[Part 2] A wolf got into my house back in 2013..

part1!

It was three days after the events that took place in my previous post before I could sleep in my house again. I didn't even try to the night after the wolf broke in; took my son and stayed at a Days Inn in town, 30 minutes from my home. I slept with the lights and the TV on.

I called my wife and told her about what happened; at first she couldn't believe it because I've a habit of being a little shit and screwing with people, but eventually she caught on that I was telling the truth and went silent over the phone. I talked her back on and she demanded that I take our son and come back to Indiana. That wasn't possible, I told her, or future is here in Minnesota.

A few months prior to the wolf break in, I took over a small fishing resort here in Minnesota from my uncle who had died of a rare disease. His maturity and mannerisms deteriorated quickly, becoming more and more childish, and eventually dying as his brain shut down. It was painful to watch as it happened, but he in trusted my with his resort, and I would be damned if some stupid wild dog scared me off.

After I worked up the courage to move back into my house, I took extra precautions to ensure that there were no repeat events. Every night I would shut and lock every door in the house, including the attic and basement; I would sleep with the lights; my son and I were never far apart; my .45 was usually within reach when I slept.

This went on for two weeks, but complacency is a real curse, and will catch the unsuspecting by surprise every time. It can kill.

It was a Thursday night; I had just finished a long day of chores around the RV sites, and it was time to relax. I showered, fed the baby, made a supper for myself that the wife would be proud of (hamburgers), and I collapsed on the couch to watch the Notre Dame game I recorded; my son asleep in his crib next to the couch. It wasn't long into the second quarter before I dozed off; completely forgetting all my self-laid precautions.

I couldn't tell you what time it was when I woke up, but I woke up naturally. The lights were still on and the TV was blue with a white 'stop' in the corner. I lay there in a comfortable daze, totally relaxed, and that's when I heard it.

From the kitchen I heard clicks and scratches upon the hardwood floors. Totally immobile I lay there, listening, eyes fixed on the door leading into the well-lit kitchen, waiting for what I knew, but prayed wasn't, in my kitchen. My heart pounding through my rib cage; my breathing drawn down to a minimum, nearly gasping for air, trying not to make a sound.

My precautions! My fucking pre - fucking-cautions! Fuck me! What did I forget? The basement? The basement! That son bitch is coming in through the basement! How? It's underground! Fuck it, not now, it's all up in my kitchen!

I feel the blood rushing to my face and my lungs start to ache from lack of breathing; I hardly even noticed. I let slip a few desperately suppressed gasps. In the days since its initial show, I played the scenario in my head probably a hundred times a day; never was I thinking about nothing; never blank; always the wolf, and I justified my actions to an extent, but if I could go back things would be different.

I told myself I would be less afraid and more eager to react, but all that went out the window when I found myself totally defenseless; totally vulnerable. My .45 was still in the kitchen, in its holster, by the sink, completely fucking useless. I curse at myself. ...a lot.

The scratches would stop for a moment and then start back up again; each time getting closer and closer to the door. It's all too familiar smell filled the air, although mixed with the scent of hamburger grease. I could hear him sniffing around, and I instantly recalled the wrinkles deep in his snout as he snarled at me prior.

I lay there completely motionless, barely breathing, and heart pounding; my eyes wide staring at the kitchen door, not knowing what I wanted. To see it? To not see it? To scare it? To kill it? Looking back, I just wanted it to be over.

In my mind I was imagining the worst, and it was causing my stomach to quease. What if he came at me? I pictured its lengthy jaws wrapped viciously around my throat, blood gargling out my mouth, before laying there, completely helpless, bleeding out while it turned it's attention towards my son.

The trash can in the kitchen appeared in the doorway as it fell over spilling it's contents, and I heard it begin to sniff and rummage. I caught a glimpse of a dark tail wisp into the doorway, before it completely spun around revealing itself. Entirely in the well lite entrance of the kitchen.

It didn't see me. It was too distracted by the bloody wrappers of the hamburgers I made for super.

Though the memory from the night two weeks prior was burned deeply into my mind, it took me a few seconds to realize that this was the same wolf. It's predominantly black and brown coat was thick as ever, it's paws reminded me of snow shoes, unfamiliar to hardwood floor, the points of its ear erect, but it was the length of his snout that terrified me the most.

It had to be at least a foot long, a foot of evolutionary perfection; designed for one purpose. Normal dog’s mouth had had a subtle familiarity to them, but this just looked wild, sharp, and fine-tuned.

I watched him for what seemed like forever, but was in reality just a minute or two; time doesn't matter during these moments. He licked the blood out of the foam hamburgers plate, and chewed on the saturated paper.

I shouldn't be just sitting here while this stupid fuck is ravaging my kitchen, intruding! Fuck no!

Something sparked a fit of anger inside me; not courage, but fed the fuck up anger! I was terrified by what I knew my next action was to come.

I bolted up from my comfy spot on the couch in one fluid, smooth movement; surprised by my own speed. I stepped towards the kitchen door; stomping with every step. I was pissed, terrified, and determined; yet it was as if I had no control over my own body. I was on wolf ass kicking auto pilot.

"Hey fucker!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, quickly closing the distance, "Get the hell outa my house!"

The wolf's head jerked over my direction in shear shock. I could see the fear in its eyes; this time I was the monster. It tried to run, but it's claws slid all over the hardwood floor, clumsily, kicking spilt trash everywhere.

He eventually caught his footing, but not before I had grabbed the heaviest thing I could find off the table. In my hand was a cheap wooden duck sculpture that sat as decoration on my table. I don't know why I had it; I hate the damn thing, but I sure was thankful for it tonight.

I threw that 5 lb hunk of duck wood at the wolf, smoking him on the side of the face, causing him to stumble onto the floor. He shook off his head, backed Into the corner of the kitchen, and began to snarl, showing every one of his white fangs..

Fuck, I thought, this things actually going to fight back! The thought of this nearly killed me. But I could see his eyes darting back and forth between me and the basement door, and I knew he was just looking for a way out; so I stepped aside, still screaming at him, looking for something else heavy, since my gun was directly behind the wolf.

As soon as some sort of a gap had been opened, the wolf took off towards the basement door and disappeared down the dark steps. I heard his every step down, before a crash at the bottom.

The lights to the basement were at the bottom of the stairs and I sure as fuck wasn't going down blind. I grabbed a flashlight from the cupboard and shined it down...nothing

I saw the chicken wire wall that separates the stairs from the rest of the basement, and the wooden frame door that allowed access was open, but there was no wolf.

He was still down there. I knew he was. I heard him, and I was coming for him. It was my turn to be the monster.