The Forest of The Red Wolf

The full moon was hanging high in the sky. A faint shadow was already beginning to creep across its face, creeping over the craters that scarred its surface, dulling its silvery November glow. Without clouds drifting in its vast expanses the sky seemed to be frozen in time. The stars, bright pinpricks of light in its ebony vastness, twinkled in and out of view tirelessly. The air below was chill and the north wind was biting viciously at the forest. The bare treetops were waving eerily, and the blanket of leaves coating the ground rustled along with winter's cold voice. Winter's voice, which whistled through the trees, stirred the leaves on the ground and gave life to the scrawny winter undergrowth, chilled James Stanley to the bone. He was no longer feeling too sure of himself. The November wind was cutting through the thermal, fleece lined hunting jacket he wore. The cold ground was numbing his feet and his hands were frozen and sore from his tight grip on the barrel of his rifle. His breath coming in sharp rasps, escaped his mouth in puffs of condensation. He stifled a sneeze and wiped his gloved left hand across his nose. His hands were shaking. He tightened his grip on the rifle and told himself that it was just the cold. But he knew it wasn't, he was beginning to lose his nerve.
Sure he'd had plenty of it earlier down in Sullivan's. It wasn't hard to be brave when you were sitting in the warm, smoky interior of a public house with a beer in your hand. It was incredibly easy to say that you could face down a wolf out in the old forest. It had also been shockingly easy to claim that you would actually do it and then place a bet for five hundred dollars with the richest man in town. He had definitely shocked himself. Bragging was his thing, everyone knew that. Everyone also knew that he didn't have enough guts to back up his claim, James himself included, but things had been getting very merry that night. James had had a rather nice win at the poker table the previous night and was in very good spirits. And when Stephen Webber, the local wonderboy, had stood up and offered to give five hundred dollars to anyone who would actually go after the wolf, James had accepted with surprising speed. He had accepted with a speed that he was now deeply regretting.
At the time, with his head still a bit misty from alcohol, he had been so cocky that he had actually offered to give Stephen Webber five hundred dollars if he failed. Stephen had accepted this with relative ease. He had seen it all before. He'd even set up his logging business with the money he had conned out of drunks, pushing them into that last double or nothing hand in poker and wagering large amounts with them on the outcome of sporting events. He had a vicious poker face and was an old hand at screwing money out of people. He knew people. More importantly, he knew peoples weaknesses. And even more importantly still, he knew James Stanley's.
James Stanley worked for him out at the sawmill and he knew that the bet was easy money. He was well aware of the fact that James had a big mouth but a rather limited capacity for action. He'd often seen James brag before, but he had always pulled out before his big mouth got him in trouble. But not this time, this time he was going to go through with it. He almost felt sorry for him as he shook his hand. He knew that the wager was worth an entire weeks wages for James, but was almost pocket money for him. What he hadn't expected was the feeling of guilt that had rushed into his stomach like a freight train as he watched James leave the public house. He had never felt that way before, but then again he had never gambled with someone's life before either. He ordered another drink to try and quash the feeling, but it only got worse. And as he heard a wolf howl out in the forest a sense of impending doom mingled with his guilt. He pushed his glass away, suddenly he wasn't very thirsty.
James was standing next to his old battered pickup, peering reluctantly into the forest. The glow of the headlights illuminated the small parting in the trees where the path entered their shadow. The light didn't penetrate far into the forest and the few trees at the edge that were lit up, shone pale against the darkness. He shuddered, "Dammit I'm not going to start having second thoughts now." He noticed the rifle shaking in his hands, he grunted and tightened his grip on it. "No siree, not this time." He turned on his torch, temporarily adding to the glow lighting up the edge of the forest. His hand groped for the key hanging in the ignition of his pickup and he turned the headlights off, "No need to be alerting him now is there?" He now stood in darkness, the torch throwing out a small circle of yellow light before him. He shuddered again before he plunged into the shadows.
"Why, oh, why did I make that bet?" he asked himself out loud, "I mean I don't need the money that bad do I?" He shuddered, "Damn that toffee- nosed." he trailed off as the lonely howl of a wolf drifted to his ears. That sound petrified him. It travelled up and down his spine like a jolt of electricity. He stood motionless only a few yards into the forest. "I can still go back," he assured himself slowly, "I can still go back." His teeth began chattering and he was gripping the barrel of his rifle so tightly that his arm was beginning to cramp up. "Is it really worth this? Is that mangy red dog really worth all of this?" questions were swirling around in his head. "What will I do if I lose that money? How will I pay that rich s.o.b.? Damn you haven't left your self any options here James." He forced himself to take a step forward, "Come on James there ain't no red haired mutt going to get the better of you," he grunted savagely through his teeth. "Oh God dammit," he cried one last time in desperation before plodding onwards, the light from his torch bobbing up and down wildly.
