The Demonic Gray Wolf of Wallace Fields (A short Story)
Part Three
To “Cradled with the Devil”
The Demonic Wolf
of Wallace Fields
Mr. and Mrs. Stanley hired Detective Hans Gunderson, a friend of Douglas Sexton, of Fayetteville, to uncover this mystery death of Cindy Codden, who had slept on their porch and was mulled by a pack of wolfs, or so it seemed, perhaps one great wolf could have done her in. Mrs. Stanley, couldn’t figure why the dogs or the horses, or any of the animals didn’t make noise that night when the wolf came and mauled Cindy to death, last summer, to her understanding the wolves had been long gone, so long she couldn’t remember. The gray wolf was known years ago to have lived in the woods nearby, by the railroad tracks, the timber wolves, but this one was possessed, so it would seemed, and the coroner, had said it would have been one great wolf, and Hans believed it to be so.
Hans was known in Fayetteville, and the surrounding plantations, as being of German decent, born in Munich, fought in the Korean War, which after he was then given American citizenship, and he was a deadly shot with a pistol and rifle, a bold man who understood the wilds of the country, he himself rough, a tall man, and broad, and so in haste to find the secrets behind the soul of this killer wolf, man eating would, he camped out in the fields, and woods beyond the fields, near the railroad tracks, where old man Henry Pike worked for so many years and died that summer of a heart attack.
It was now November of 1967, fall was cold, and a frost was everywhere. He was given a month to finish the job, and he started on November 15, he was paid $100 per day, and if he brought back the head of the so called gray wolf, the one that had been seen running through the woods, and fields, with the hounds, and other stray dogs, and animals, he’d be given a bonus of $500-dollars.
Hans knew what he was looking for, a gray wolf, perhaps with rabies, or a dead wolf that had rabies, and infected other wolves, a mad wolf in essence, a large wolf, perhaps three to four feet, the largest of them, he saw its foot print, it had six digits, not five, it was all of 180-pounds, with great stamina, for it ran the length woods like a bird, many folks had seen one, but no one saw it close up, not even the dead who died by its bone breaking teeth. Such wolves were ancient, their history dated back 300,000-years, with the scent glands on their toes, they could out maneuver its enemy at will, and they were highly adaptable, thrived in unbalanced weather.
If he was infected with rabies, then perhaps it went mad, and was the cause for its attack, and they were close to the dog family, thus to run with them was not uncommon, it would although transmit its disease to humans, and other live stock, or could, and that was perhaps half of Mrs. Stanley’s reasoning for Hans to capture or kill the beast. On the other hand, maybe he needed to find the dog pack and see if the wolf was among it. He deliberated on many options, and worked them all out.
Hans was exploring the woods by the railroad tracks, it was the second week of his drifting rapidly from one section to the next, and back to the Stanley Plantation. He had built a fire, mumbled a prayer, climbed in a circle he made, fires all around him, put his rifle on his lap. The evening came, and it all seemed so unholy.
Hans pulled out his note book and started writing a diary, with a despairing gesture, turning his eyes every which way as the night got darker. He was in a scattered fringe of the woods, in case he needed to run out of it, he wouldn’t get lost. It struck him that it was considerable colder than what he anticipated, and put a blanket around him, the one he was to use as a pillow, if indeed he dare sleep. In the morning he’d resume his journey, but it was looking like he was not going to get his $500-dollars.
The brightness of the moon was helpful, and he began to think, write more notes, in addition to this, he noticed, heard a far’ away rushing sound, it came in intervals, with a mysterious cry, yelping, one that come from none other than a wolf, and so he wrote this down into his notes also. He was somewhat shut in by the hills, more so than the woods, he’d have to run a ways, up a hill, down it, and be out of the woods and beyond the hills to be in the fields of the Stanley plantation again. A mile or so, that is all. He shifted his eyes about, checking out the trees and foliage beyond them, winding around them as much as he could; he was in the least dense part of the woods, all seemingly in clumps.
Frost began to fall on him, and the cold shiver in the air penetrated his bones, and it got darker, as shadows of clouds slowly crept across the moon, giving off a misty vagueness of light.
The trees and fires, three around him, kept him company, the crackling of the fires, was his only disturbance in the otherwise silence, by and by, the sound of the wolf passed in echo from, past his ears, as if in blasts, puffs, weird was the sound of the wolf.
