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The dry grass rustled softly under my paws as I stepped from my car. The bitter night air burned my lungs as I took several deep breaths, the old forest smelt of earth and musk, colored with the cloying stench of decay. It took me several moments to steel my will for what I was about to do. Long I have dreamt of this moment and now my heart fluttered with grim excitement as the time grew near. Finally ready, I opened the door and carefully lifted the heavy bundle of cloth from the back seat. The thick grey canvas was bound by chains and their weight burned my arms. The bundle stirred, only to be stilled by my whispers of false comfort.

Grimly I turned towards the remnants of the old path. Last I had been here the path was well kept and crowded with people. Now brambles and roots lay treacherously across the frozen dirt and the branches of the trees stretched out like grasping hands, desperate to keep me from my morbid task. I heard the distant skittering of the forest creatures as they scattered at my presence. I heard the hoarse call of the blackbirds already starting their laments.

My arms shook from the weight of the bundle and my paws were torn and bloodied by the ragged undergrowth of the forest by the time I reach my destination. The once pristine boathouse was now a rotting shell that sat at the edge of the forlorn shores of the frigid forest lake. The paint had long since peeled away and the decrepit timbers sagged from their own weight, the roof had long since collapsed. The docks were riddled with mold and worms while slime coated moss clung like sores to the rotting wood. Yet, despite the decay, the old row boats sat wraithlike at the edges of the docks. It was as if they were waiting for me. I trembled, and not just from the cold, it had been but six years since I had last been here. The relentless press of time and nature have taken their toll on this once beautiful place.

Though in a way it was fitting. Here is where some of my happiest moments had started and it is here that the last reminder of them shall be put to rest. I carefully walked to the edge of the docks, the wood was soft beneath my paws and a fetid stench rose from the black waters. Gently I climbed into one of the waiting boats and put down the bundle. The worn oarlocks screamed as I jerked them into motion for the first time in nearly six years. At the sound the bundle stirred once more but the soft rocking of the boat and my calm voice soon stilled it once more. Soon it will stir no more.

A thick mist danced across the still surface of the lake and parted before me. After what felt like an eternity I reached the center of the lake. I unclasped an old and tarnished locket from around my neck, the picture inside had faded from time and tears but even still it burned my heart. I sat there on the cold lake, the locket clutched in my hand with its slender chain wrapped around my fingers. My head was bowed and to anyone watching I might as well have been praying. But I was not, for there is no prayer that would bring forgiveness for what I was about to do.

With careful deliberation I tucked the locket into the folds of the bundle and kissed it near the top. Carefully as I could I lifted the bundle and lowered it over the side of the boat. A soft cry escaped from it as the icy waters soaked through the thick cloth. I sat there watching the heavy chains dragged the bundle into the frigid heart of the still lake. Finally it was done, the last reminder now lay in the cold embrace of the silent waters. I turned the boat around and headed back to the docks.

I didn't look back as I walked through the decrepit paths. The braches that so readily clawed at my clothes before now seemed to pull away. The animals had fallen silent yet the blackbirds continued their haunting laments. I stepped from the dark of the forest, my nails clicking against the sparse gravel of the overgrown lot. Calmly I drove home, stopping for a drink at the old bar along the way.

For days afterward I was pestered by the police and the news. However they were all turned away by lies and empty words. It wasn't long afterwards that I left the quiet and empty house. I had moved to a small apartment in the heart of the city. Without any reminders the memories slowly faded as did the pain that went with them. Faded, but never truly gone.

Years passed and left me behind. Walking through the crowded streets, the shadow of an old wolf, I felt a bitter resentment towards many that passed me by. Young families and couples were the worst, for they have what has been torn so cruelly from me. I saw them everywhere, it was as if the world had decided to mock my loss. Love struck couples, picture perfect families and their laughing children; I saw them all. Before long I felt a burning rage at the sight of them. A near mind consuming rage that clawed at the cages of mind, desperate to break free.

One night it succeeded, I was at a small diner not far from my apartment and ever table but mine hosted couples or families. The shy young woman, nervous to be on her first date; the family celebrating their sons 10th birthday; the newlyweds stopping in town while on the way to their honeymoon. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't ignore them all. My hands shook with rage, the fork and knife clattering against the plate. Finally I could hold it back no longer, with a vicious growl I slammed the knife into the table. The blade sinking deep into the old wood. I then stood and stormed from the now silent diner, my food untouched and my bill unpaid.

Similar incidences soon followed, becoming more and more common. Soon it got to the point where I hardly left my sparse apartment. I relied on a few old friends to take care of business for me while I tried to deal with the myriad of emotions that danced wildly through my head. Eventually I even grew distant from them. Time seemed to stop for no one came by anymore, not friends, not anyone. Instead I would sit for hours in the lone chair, set in the center of the small room, lost in memories.

At first I entertained myself with what few happy memories I could recall. I saw my girlfriend and I as we walked through the forest trails on our way back to the boathouse. I saw us almost a year later on our wedding day. I remembered returning to the boathouse together as we returned from our honeymoon. And I remembered the day she found she was pregnant with our daughter. She was so happy that day, I wondered how she would have felt if she knew how things would turn out.

That ushered in the memories of loss and pain. They crept out from whatever dark corner of my mind they had been hiding in all these years. I saw the ghost of my wife, her pale silver seemed to glow in the dim light as she walked by and into the bedroom. Breathless and choking on tears I followed, as I stepped into the room it suddenly shifted and I found myself in an operating room. My heart nearly stopped as I looked about the room. My beloved lay on the slab her fur stained with blood while the grim faced doctor handed me my daughter.

The next day I found myself standing in the backyard of the old house watching over my daughter's fourth birthday party. She and her friends played merrily in the grass while the parents swapped stories and jokes. It was a good time until someone muttered: "She looks a lot like her mother, doesn't she?" Those words burned my heart and I found that I could not stand to look at my own child any more for the sight of her was a constant reminder of what I lost.

A year later I could stand it no longer, while preparing dinner I slipped a strong sleeping drug into her food. I then wrapped her in a thick old bed sheet and bound her with chains. Then there was that grim march through the old forest. The boathouse, like everything else once dear to me was in ruins. It was where we met and it was were our legacy ended.

As I thought about that I heard a soft voice from far side of the room and an icy claw locked itself around my bleeding heart. There she stood, my daughter, in one of her favorite dresses. She stared up at me with wide, pleading eyes and her soft voice echoed as if it came from far away, somewhere far below.

"Father, it's so cold and dark. Why did you leave me here? Why did you drown me here?"

My voice shook as I answered.

"I loved you dearly but every day with you was torture. For you looked so much like your mother, whose life was taken on the day of you birth. Finally it grew too much to bear and, in my madness, I carried you through the wood to your death."

There is no use in lying to the dead. Tears ran down my muzzle as I spoke. In my madness I had lost not just my beloved but everything she would have held dear. Both her daughter and her husband. For the day her daughter drowned in the cold dark waters, her husband had drown in his lies.

I left the apartment and headed towards the lake, I made only one stop along the way. Once more I walked the dead and rotting paths and once more I stood before the crumbling remains of the boathouse. The mocking cries of the blackbirds echoed in the darkness. I climbed into one of the decrepit and mold encrusted boat and made my way to the center of the lake. As I brought the boat to a stop I could swear I heard whispers of sorrow and loss drifting up from the dark waters. I stood and faced the silver moon as it hung low in the sky. There was no use in praying, for the angels had long since turned their backs on me. I drew the handgun I had purchased not an hour ago, loaded it and put it to my mouth. The gun roared once and I fell backwards into the waiting arms of the frigid waters.