“Holy Jesus jumping jackrabbits,” Steven said in the dark. The three men, already awake, knew exactly what provoked the strange phrase.
“What the hell was that?” Delmar asked softly, instinctively being as quiet as possible.
The strange howl was abnormal….strange…wolf-like but not—the howl was just wrong.
“Steven,” Jenny whispered, “Please tell me you know what that was…”
“Yes, Steven,” Thomas said dryly, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking. “Tell us that you’ve heard that sound before.” His mind wandered through childhood memories—narrowing to a winter in Louisiana when he was just eleven years old. The howl called up memories of another hunt…one that he could never forget and before Steven could reply, he said, “I think I might have heard something like this before, when I was a kid.” He stared though the window in the direction of the howl. “I was eleven, back home in Louisiana…”
Thomas aimed the old, single-shot 16-guage shotgun. It was near midnight and he was standing in a soybean field with a very nice rabbit caught in the end of his headlamp. He couldn’t miss. Tyrone whooped quietly and did a little circular dance around him after the shot and then he ran to gather the rabbit. He placed it in a pouch with the other three.
“I think that is enough. We’ve still got to clean them.” Thomas said.
“I can’t believe there’s no fleas on these,” Tyrone said, smiling. “We’ll fry these tomorrow after we come back from fishing at Reeves’ ponds.”
Thomas was about to agree but stopped when they heard the loud roar of a truck coming down the dirt road at high speed. The two boys’ figures were suddenly illuminated by several powerful spotlights.
“Game Wardens,” Thomas shouted. He looked to the left, toward his house. They would have to cross the road if they ran that way and the Game Wardens would see right where they went. They’d take his shotgun away and make his dad pay a big fine. “Follow me,” he shouted to Tyrone just as the truck stopped near them, a bright light shining down on them the way the spotlight did on that singing frog in the cartoons.
They ran for the wood line to Thomas’s right, reaching it just as a voice shouted through a bullhorn, “You boys get back here! Don’t make t his hard on us, you hear? Don’t do it!”
“Don’t stop!” Thomas shouted.
They made it to the edge of the woods and plunged inside, switching off the spotlights. The trucks, two of them now, sped through the middle of the soy bean field, tires spitting up dust and soy bean vines. The trucks ran right up to the edge of the woods where they had entered. Thomas and Tyrone dove to the ground.
“You had to wear that damned yellow jacket,” Tyrone said as the two boys crawled on all fours as fast as they could, trying to avoid the beams of light that shone wildly all around them.
“It’s warm,” Thomas protested, breathing heavily.
“It’s YELLOW,” Tyrone said.
“Shut up! And keep moving!”
The game wardens shouted and cursed at the boys for a few more minutes, threatening to come in and find them and take them both to jail. Thomas told Tyrone they were full of shit.
“They ain’t following us in here at midnight on a Saturday. No way.”
“Where the hell are we going?” Tyrone asked as they crawled further and further into the woods and deeper into darkness.
“If we keep heading this way we will hit that old logging road—the one that has that old truck body on it. From there we will loop around my Granny’s house and come back to mine.”
“How far?”
“It ain’t far. We gotta go this way so the Game Wardens can’t say it was me.”
“Okay, but can we at least get up now?”
Thomas stood up.
Tyrone stood up behind him. “Shit,” he said.
“What’s the matter?”
“I lost the damned rabbits. Shit, shit, shit.”
Thomas sighed. “Well, we sure as heck can’t go back and look for the bag. We’d have to use the lights.”
Just then Thomas heard some heavy thuds not too far behind them. Then there was a growl. The boys froze and Thomas almost peed in his pants. In all of their eleven or so years of life, the boys had never heard such a sound.
Thomas’s face went flush. He suddenly felt hot in the thick Yamaha motorcycle jacket. Tyrone made a quiet mewling noise and Thomas thought for sure he was about to start crying.
“Shhhhh,” Thomas whispered. “We got a gun, remember?”
Thomas remembered he had not had time to reload the old single shot, shotgun. He quietly pulled the release lever and bent the barrel down, exposing the spent shell. He had waited too long, and the plastic shell had expanded. It would not come out without some serious prying with a knife.
