, they were almost done making their breakfast.

My mom was frowning at the toaster when I walked in the kitchen. It’s on the blink again. It burned one side of my toast and barely warmed the other. She glanced over her shoulder at my father, who had just sat down at the table and was unfolding his newspaper while reaching blindly for his coffee.

So buy another.

Who’s got the time to shop for a toaster?

Both of my parents led busy lives. My father taught at the University of Chicago and my mother at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Breakfast time was always hectic with everyone rushing to leave for work or school, although now that I had graduated, mornings were less rushed for me, at least until I started classes at UIC in the fall. In the meantime I had a part-time job at the Pizza Factory, but I didn’t need to start work until eleven, so that left me with most of my morning free.

I had a bad dream last night, I said.

Until now I had avoided mentioning the nightmares to my parents, but the one the night before had seemed more ominous somehow.

My mother slathered jam on her toast. I told you that Pop-Tart was a bad idea.

It wasn’t the Pop-Tart.

I should have known she would blame my bad dream on the Pop-Tart, but this was not a case of indigestion from a late-night snack. However, before I could argue the point, my father interrupted.

Did you hear about this shooting in Michigan? Ten people dead. It started out as a case of road rage.

Oh, that reminds me, my mother said. Can you drop Renee at her dance lesson this afternoon?

Sorry. I have a faculty meeting, and they usually run late. Which reminds me, I may be late for dinner.

She threw him a look of exasperation, but he had resumed reading his newspaper and didn’t notice. Well, I can’t do it. I have an appointment with a student.

So change it.

"Why is it always my schedule which has to change?"

You want me to change the time of the faculty meeting?

They both knew he couldn’t change the time of the faculty meeting. This was an argument I’d heard many times before. I knew how it would end.

She looked at me. Jodie, can you pick up something for dinner before you go to work?

Renee wandered into the kitchen at that moment still wearing the loose T-shirt with the large number six on the front that she slept in every night, long legs bare, thongs on her feet. She yawned and rolled her shoulders. My sister was not a morning person.

Up so early, honey? my mother asked as she joined my dad at the table with her slightly burned toast and cup of black coffee.

Who could sleep with all this racket? Renee muttered.

Sorry.

Morning, sweetpea, my father said absently.

Do we have any more Pop-Tarts? She had the cupboard door open and was peering into it hopefully.

I think Jodie ate the last one last night, my mother said.

Renee sighed.

I tried again to tell them about my nightmare.

I had this really strange dream last night. In fact, I’ve had it several times now. There was this old woman, and I was following her.

My mother glanced at her watch. Is it really almost seven? She sprang to her feet. Got to run. Jodie, don’t forget to pick up something for dinner. Maybe a deli chicken. Oh, and can you do the dishes before you leave?

Why can’t Renee do them?

But my mother didn’t hear. She was dashing madly about, collecting her books and papers, and slinging the strap of her pocketbook over her shoulder before darting for the door. When it closed behind her, the room seemed to deflate, as if the air had just rushed out with her.

I glanced at my father. There was no point in telling him about my dream. He was totally engrossed in his newspaper. And why tell Renee, who was holding the fridge door open, unable to decide what she was looking for? No one cared about my dream except me, and could you blame them? Who wanted to hear about someone else’s dream? Yes, it had been frightening, but it was only a dream.

I knew I should just forget about it, and yet I couldn’t. I thought about it while I was waiting at the bus stop on the corner and again while staring out the bus window at the cars moving bumper to bumper in the next lane. It was on my mind as I paid for the deli chicken at the grocery store and later as I rode the bus to work. I was still thinking about it when I walked into the Pizza Factory and was greeted with the crash of pans and the shouts of the mid-day team as we rushed about getting ready to start our shift. I wasn’t wild about the job, but it was a way to earn money over the summer and I enjoyed the camaraderie with my co-workers.

I had this weird dream last night, I told my friend Gwen as we pinned up our hair in the restroom before our shift started. We had gone to the same high school and had been in several classes together, so we had a sort of bond based on that. Like me, she was working at the Pizza Factory to earn money to help pay for college expenses in the fall. On impulse I told her about my dream and the feeling I had had that something bad was about to happen.

Maybe it was trying to tell you something, she suggested.

Like what?

I don’t know. Maybe like if you see an old woman, you should follow her.

Why would I do that?

She shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe it would bring good luck. Like dreaming you found some money and then you do.

It wasn’t that kind of dream. I didn’t want to follow her. I just wanted to wake up.

She shrugged. "Then maybe it was telling you that you shouldn’t follow her."

