Master of Wolves

Master of the Wolves


The shot rang out in the cold, silent woods.  Billy Martian looked out in the dim morning light, seeing the wolf fall to the ground as its blood flowed from its wound.  He was standing on his front porch, his rifle resting in his hands.
  Awakened by the sound of wolves howling at what was left of the fading moon, Billy had dressed quickly and ran out, his rifle aimed.  Now he sat in his wooden chair, looking out into the woods, seeing there red eyes glint in the moon light.
Red eyes? Wolves don’t have red eyes, do they?
Billy was 49 years old; he lived alone in a cabin deep in Alaskan woods, the year is 1894.  He spotted another wolf not far away in the now surreal light of early morning. Taking aim, he fired, but missed as the wolf darted behind a tree.
Clever fellows, aren’t they? 
He turned his eyes back to the rest of the forest, and noticed something that filled his heart with terror.  A tall, robed figure stood not to far away.  For a moment Billy thought he was mistaken, for he rubbed his eyes and looked back at where he thought he saw the figure, but all he saw was trees. 
Now he heard a rustling in the bushes at the edge of the forest and three wolves popped out, running at an amazing speed toward him.  Billy aimed and fired, blowing off one of their hind legs, then again at the next one, putting a bullet in its eye.  The last one was almost on top of him by the time he fired and chunk of its head was missing, brain matter spewing on the white snow.
Billy was standing now, and three more wolves pounced from the forest, this time Billy took them all down before one could get close, and another six flew from the forest.
  Instead of trying to fight them off, Billy retreated into his home.  He waited, and hours passed.  It was now after noon, and Billy watched as several more wolves followed the six that had chased him into his home. 
Christ they’re smart, look at them, and its like they can talk to each other, but why is it they look like their dead, and their skin looks like its rotting right off the bone!
  Now there were five lying in front of his house, the other 15 had gone to both sides and the back.  Now Billy was trapped.  After another hour of waiting and watching, Billy decided it was now time to go back to the offensive.  He went and grabbed his rifle, reloaded, and returned to the window.  There were still only five wolves out front, but he knew more would come around once he started shooting.
Slowly, he slid open the window and took aim at the nearest wolf.  The sound of the rifle rung in the afternoon air as it tore through the wolf’s head, down its body, and out the rear.  The other wolves jumped with surprise, and then slowly headed toward Billy.  They moved in sink with each other, like the marchers in a marching band.  Billy fired at the ones closest to him, taking out three others. 
By now five more emerged from the right side of the house, but did not attack, they just stood there and watched as the last remaining wolf jumped through the window.  It knocked Billy down, he dropped his gun, and the wolf landed near his lone table.  Billy rolled on his stomach.  The wolf looked at him for a moment, daring him to grab for the gun that was just out of his reach. 
That’s right, the look in the wolf’s red eyes said, go for it big boy, let’s see what type of man you really are. 
As fast as he could, Billy reached for his gun, grabbing it just as the wolf jumped in the air.  The wolf landed just as Billy set his gun up to fire and the blast sounded in the cold winter air.  The wolf lay limp on top of Billy, and for a moment all was still, but then Billy pushed the limp dog off of him and got up to the window.  Now all 15 of them were sitting in his front lawn.
Guess they realized that there is only one way in and out of this place. 
Billy slammed the window down hard enough to make the glass shiver as if it was going to break.  Then he went to the dead wolf and gave it a good kick to the ribs, and went and sat at his table.  He sat there until night fall, and then the thing he had seen that morning made its way into his front yard.  It howled at the moon, it was a long and sorrowful howl, and Billy jumped to his window. 
The fear he felt that morning seemed like a joke now.  Tears start to fall down on Billy’s cheeks, and he knew his time in this world was now up.  The creature pointed one big clawed finger at Billy and said,
“You have spread the blood of my children, now you shall feel the wrath of their God, called the Lycan.”
With that, he raised his other hand and pulled back his hood, and then all the sanity Billy had left was gone.  When the morning came, all that was left of Billy Martian was a big puddle of dark blood where he had been standing when he encountered the Lycan.