“Son of a bitch,” Thomas whispered. He suddenly realized that Tyrone was standing practically on top of his feet and was clinging to his left arm as if Thomas were his mother. The growl came again and this time it was accompanied by crunching sounds. Whatever it was, was growling as it apparently consumed one or more of the rabbits.
“Mmmmm,” Tyrone whined softly.
“Shhhhh,” Thomas said, prying at the shell with his Barlow knife blade. It finally came loose with a hollow, “pop.”
The chewing and growling stopped the same moment as the shell popped loose. Something shuffled and then there was a definite thud as whatever it was moved closer. Thomas pulled a new shell from his pocket, rammed it into the breach, closed the barrel, pointed in the direction of the noise, and fired from the hip.
The night lit up with the huge blast from the shotgun. Tyrone screamed, and took off running, arms flailing. Thankfully, he was running in the right direction. His scream was contagious and Thomas realized he was yelling, too.
In the light of the shotgun blast he had seen something worth screaming about. Two huge red eyes shone back at him set high on a thickly furred black face. The face was as high off the ground as Thomas’s chest and whatever it was it had jaws just like a wolf.
Thomas ran as fast as he could, blinded by the blast of light from the shot. How he managed to keep from slamming into a tree was something he would wonder for years to come. As he ran, still yelling wildly as he chased after Tyrone, who was also still screaming at the top of his lungs, Thomas opened the breach of the shotgun allowing the spent shell to pop out. He used two fingers of one hand to reach into the inner pocket of his jacket. That is where he kept several shells of number-one buckshot just in case they saw a deer. He had used number six squirrel-shot on the rabbits. Shot like that would not have harmed what Thomas had decided was a huge wolf. The buckshot, however, would do just fine.
He worked the buckshot shell into the breach and snapped the barrel closed. He caught up with Tyrone, who had stopped screaming and was merely sobbing now. In the distance, they heard the Game Wardens trucks roll onto black-top, far away from the dirt road. He suddenly wished they had come after them after all.
“Stop, Tyrone,” Thomas tried to shout without shouting…forcing the words out in a loud and harsh whisper. “The logging road is right here!”
That got the boy’s attention, and he did an about-face and hopped back onto the old logging road. Thomas jumped beside him and they both ran side by side, panting in the cold winter night. Tyrone flipped on his headlight.
“NO!” Thomas said, yanking the light off his head and switching it off. “You want the darned thing to see us?”
Tyrone stopped. “Give it back,” he snarled.
“Shhhhh!”
“Listen!” Tyrone said, taking hold of Thomas’s arm.
Thomas jerked his arm free.
It was coming up the road—and it was howling.
The growls from the animal had been he scariest sounds they had heard…until they heard the howls. Tyrone mumbled and suddenly dropped to his knees. That scared Thomas as badly as the howls. His friend was not going to make it.
Thomas grabbed a second buckshot sh
ell from his jacket and put it in his mouth, holding it with his teeth. He grabbed another and kept it between two fingers.
“Get your ass up and get to Granny’s house. It’s only about a hundred yards.”
Tyrone didn’t move, and the wolf, if it was a wolf, sounded much closer now.
Thomas pulled Tyrone up and shoved him onward. The boy obeyed and broke into a run. Thomas ran, too, but he kept looking behind him. There was just enough moonlight and starlight out on the open road between the trees to allow him to see maybe thirty or forty feet.
Within seconds they could see Thomas’s grandparent’s home where the old logging road opened up into their back yard. The wolf growled again and Thomas heard the footfalls at the same time that he saw the shadowy figure loping toward them.
If it was a wolf, it was the biggest one ever, Thomas thought. It was as tall as Thomas was, and seemed to be loping more like a monkey than a wolf. Thomas stopped, threw the shotgun to his shoulder, and fired. He closed his eyes as he pulled the trigger, so that he would not be blinded again. His dad, a retired Marine, had taught him that trick.