"I've had nothing but trouble, since the day my grandfather, caught that Goddamn wolf," he thought as he stumbled along the forest path. "I wasn't even alive then, why should I have to carry that damn burden on my back. Just because he killed one of them, just because he got the better of one of ." he trailed off, not being able to find a word to describe his disgust.
He was referring to the red wolves that inhabited the forest, the red wolves that held a prominent place in the local folklore. He had grown up listening to the stories about how his grandfather and tracked one down and killed it. He had grown up listening to the stories about how after his grandfather had killed it, the wolf had faded away. The tales about how, as his grandfather circled the dead beast making sure that it was dead, the wolf had begun to fade. First of all the crimson fur had caved in, as if the wolf's body had disintegrated, then the crimson fur had begun to fade, until the wolf simply wasn't there any more. The people at the time, all extremely godfearing, had believed the wolf to be an emissionary of the devil. They had hailed him as a hero. He had never understood it but people had always expected him to be just like his grandfather. They had expected the same of James' father, but they had been severely disappointed. His father had always discounted the stories. He had always firmly believed that his father had made up the whole story about the vanishing wolf. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the red wolves did exist, not even in his fathers, not even in James' but that didn't mean he had to believe the stories.
"There weren't even any witnesses to my grandfather's story," he continued as he tread nervously along the path, "How could they believe such drivel? Superstitious bumpkins." But that didn't stop him trembling at the thought of the vicious two hundred pound crimson wolf, heaving as the bullet in his chest tore his lungs apart, fade away. That didn't stop him shivering as he thought of facing down a wolf, "With the very fires of Hell burning in his eyes," as his grandfather had put it. " I'm scaring myself now," he shivered, "I've never believed those stories before, so why the hell of all times do I start believing them now. Come on James, you know better than that." But somehow he didn't feel comforted. Somehow he felt even worse.
His voice was magnified in the still night air. The forest around him was silent. He had a deep feeling of being alone. He felt like he was the only one left in the world. The forest was so still, so empty, it terrified him. He heard a twig snap somewhere. He stopped dead, trembling. A petrifying fear swept over him. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, he could feel the blood rushing through the arteries in his head, pulsing through his veins. He could feel it throbbing inside his skull. He felt the sweat growing cold on his face. He felt his breathing speeding up, coming in harsh puffs that froze the back of his throat, and ripped at his tonsils. The sense of emptiness in the night grew as he stood alone, little over one hundred yards into the old forest. It seemed to him as if he was a million miles away from the bright and warm public house where he had earlier more or less signed his life away. Another twig snapped, nearer now. It echoed through the forest like a gunshot. James jumped, his gun shook uncontrollably in his hands, "God how am I meant to shoot the thing if I can't hold the bloody gun straight," he thought dismally, "Some hunter I am, I'm scared of my own bloody shadow."
He glanced nervously around. He couldn't see anything. The forest had gone silent again, the echoes fading away like ripples in a pond. Standing there, petrified he became painfully aware of how little he was in the grand scheme of things. For a split second he completely understood the vastness of the world, for the first time he realised how big the world actually was, he realised just how big the world was and just how small he was. The forest seemed to grow around him as he briefly understood its immensity He realised that his wasn't the only life on the planet, that while he was in the forest freezing, someone somewhere was sitting next to a fire sipping a hot drink and reading a novel. Someone else was out at a party about to take a drink from the glass her two-faced friend had just spiked. Someone was dying, someone was being told they had a few weeks to live, someone was giving birth, and someone was laughing. Then it had all come crashing down in one huge claustrophobic wave. It all fell away, his brief inspiration disappeared, and it seemed to him that he was the only one left in the world. He was cold, afraid and alone. He couldn't imagine that life was different anywhere else, he couldn't imagine anything thing else but standing alone in the forest.
He glanced around him more rapidly know. Paranoia was growing on him. The world was spinning around him. He heard another twig snap, then another, and another, each one getting closer, echoing around him as if they were coming from all sides. The snapping filled his head until he felt as if he was going crazy. The feeling of paranoia grew rapidly, he no longer cared about anything. He no longer cared about his money and he no longer cared about killing the wolf and proving once and for all that his grandfather had been a liar. He only wished the snapping would stop, that the emptiness he felt all around would clear and that his world would stop spinning. Another snap came from behind him, this time his reflexes took over, he jumped and then started to run on adrenaline fuelled legs along the path. The torch in his hand threw its light unevenly on the path before him, casting elongated shadows from the trees, shadows that looked like old wizened hands, groping the air. He ran blindly, pure terror urging him on. He couldn't bring himself to look back. He knew that if he looked back and saw the red wolf bearing down on him that he would just fall. He knew that his legs would just give up. He knew that he would just fall down and wait for the wolf to spring on him, that he would simply lie there and wait for death to come.
