67
Kenneth and Cecil were sitting guard on the front porch while the women were upstairs packing. Cecil first noticed the movement by the barn. Poking Kenneth on the arm, he pointed toward where he had seen a dark shadow cross in front of the closed barn door. “Look over there,” he said. “Did you see that?”
Kenneth strained his eyes to see anything through the blinding snow. Finally, he caught a subtle movement at the corner of the barn. “I think so, but it’s not in the middle, it’s at the corner now.”
Cecil looked in the direction Kenneth was pointing just in time to see a dark sinewy shape as it appeared briefly and then slinked around the corner. Cocking their weapons, they watched and waited. There was more movement; however, it was not by the barn. This time it was by the oak trees. Cecil was positive he was looking at a man. He seemed to be leaning against the tree—and watching them. As Cecil watched the man, he could make out three different shapes as they moved restlessly in the dark.
As the wind began to pick up in intensity, the snow swirled and drifted in abstract shapes, providing cover for the shapes as they approached the porch undetected.
Kenneth was the first to notice their movement. Three emaciated gray wolves the size of small German shepherds stepped out of the raging storm onto the top step of the porch.
“Jesus, Cecil, those poor things are starving to death.
“After almost two months of below-zero temperatures and waist-high snow, their food source has burrowed in. It’s no wonder they’re roaming the countryside. They’re looking for food. Hell, I would too.
“You’re so full of crap, Cecil. There’s nothing supernatural or even out of the ordinary about these skinny little creatures.”
Of the three, one wolf stood out as a leader. It wasn’t any larger, but it was decidedly more aggressive. Lowering its head, it raised its hackles, and from somewhere deep inside its chest, it started a low rumbling growl. Taking one cautious step at a time, the beast approached the two men.
Kenneth didn’t even stand up; he pointed the barrel of his rifle over their heads and fired. The near-deafening roar of the weapon reverberated against the walls of the house. Lung-burning smoke and the odor of burnt cordite swirled inside the enclosure.
Within a few seconds, both Cecil and Kenneth realized that the shot had had no physical or psychological effect on the animals—they hadn’t even flinched.
Taking aim this time, Kenneth fired just as the wolf jumped. Blood sprayed in a geyser across the wall of the house, and without a whimper, the beast flew backward off the steps and lay motionless in the snow. The remaining two wolves that had been standing shoulder to shoulder stopped moving forward and separated to a safe distance.
Cecil leveled his shotgun at the one on the left, and Kenneth, the one on the right. The men waited apprehensively. Seconds passed like hours, and neither of the wolves moved a muscle. With heads lowered, they stood like statues, their eyes never wavering from the two men sitting in front of them.
A spine-chilling howl from somewhere in the blizzard propelled both men out of their chairs. Kenneth swept his rifle barrel toward the barn and the oak trees, while Cecil remained immobile, steadying himself on his crutch. He leveled the barrel of his shotgun in the direction of the two wolves on the porch.
An enormous silhouette appeared out of the shadows. Standing next to the dead wolf, it bent down and sniffed. Lifting its head, it unleashed an earsplitting wail, and a hundred or more voices from somewhere off in the distance joined in its song of death.