The animal yelped as if it had been hit but then snapped and growled. Thomas reloaded as he ran. He broke out into his grandmother’s backyard, thankful to see a light turn on at the back porch. He fired again, but forgot to close his eyes this time and was temporarily blinded. He heard his grandfather yell and slam the porch door. Thomas reached him within seconds and dropped his shotgun in the dirt, grasping the old man around the waist. His grandfather had brought out his 12-guage pump-action shotgun, and he used one hand to comfort Thomas, and the other to hold the big shotgun up, looking into the darkness. There was another howl, but it was now much farther away. The animal had turned and run.
Thomas and Tyrone had cried unabashedly for several minutes and Thomas begged for his grandfather not to go looking for the animal. The old man patted him on the shoulder, comforting him as he turned and led him into the house. Tyrone was already there, clinging to Thomas’s grandmother on the porch.
A few days later, tales began to spread about a rogue wolf, something that had not been seen in Louisiana in a hundred years. It had torn into a pen full of beagle puppies, ripping through tough chicken wire to get at them. It killed them all without feeding on any.
Thomas’s dad insisted that he lock their dog in the shed at night because of a warning conveyed by one of the nearby neighbors. Tom Bagrun said that the biggest wolf he had ever seen had picked a fight with their German shepherd and had ripped it to pieces, even as the man fired at it with his shotgun. There was also a story in the local newspaper about cows that had been mutilated. Several had been killed and ripped open, but not eaten.
The wolf was tracked once, by the same man who lost the beagle puppies, but he lost the trail by the end of the first day. Eventually things settled down, the episodes were forgotten— but Thomas, and Tyrone could never forget. They would suffer from nightmares for months and Thomas never hunted their woods at night again.
He could feel the electricity in the air as he finished the story. He wondered if he should have recounted it at all. As if reading his thoughts, Jenny said, “Well, thanks a lot for that, Thomas. I am really scared now.” Thomas heard the teasing sarcasm but he knew there was some truth to her words.
Delmar stretched his long arms and yawned. “Let’s not get all weirded out now. It’s probably just a Timber Wolf, folks. Besides, it’s far from us…”
“And it is not like we are in a locked helicopter with four big strong men and a couple of rifles,” Jenny interjected sarcastically.
“And one handgun,” Steven said, raising a 9mm Beretta up so that the moonlight would shine on it for the group.
Jenny punched Steven in the arm. Hard.
“OW!” Steven exclaimed.
“We had an agreement, husband,” Jenny said.
“I forgot,” Steven said, massaging his arm. “Geez, Jen….that hurt.”
“Serves you right.”
Delmar chuckled.
Daniel, who had been quiet through it all, suddenly spoke up. “I have a story, too.”
“By all means,” Steven said.
“Okay, then.” Daniel shifted so that he could see everyone’s faces in the dim light of the moonlit cabin. “When I was growing up in Idaho, I learned about a battle that chief Yellow Wolf had before he fought against the army. My grandfather told me that Yellow Wolf was looking for a sacred burial ground that had been lost and forgotten by most of his people. Yellow Wolf’s grandfather had died and the old man’s last wish was that his body be placed in this very sacred ground.
Yellow Wolf searched for a long time and finally found the entrance by following the shadow of a tall rock as the sun went down. The shadow pointed to a crack that opened up into a hidden canyon.”
Everyone listened intently, trying to forget about the eerie howl.
“Yellow Wolf was working his way through the thin crack in the canyon wall and just as he broke free onto the other side he was met by a trickster. The Trickster was in the form of a giant wolf, but he wore a magnificent tribal war bonnet.”
As if on cue, another howl penetrated the night air, sending chills through them all. Jack growled softly.
Daniel paused for a moment, then continued. “The trickster spoke up and told Yellow Wolf that to come into the sacred grounds on any night other than the night of a full moon would curse him and his family forever, and that they would die horrible deaths. Yellow wolf didn’t understand that this magnificent giant war-wolf was a trickster and so he heeded the words.
Now, Yellow Wolf was no fool—and the trickster was convincing. So, he left the burial ground and waited for the full moon to come. He sang songs over his grandfather’s body each day and night, honoring him and begging his grandfather’s spirit to remain within his old body until he could be put to rest in the sacred grounds.