“Perhaps I should go find some better shelter,” he wrote in his diary. “The shadows that are crossing the moon look like corpses,” he wrote in his diary, “There’s a sudden stillness now, I seem to be in the middle of a storm at sea, my heart is beating fast, now the moon’s light has broken through the gray clouds, and the fires around me give off a marble like tone, which seeps into the air, perhaps I am noticing too much, and that means I’m falling to sleep, yet I sure something is approaching me, I sense it, feel it, almost can taste it.
“I feel a little weird, faint almost, I think the devil is around, evil smells, it soaks the air with the scent of blood,” and then as he looked up he dropped his pen and paper, a perfect tempest leaped upon him, the ground shook, it was like a bolt of lightening, a roar of thunder, icy fangs over his head, he rolled over to get away from the beast, grabbed a stick of lit wood, almost pitilessly jumped into one of the three fires; he was being dominated, the wolf’s was all of 200-pounds,and four feet to his shoulders, and it had iron cold teeth, he rose as a dead man would, limp as a fish, bitter screaming in pain, the wolf leaped at him, mingling a dreadful sound, a giant-grip he hand on Hans, and dragged him around the fires, like a rag doll while he dropped him now and then, and beat on him with is giant paws, knocking the air out of him, there were several wolves in the nearby bushes, looking, vaguely looking, as phantoms might prepare for the dead. He was soaked from flesh to bone in pain, his body numb, yet in torment, he fought, but the wolf was too powerful, he took a hunk, pound of flesh out of his leg, at if to say, how delicious, by flesh and victory, it was heavy weight, and then his chest, a vast stillness came to the staring eyes of Hans, he could feel the warm breath of the wolf at his throat, the awful truth was, Hans was hoping to lose consciousness, and just die, the wolf dropped him then, licked his throat, his eyelashes, this gigantic wolf acted as if he was possessed with a demon, a regiment of demons, as if there were voices controlling this beast from beyond this world. The wolf then yelped, as loud as a bear, louder than a bear, and then disappeared, leaving the live corpse amongst the fires, and the wolves half hidden in the bushes, drew nearer, he knew he was powerless… and they drew nearer!...
Part Three
To “Cradled with the Devil”
The Demonic Wolf
of Wallace Fields
Mr. and Mrs. Stanley hired Detective Hans Gunderson, a friend of Douglas Sexton, of Fayetteville, to uncover this mystery death of Cindy Codden, who had slept on their porch and was mulled by a pack of wolfs, or so it seemed, perhaps one great wolf could have done her in. Mrs. Stanley, couldn’t figure why the dogs or the horses, or any of the animals didn’t make noise that night when the wolf came and mauled Cindy to death, last summer, to her understanding the wolves had been long gone, so long she couldn’t remember. The gray wolf was known years ago to have lived in the woods nearby, by the railroad tracks, the timber wolves, but this one was possessed, so it would seemed, and the coroner, had said it would have been one great wolf, and Hans believed it to be so.
Hans was known in Fayetteville, and the surrounding plantations, as being of German decent, born in Munich, fought in the Korean War, which after he was then given American citizenship, and he was a deadly shot with a pistol and rifle, a bold man who understood the wilds of the country, he himself rough, a tall man, and broad, and so in haste to find the secrets behind the soul of this killer wolf, man eating would, he camped out in the fields, and woods beyond the fields, near the railroad tracks, where old man Henry Pike worked for so many years and died that summer of a heart attack.
It was now November of 1967, fall was cold, and a frost was everywhere. He was given a month to finish the job, and he started on November 15, he was paid $100 per day, and if he brought back the head of the so called gray wolf, the one that had been seen running through the woods, and fields, with the hounds, and other stray dogs, and animals, he’d be given a bonus of $500-dollars.
Hans knew what he was looking for, a gray wolf, perhaps with rabies, or a dead wolf that had rabies, and infected other wolves, a mad wolf in essence, a large wolf, perhaps three to four feet, the largest of them, he saw its foot print, it had six digits, not five, it was all of 180-pounds, with great stamina, for it ran the length woods like a bird, many folks had seen one, but no one saw it close up, not even the dead who died by its bone breaking teeth. Such wolves were ancient, their history dated back 300,000-years, with the scent glands on their toes, they could out maneuver its enemy at will, and they were highly adaptable, thrived in unbalanced weather.