I suppose I should have dropped the topic then, but I felt an urge to talk about the dream and we still had a few minutes before our shift started. It wasn’t the first time I had this dream. I’ve had it a couple of times before.

I used to have a dream about being lost in a woods, she said.

What happened?

Nothing. Eventually I stopped having it.

So you think it will just go away?

Sure. Eventually.

I was tempted to ask her how long it had taken for her dream to go away but then thought better of it. It wasn’t a dream I wanted to have again ever and eventually sounded too far in the future to be comforting.

Chapter 2

Chad was waiting in his white Ford Mustang in the parking lot when my shift ended at seven.

Want to go to the mall? he asked as I slid in beside him.

I was tired, but since we usually spent some time hanging out before he took me home, I agreed. We met up with some friends and claimed a table at the food court. Chad and I had started dating during our senior year. I was a cheerleader and he was on the football team, so it had seemed natural to pair up. And in the beginning, to tell the truth, I was flattered he noticed me. He was one of the star players and had half the girls in the senior class drooling over him. But now the initial attraction had worn off. I knew exactly when things had begun to change between us—midway through the football season when I had sprained my ankle springing down from a pyramid, and Chad had not been as sympathetic as he might have been. He thought I should just tough it out and keep on cheerleading, but instead I dropped out of the squad and let Nikki Carmichael take my place because it didn’t seem fair to the rest of the team for me to be sitting on the sidelines while they did all the work.

I found myself thinking about the dream again as I sat there under the bright lights of the food court in the midst of all the voices and clatter. I wondered if I’d have it again that night.

You’re awfully quiet, Maisie said, nudging me with her elbow. She was with her boyfriend Lance. There were six of us at the table—Maisie and Lance, Harper and Travis, and Chad and me. Like me, Maisie had been a cheerleader her senior year, and like Chad, Lance and Travis had been on the football team. Harper was the only one among us who hadn’t lived and breathed football her senior year.

I’m just tired, I said.

We should do something, said Lance.

Yeah, let’s take in a movie, Chad said.

He didn’t have a summer job and was bored. He didn’t see why I had to work, but my parents didn’t give me an allowance like his gave him and I was saving up for college.

Count me out, I said. I’m so tired I’d fall asleep in the first five minutes.

Poor thing. You look tired, Maisie said sympathetically.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I’ve been having nightmares.

What about?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her in front of everyone. But now they were all looking at me expectantly, and I had to give her an answer.

I dreamed I was following an old woman down a cobblestone street.

Doesn’t sound scary to me, said Lance.

I felt like something terrible was about to happen.

Like what? asked Maisie.

I’m not sure.

Lance whistled the opening theme from the old X-Files show, and Chad joined in.

Ignore them, Maisie said. They can’t help it. A case of arrested development.

What was all that about a nightmare? Chad asked later as he drove me home.

Just a dream I’ve been having.

I thought you dreamed about me.

I rolled my eyes. Of course I dream about you.

That’s more like it. So why didn’t you mention this nightmare before?

I don’t know. I guess I thought you wouldn’t be interested.

So why bring it up tonight?

I glanced at him. Was he miffed at me for not wanting to take in a movie? His profile gave nothing away. I don’t know. Can we just forget about it?

Sure. I wasn’t the one to bring it up.

After that, we rode in silence the rest of the way.

My mother was marking papers at the kitchen table when I let myself in. She taught English composition to freshmen and spent long hours marking her students’ essays.

Everything okay? she asked, glancing up.

She was obviously busy, and I remembered how that morning when I had tried to tell her about my dream, she had blamed it on the Pop-Tart I had eaten the night before. Maybe Chad was right. I should keep my dreams to myself. No one cared what I dreamed about.

Yeah, everything’s okay, I said. Where’s Dad?

In the bedroom, working on his laptop. I just have to get through a few more of these before I call it a night.

I lingered a moment longer, wanting to say something more but not sure what, but she didn’t look up again.

Well, see you in the morning, I said.

She nodded, scribbling a comment on a paper.

As I headed for my room, I passed Renee’s open door and saw her sprawled on her bed working on homework.

How’d your day go? I asked.

Oh, you know, she said with a shrug.

Renee was a year behind me in school and was taking a summer math course in the morning and ballet lessons in the afternoon. It occurred to me that maybe she had as much trouble getting someone to listen to her as I did. We were very different in many ways, but she was my sister and I felt I should be there for her. So I stepped into her room and sat down beside her on the bed.

Anything you want to talk about? I asked.

Like what?

I don’t know. Like how things are going.

Another shrug. Okay, I guess.

You don’t sound too enthused.

She gave me a sidelong look. You know that part I wanted in the recital?