The night before the full moon, the army came and there was a fight near their camp along the river. Yellow Wolf was badly wounded as he protected his grandfather’s body and his family. The next day when the moon was full, he was not strong enough to take his grandfather. So, he convinced his half-brother, Lame Horse, to carry him.
Lame horse left with his grandfather’s body but did not return.”
The cabin was still and silent as they waited for Daniel to continue.
“Days went by and still no word came of Lame Horse. It took a month for Yellow Wolf to recover and finally, he packed a horse and gathered three young Braves who volunteered to accompany him on the journey to the sacred ground. They reached the pillar of rock, and Yellow Wolf waited for the shadow to lead them to the opening.
The shadow came as the sun was swallowed up by the horizon but Yellow Wolf did not realize that on this day it lead to a different crack in the rocky canyon wall. The three Braves went through the crack first and Yellow Wolf followed. They all heard a long, sorrowful howl just before they went into the canyon.
The three Braves were then attacked by an enormous wolf that walked upright. The wolf tore the Braves to pieces right before Yellow Wolf’s very eyes. Yellow Wolf tried to attack and kill the wolf but the animal backed away, whining like a puppy. He cornered the huge wolf and yelled for it to fight back, but it would not. It was then that Yellow Wolf saw a set of shiny, blue beads around the wolf’s neck. The beads had been given to Lame Horse when he took a wife. The upright wolf also had a leather arm band around its right forepaw. An Eagle’s feather dangled from the arm band The feather was from an eagle that Yellow Wolf and Lame horse had caught together, from high on a mountain. Yellow Wolf sank to his knees in front of the crying wolf and he wept because he knew this was Lame Horse, his brother.”
“Wow,” Jenny said and leaned in close to Steven, who had a slight grin on his face.
“Lame Horse lay against Yellow Wolf. Yellow Wolf sat on his knees, wailing a sad death song while Lame Horse howled and whined. They did this until dawn, when Lame Horse became a man agai
n and told his brother how the trickster had lied and how the only time it was safe to come into the canyon was when the full moon was not high in the sky, and then even safer by always coming by the light of day. Lame Horse begged Yellow Wolf to kill him, and so Yellow Wolf did as he was asked. He burned his brother’s body, and then set out to find and kill the trickster.”
Daniel paused, listening for any more of the strange howls. None came.
“Did he?” Jenny asked. “Did he kill the trickster?”
He shook his head. “No, the trickster saw Yellow Wolf coming for him and so he turned into a huge crow and flew away, never to be seen again. Yellow Wolf sealed up the two canyon entrances and kept their locations a secret.” He paused again, “Or so the story goes, anyway.”
Delmar slowly clapped his hands and let out a whistle. “Well, done, Daniel!” he said, chuckling to himself. “That was one hell of a tall tale….perfect.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment and then spoke up, his voice indicated that he was not amused. “It was not a tall tale,” he said softly. “It was the truth.”
Delmar just stared through the darkness of the cabin, waiting for Daniel to laugh, but his friend stayed silent. Then, suddenly, Daniel reached out, took Delmar’s hand, and opened it up. Delmar felt him place something in his palm. He held the thing up to the moonlight, and everyone just stared. Delmar was holding an old piece of leather strap, with a dark feather dangling from it.
Delmar’s jaw dropped. Thomas just stared at it, as did Jenny and Steven.
Delmar quickly offered it back to Daniel, but he refused, saying that Delmar should have a turn at protecting it for a while. Delmar’s mouth opened even wider.
Suddenly, Daniel burst into laughter, slapping his knee and pointing at the look on Delmar’s face. “By God, Delmar! The look on your face is priceless!”
Thomas joined in and so did Jenny and Steven. Their laughter shook the helicopter. Delmar threw the trinket at Daniel and said, “Jackass,” and then he burst into laughter himself. Soon, he and Daniel were rocking back and forth, pointing at one another and recounting the looks on Delmar’s face.
Beneath a Winter Moon Page 9