If he was infected with rabies, then perhaps it went mad, and was the cause for its attack, and they were close to the dog family, thus to run with them was not uncommon, it would although transmit its disease to humans, and other live stock, or could, and that was perhaps half of Mrs. Stanley’s reasoning for Hans to capture or kill the beast. On the other hand, maybe he needed to find the dog pack and see if the wolf was among it. He deliberated on many options, and worked them all out.
Hans was exploring the woods by the railroad tracks, it was the second week of his drifting rapidly from one section to the next, and back to the Stanley Plantation. He had built a fire, mumbled a prayer, climbed in a circle he made, fires all around him, put his rifle on his lap. The evening came, and it all seemed so unholy.
Hans pulled out his note book and started writing a diary, with a despairing gesture, turning his eyes every which way as the night got darker. He was in a scattered fringe of the woods, in case he needed to run out of it, he wouldn’t get lost. It struck him that it was considerable colder than what he anticipated, and put a blanket around him, the one he was to use as a pillow, if indeed he dare sleep. In the morning he’d resume his journey, but it was looking like he was not going to get his $500-dollars.
The brightness of the moon was helpful, and he began to think, write more notes, in addition to this, he noticed, heard a far’ away rushing sound, it came in intervals, with a mysterious cry, yelping, one that come from none other than a wolf, and so he wrote this down into his notes also. He was somewhat shut in by the hills, more so than the woods, he’d have to run a ways, up a hill, down it, and be out of the woods and beyond the hills to be in the fields of the Stanley plantation again. A mile or so, that is all. He shifted his eyes about, checking out the trees and foliage beyond them, winding around them as much as he could; he was in the least dense part of the woods, all seemingly in clumps.
Frost began to fall on him, and the cold shiver in the air penetrated his bones, and it got darker, as shadows of clouds slowly crept across the moon, giving off a misty vagueness of light.
The trees and fires, three around him, kept him company, the crackling of the fires, was his only disturbance in the otherwise silence, by and by, the sound of the wolf passed in echo from, past his ears, as if in blasts, puffs, weird was the sound of the wolf.
“Perhaps I should go find some better shelter,” he wrote in his diary. “The shadows that are crossing the moon look like corpses,” he wrote in his diary, “There’s a sudden stillness now, I seem to be in the middle of a storm at sea, my heart is beating fast, now the moon’s light has broken through the gray clouds, and the fires around me give off a marble like tone, which seeps into the air, perhaps I am noticing too much, and that means I’m falling to sleep, yet I sure something is approaching me, I sense it, feel it, almost can taste it.
“I feel a little weird, faint almost, I think the devil is around, evil smells, it soaks the air with the scent of blood,” and then as he looked up he dropped his pen and paper, a perfect tempest leaped upon him, the ground shook, it was like a bolt of lightening, a roar of thunder, icy fangs over his head, he rolled over to get away from the beast, grabbed a stick of lit wood, almost pitilessly jumped into one of the three fires; he was being dominated, the wolf’s was all of 200-pounds,and four feet to his shoulders, and it had iron cold teeth, he rose as a dead man would, limp as a fish, bitter screaming in pain, the wolf leaped at him, mingling a dreadful sound, a giant-grip he hand on Hans, and dragged him around the fires, like a rag doll while he dropped him now and then, and beat on him with is giant paws, knocking the air out of him, there were several wolves in the nearby bushes, looking, vaguely looking, as phantoms might prepare for the dead. He was soaked from flesh to bone in pain, his body numb, yet in torment, he fought, but the wolf was too powerful, he took a hunk, pound of flesh out of his leg, at if to say, how delicious, by flesh and victory, it was heavy weight, and then his chest, a vast stillness came to the staring eyes of Hans, he could feel the warm breath of the wolf at his throat, the awful truth was, Hans was hoping to lose consciousness, and just die, the wolf dropped him then, licked his throat, his eyelashes, this gigantic wolf acted as if he was possessed with a demon, a regiment of demons, as if there were voices controlling this beast from beyond this world. The wolf then yelped, as loud as a bear, louder than a bear, and then disappeared, leaving the live corpse amongst the fires, and the wolves half hidden in the bushes, drew nearer, he knew he was powerless… and they drew nearer!...
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