His legs carried him to a small clearing, about a mile from where he had parked his pickup, before they gave out under him. He lay there on his face, in a pile of half-decayed leaves. A dreadful stink drifted up his nostrils. "Oh God please don't tell me I'm going to die face down in a pile of leaves." He closed his eyes and waited for the pounce that never came. The next ten minutes passed without James knowledge, it was as if he had blacked out, he had no recollection of how he had spent that time. All he knew was that he had been scared, he had been scared silly. That's what it felt like to him when he finally managed to pull himself back up to his feet. His legs felt like jelly and he had no sooner gotten to his feet than he collapsed into a sitting position. He started to laugh. A loud hysterical laughter. "Oh my ha.I was ..fr...from nothing," and he collapsed into another fit of laughter. He laughed until his sides began to cramp. He laughed until tears began to stream down his face. He laughed until he heard the growling.
He stopped abruptly, there was a low growling sound coming from the undergrowth about ten yards in front of him. He staggered to his feet, his hands awkwardly fumbling their way to the trigger of his rifle. He held it to his shoulder and pointed it towards the bushes. "Some use this is, I can't even hold the Goddamn gun straight," he would have laughed again if he hadn't been so scared. It was ironic. All his life he had been able to shoot with almost unerring accuracy. He had grown up with a gun in his hand. His father had thought him to shoot at a young age. Not because he was neglectful or anything, but they had lived in a cabin on the nearby Pax Mountain. During the winter months, wolves would often come down from the forest at the top of the mountain to hunt for food. He had been trained to protect himself. His training failed him now however. He trembled, not even sure if he could pull the trigger let alone aim, if the wolf emerged.
A bush at the edge of the clearing rustled. A twig snapped like a gunshot to his right. Some long grass to his left swayed in a way that seemed unnatural. Something growled behind him. He turned slowly, already knowing what he was going to see; the wolf springing on him. But when he turned there was nothing there. Another twig snapped in the direction of the bush at the edge of the clearing. Then another one went , then another one. All of them coming from the bush that lay at the edge of the clearing. James turned slowly again, afraid of what he might see. He levelled his rifle at the bush, or at least he tried to level it, he was shaking so much he couldn't hold it straight. Staring down the barrel he saw the bush beginning to part down the middle. He saw the wolf's muzzle appear, the wet nose surrounded by crimson fur. He saw the nostrils dilate as they sniffed the air. Then the wolf's head emerged from the bush, its amber eyes bright, staring unblinking at James down its muzzle. James knew for sure now that he couldn't shoot. The hand holding the rifle fell limply to his side. He watched the wolf emerge fully from the bush in the light of his torch, which lay on the ground next to him. The wolf's crimson coat, shone in the torchlight making the wolf look as if he was on fire. "God he's massive," James whispered in terror. The wolf was about four feet high and easily weighed two hundred pounds. James watched, mesmerised by the muscles moving fluently under the wolf's fur. He started circling James, looking cautiously at him, and eyeing the rifle with unease.
The moon turned red. The lunar eclipse had arrived
The wolf stopped and howled. James knew from years of experience that he shouldn't look the wolf directly in his eyes. But he couldn't look away; he was mesmerised by the bright amber eyes. The wolf looked back at him, staring him down. Silence had crept over the clearing again. James stood for what seemed like an eternity in the strange staring match with the wolf. He once again heard the blood pounding in his head, pounding, pounding, pounding. It was pulsing uncomfortably, he didn't like the feeling at all, it was far different from the light headed rush he had gotten earlier, his heart was pumping rapidly and the blood rushing to his head was making him feel sick. His breath was shallow, each quick gasp of air tearing at the back of his already raw throat. His head was beginning to spin, he felt his consciousness beginning to fade, "God I'm like a little rabbit trapped in his glare. I'm like a little helpless rabbit." His vision began to blur. "Well at least I didn't lose the bet," he thought triumphantly before he managed to snap himself out of his trance, "What are you thinking James, snap out of it," he slapped himself hard across the face. At first the pain was dull and distant, but as his mind resurfaced slowly his cheek began to sting painfully, "That's going to bruise," he thought with a chuckle, "Come on pull yourself together man, come on, this is no time for joking. You've got a gun, use the Goddamn thing." His mind finally broke through the surface of his trance; he raised the rifle back to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. He hadn't realised how quiet the forest had been until the gunshot rang out, almost deafening him. When he finally managed to pry open his eyes, the wolf was gone. "Where is the red coated son of a bitch?" he asked out loud. His grandfathers story rushed back to him, "The wolf just vanished," he had said. For a brief second he believed the story, for a brief second he believed that he had just met the devil. He made the sign of the cross for the first time in he didn't know how long. He finally believed and kept on believing until he heard the wolf howling.
