His life was in his hands...until they wanted it back.



The Helping Hands: A story of unwanted magic and rebellion.



The street was quiet except for the occasional hiss of passing tires on wet tarmac. Rain sprinkled every surface and the air was heavy with the smell storms always left behind. The bus shelter smelled faintly of damp wood and wet paper as Johnny dropped onto the bench.

He tugged his purple varsity jacket tight and sighed and leaned back, his Converse squeaking faintly as he stretched his legs out. He glanced at the bus timetable and sighed.

“Late again.” came a voice next to him.

The voice was low and gravelly, causing Johnny's ears to twitch.

At the other end of the bench sat a wolf. He was older with patchy brown fur, mixed through with grey. His jacket looked as battered as he did - patched and frayed at the cuffs. His muzzle was scarred and his teeth were uneven, but his yellow eyes shone sharp, hinting that he was younger than he looked.

“Yeah. Always when you need it most, huh?” Johnny laughed politely.

The wolf smirked, showing a chipped fang.

“Buses never run on time. Doesn’t matter where you go, doesn’t matter who you are. They’ll always keep you waiting.”

“Story of my life, honestly.” Johnny smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Always waiting on something. Work to end, bills to pay. It keeps piling up.”

"Seems to me your life’s always late,” the wolf murmured. “And when it does show up, the moments passed. And before you know it, it's all over.”

“That’s kinda bleak.” Johnny said and glanced at the wolf with a brow raised.

“Truth usually is.” The wolf shrugged.

“Well, I guess we’re both stuck waiting, then.” Johnny chuckled nervously, brushing it off.

“Not necessarily,” the wolf said. He leaned forward slightly and rested elbows on his knees. “There are ways to skip the waiting. Ways to make life move for you.”

“What, like cutting in line?” Johnny asked, tilting his head.

“Like magic.”

Johnny let out a bemused laugh.

“Magic? Oh, come on.” He waved his hand dismissively. “That’s not real. That’s stage shows and special effects. Kids’ stuff. Nobody believes in that anymore.”

The wolf didn’t laugh, which made Johnny feel a little uneasy.

“Belief’s got nothing to do with it. Magic doesn’t need your belief to work. It's real.”

“Right. Next you’ll tell me there’s a wizard that grants wishes at Christmas or something.” Johnny said, rolling his eyes.

The wolf’s smile deepened, but his gaze never left Johnny.

“Magic’s older than wishes and Christmas. More powerful than people realise."

Johnny shifted uncomfortably. The longer he sat there, the stranger the wolf seemed.

“Look,” he said with an awkward laugh, “you sound like you’ve spent way too much time thinking about this stuff. No offense. But me? I’ve got enough problems without adding ghosts and goblins to the list.”

“So you wouldn’t use it, if it were offered?” the wolf asked, tilting his head.

"If magic was real, sure, I’d use it. Who wouldn’t?" Johnny smirked. "Maybe it could finally give me a hand in life. Cover my shifts, clean the flat, pay my bills. But that’s not gonna happen. So...”

Johnny began to stand, brushing at his jeans.

“Thanks for the chat, but I think I’ll just walk home.”

“You seriously want a hand in life?” the wolf asked. His voice had changed and was now sharp and piercing.

Johnny paused and his nerves were clearly showing.

“I mean...well, yeah I guess.”

The wolf smiled and glanced down at his lap.

"Very well then."

Curiosity got the better of him and Johnny sat back down, watching the wolf closely. Strange syllables and guttural noises erupted from the wolf's mouth. The harsh, scraping noises flowed through the air like claws on stone. The sound made Johnny’s ears flatten.

“Hey, you OK? What are you...?” Johnny’s voice was interrupted when he noticed his fingers were tingling.

At first, he thought it was pins and needles, but the sensation spread too fast. It crawled up his fingers, into his palms and along his wrists. His phone slipped from his grip and bounced against the concrete.

“What the...?!” Johnny gasped, jerking to his feet. “What did you do to me?!”

His fingers began twitching and then they flexed on their own, curling and uncurling as if testing themselves after a long sleep.

Johnny froze, staring in horror. His hands began to feel alien and then, against all logic, his hands spoke in loud, clear voices.

“Finally,” his left hand boomed, “We’re awake.”

“About damn time,” joined in the right, with a cruel tone.

"No - no, this isn’t real! What the hell is happening?!" Johnny yelped as he staggered backwards.

“Shut up!” his left hand barked, pointing a finger at him. “We do.”

“We’ve been here all along,” the right added, flexing with delight. “You just never listened.”

Johnny’s chest heaved. He could feel his hands but the movements were not his own. The horror filled his entire body and tears stung his eyes.

“This...this is insane!! Oh God..."

“Calm yourself down, Goddammit!” snapped the left hand in a loud and authoritative voice.

“Just obey your new masters...” warned the right hand, curling into a fist. “Or you’ll regret it.”

But panic still flowed through Johnny's mind and he instinctively began to shake his arms desperately, like a child who had just touched an insect. Somewhere in Johnny's mind, he thought shaking his hands would break them free of the numbness.

“Get off me! Get off me!”

Before Johnny had time to analyse the situation, his left hand whipped across and slapped him hard across the muzzle. The smack echoed through the street and Johnny froze and stared at his hands through askew glasses.

Both hands rose slowly and deliberately, clearly wanting Johnny's full attention.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” the left hand growled as it wagged a finger threateningly.

“You don’t shake us,” hissed the right. “We control you now.”

“Oh God... oh God...please stop - ”

“Silence!” barked the left hand.

“You wanted a hand in life,” the right heckled. “Now you’ve got two!”

Johnny's right hand raised and straightened the glasses that were hanging off Johnny's muzzle and, before he could react, his arms yanked forward with violent force. His shoes squealed against the wet pavement as he stumbled forward. His rebellious hands pulled out front and dragged him along like a puppet.

“No! Stop! Please!” Johnny cried, having no choice but to stumble after them, “Make it stop! Someone...help me!”

The wolf, who had witnessed the entire scenario, remained on the bench. His eyes glinted as Johnny was pulled into the night.

“They belong to themselves now,” the wolf murmured.

Johnny’s pleas grew smaller as his hands dragged him down the road, their voices barking and commanding and their actions forcing his every step.

“Forward!”

“Move it, mutt!”

“Don’t fight us! You’ll only make it worse!”

Johnny was helpless and begged for relief, as the darkness swallowed him.

A slave to his own body.