The fairy queen?

Arlene gave it to Melissa Carpenter.

Arlene was her dance instructor, Melissa Carpenter her rival.

Ouch.

Melissa’s mom offered to provide refreshments for the recital.

So it wasn’t exactly fair?

Nope.

We both knew Mom didn’t have the time to volunteer to help for the recital. Just as she had not had time to bake cookies for school fundraisers when we were little or volunteer to be a chaperone on school field trips. Kids with stay-at-home moms had an advantage.

Have you ever had a dream more than once? I asked her. "I mean the exact same dream."

Not that I remember. Why?

I’ve had this same dream several times now. It’s a strange dream. A nightmare actually.

You mean the one where you’re following some old lady down a street?

Yeah.

So someone had been listening that morning after all.

She tilted her head and regarded me. So what makes it a nightmare?

Well, it’s really scary.

It doesn’t sound scary.

Just what Lance had said.

Well, it is. In the dream it’s as if something terrible is about to happen.

Like what?

I don’t know.

Maybe it’s a warning.

If it is, I don’t know what it’s warning me about.

Did you tell Mom?

She’s too busy. I don’t want to bother her.

Dad?

Also too busy.

How about Chad?

Not interested.

"What is he interested in?"

Not dreams at any rate.

She snapped her fingers. You know who you should talk to? Mrs. McGill.

Mrs. McGill was a counselor at our high school. She was the one who suggested I should major in psychology. I had an inquiring mind she said and good people skills and I’d probably be good at helping others with their problems. I wasn’t sure I agreed. I wasn’t exactly great at solving my own problems, let alone the problems of others. And since I wasn’t a student at Monroe High School anymore, I doubted I could go to her for advice.

I bet she wouldn’t mind, Renee said. Why don’t you call her and ask?

Maybe I will.

Mrs. McGill had always been someone I could talk to. She had helped me deal with my anxiety about chem class my senior year. She might be willing to overlook the fact that I wasn’t a student at Monroe anymore.

Leaving Renee to her math homework, I continued down the hall to my parents’ bedroom, where my dad sat in bed propped against a large pillow, glasses on, staring at his laptop.

You’re home, he said, looking up. How was work?

Hectic, as usual.

And Chad?

He’s fine.

He looked at me more closely. Everything okay between you two?

Yes, I’m just tired. That’s all.

I fleetingly considered telling him about my dream. But his eyes had already gone back to his laptop screen, and I had the feeling I was interrupting. Besides, Renee was right. The dream didn’t sound scary. And, as Gwen had suggested, maybe it would eventually go away. I shouldn’t make such a big deal about it. Everybody had bad dreams from time to time, right?

Chapter 3

I had the dream again that night, and it was just as terrifying as before. I woke in the early hours of morning shaking and decided I would get in touch with Mrs. McGill, as Renee had suggested. By the time Mom and Dad left for work, Mrs. McGill had texted back that she could meet me at the Starbucks near school in about forty-five minutes. When I arrived, she was sitting at a table by a window reading a book. She was a very ordinary-looking woman with graying hair who wore glasses and dressed in muted colors. If I had not been looking for her, I might not even have noticed her.

I joined her after ordering a latte.

So what’s this all about? she asked, closing her book. You sounded upset on the phone.

Now that we were face-to-face, I worried that she would think my anxiety about the dream was faintly ridiculous. After all, it was just a dream. Was it reason enough to turn to her for advice? But now she was here and it was too late to change my mind. I took a deep breath and told her about the old woman in my dream, the cobblestone street, the fog, and the sense of impending doom.

I didn’t know who to talk to about it, I said when I finished. I thought maybe you could tell me what it means and how I can make it go away.

What do you think it means? she asked, her eyes thoughtful, watching me.

It was such a typical response for a psychologist. I wondered if that’s what I would say in the future sitting across from someone who had come to me for help. It wasn’t the most helpful approach. If I knew what my dream meant, I wouldn’t be asking.

Did you recognize the street? she prompted.

No.

Cobblestones sounds like Europe, although there are cobblestone streets in some of the old sections of cities on the East Coast.

I’ve never been to Europe and I’ve never seen a cobblestone street, I told her.

And you didn’t know the old woman? A relative maybe? A grandmother?

My grandparents died when I was little. I barely remember them.

Recurrent dreams are not unusual. Some people think they represent unfinished business. Something you haven’t come to terms with.

Like what?

Maybe something that happened to you in the past. But it could also be a sign of stress.

I’m not stressed. It’s summer. No homework. No classes to attend. I have nothing to be stressed about.

"Are you so sure about that? Stress can have many causes. You could be feeling