Fear flooded his mind again, he picked up his torch from the ground and turned back to the path leading from the forest. A twig snapped behind him, a wolf howled again, closer this time. James' blood ran cold. The howl had come from the bush at the edge of the clearing. He forced his failing legs to run, he forced them to carry him back down the path to his pickup. He heard the bush at the edge of the clearing rustle as he started to run. He heard the swift padding of the wolf's paws as the wolf broke into a trot. "Jesus help me!" he cried as he sprinted down the path on leg of jelly, "I can't outrun a bloody wolf." His legs pounded the beaten earth of the path roughly, sending painful vibrations up the back of his legs. He could hear the wolf gaining on him with every step. He could imagine the wolf breathing down his neck, just before he sank his long incisors into him. He imagined he could feel the wolf's paws on his shoulders as he began to worry at the back of his neck. But still the he ran on, the wolf steadily gaining on him. He didn't dare look back over his shoulder but if he had, he would have noticed the wolf turn off the path to run on the soft earth, just beginning to dampen with dew that would soon turn to frost. The soft earth was much easier on his wounded paw than that of the hard path. James was so caught up in his fear that he didn't notice the wolf turn away altogether and disappear into the forest. He didn't notice the wolf was one at all until he had reached his pickup and realised with some confusion that he seemed to have outrun a wolf.
"Thanks God," he cried as he fell to his knees laughing, "Thank you, I'll never blaspheme again."
The shadow passed from over the moon and it returned to its former silvery glow.

He knelt laughing by the side of the pickup until a wolf howled in the distance. He didn't care how far away it was he jumped, "Jesus Christ, not again." He leaped into the cab of his pickup and turned the key in the ignition. The engine wouldn't catch. "I don't care how far away that goddamn wolf is, I want out of here." He turned the key again, the engine stuttered into life. He rammed his foot down on the accelerator. The pickup sped down the road, its engine not sounding very healthy. James didn't pay much heed to the rattling it was making, anything was better than the usual growling it made, anything was better than that. He just wanted to get away, he wanted to get back to the public house and drink while he still could. "I owe that creep five hundred dollars," he thought glumly as he sped down the road towards the town again. "Damn you! Damn you! Damn yo." but his last curse was cut short.
His pickup hit a patch of ice on the road. It skidded wildly out of control, tossing its driver around like a ragdoll. His knee clattered into the dashboard. His seatbelt, the one thing about his pickup that he never neglected, dug into his chest as it stopped him flying through the windscreen. He was slammed back into the seat with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs, as his pickup skidded to a halt at the side of the road. "Damn it," he yelled angrily, "Damn .you mangy mutt. What did I ever do to deserve this?" He pushed open the door roughly and pulled himself out of the pickup. His left knee buckled under him as his leg hit the ground. "Arrrggh," he grunted. There was a gash on his thigh where it had slammed into the dash. Steam was rising from underneath the hood of his car. "Aww, shit," he exclaimed angrily as he brought his fist down on the smoking hood. He stood panting with his hands on his knees as he tried to regain his breath and his composure. "Well better start walking, this thing isn't going anywhere soon." He started limping along the road, "At least I'm not far from the Public House," he smiled, "I still have some of that poker money left, maybe just enough to make me forget about this whole thing."
It was close to one-thirty when he arrived back at the public house he had left rashly five hours before. He limped gratefully up the door and spoke to no one as he crossed the room and climbed sorely onto a stool at the bar. He signaled to the barman to bring him a beer, and he threw it down in one before he turned to the others, who had begun to gather around him in curiosity. They were wondering what had happened to him. His face and hair were covered in mud and fragments of leaves were hanging untidily from his hair and clothes There was a rip on the left knee of his jeans, dried blood had stuck the frayed ends to the gash just over his knee. "What happened up there, James?" Stephen asked, extremely curious at the outcome of his little wager. It had been a great relief to him that James had come back alive. He had been worried about it all night, he didn't want the man's blood on his hands. Not even winning two hundred dollars in a game of poker had taken his mind off it. Now that James was back alright, all he cared about again was his money. James smiled inwardly and looked to Heaven before he turned to answer, "Thanks for the idea gramps, I forgive you for lying, I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't," he turned to the men gathered around him, "Well here's what happened."
Keith O' Sullivan
19-9-04