8. i went over back to the window

I went over to the back window. Made a canopy with my hands. Shielding the intrusive house lights. I peered outside. As I thought. It was a wolf. The wolf. Same one. Had to be. White coat, pristine even, and identical to the others. But this one felt different. He sat there with his tongue hanging out. I could see his quick breaths. In and out in and out. Real quick. Like he just finished running from somewhere. But that was probably normal for him. He looked around occasionally. A sorta lazy sweep of the area. But mainly he was affixed on me or the cabin. I was hoping for the latter. Not that it made me feel better. But that was it. This wolf acted different. Seemed more normal.

I wondered how long he’d been out there.

I wondered why he was alone.

I wondered if he seen what I had seen.

Sure enough, I made an incorrect association. This wolf’s appearance, the silent morning march, and then the unexplained bloodshed. Not good timing if the others came back to a swarm of wolves.

Panic sunk in.

This was a cabin. And for some reason I thought the owners might have a gun around. Not a handgun gun, but a rifle. That made more sense. Even if it was highly unlikely.

For the next thirty minutes I went through the whole house. Looking over archways. Hoping to see a nicely shelved rifle like you see in the westerns. Would have been nice. But yeah, second problem would have been finding bullets. Next to get ransacked were dressers and trunks. Nothing. Boardgames, toys, and nick-knacks. How was that going to help? There weren’t enough pieces in Chutes and Ladders to keep all the wolves occupied and Hungry-Hungry-Hippos would just remind them that they needed to eat. Worthless. Who plays these childish games at a cabin anyways? Desks. Underneath the beds, tables, and even the sofa. Nothing. That is, nothing I could use to cause harm without getting me close to actual harm myself.

Only thing left were the knives.

Rummaging through the set, I couldn’t imagine them being of any use. Steak knives. Well I can throw them. Stand up on the deck or open a window upstairs. Can’t imagine something actually dying. In fact, I can imagine it pissing a wolf even more. Great. Bread knife. Filet knife. Useless. Chef’s knife? Now that looked decent enough. Black handle stainless steel blade. This would normally strike enough fear if brought out for anything but the kitchen. Hope the wolves knew the same.

I tossed it from hand to hand. It was light and nimble. Balanced enough.

Fighting was one thing. This, was more like combat. True hand to hand combat. And as you may already have guessed. Combat in my life came in the form of video games and television. And with knives. That meant some murderous maniac or some stealthy assassin. Both not me. The only effective thing I thought of was some demonstrations of Espada y Daga, the Filipino martial arts of knife fighting. I tried to mimmick some of the moves but that was as absurd as me trying to throw knives without things with the butt of the handle. I was hopeless. My best bet was to try option one. The maniacal knife wielding attacker. Maybe rush out screaming and stabbing aimlessly.

Man. Sometimes I wonder how I lasted this long in life.

When I turned back around, yep, the wolf was gone.

I went window to window. Each one I went through the same maneuvers. Looked straight out. Pressed my right cheek against the glass. Looked as far left as possible. Pressed the left. Looked as far right as possible. No wolf.

You’d think this would be a good. But no. The unknown was much more fearful.