The Wolf Came on Christmas

Chapter 2

The creature crouched and lifted its head, letting out a pitiful, shrill howl, interspersed with clumsy words. I didn’t understand what it was saying, but it was clearly trying to tell me something. Discovering that the being could speak shook me to my core and left me frozen in place.

Fool that I was, I only had to look at it to understand.

It was… well, this may sound unbelievable now, but back then, to me, it was even more unbelievable: it was a wolf cub, with limbs that were far too long and strange for a wild animal. Something about its joints didn’t quite fit at first glance. Of course, what didn’t fit the overall picture was that it had the body of a child, covered in whitish-yellow fur and a long, flexible tail it tried to hide between its legs. The image that came to mind was that of a kindergarten class photo where someone had pasted the cut-out head of a small wolf from a magazine onto a toddler’s body. A little puppy like that, with oversized ears, bright eyes, and a dark nose, all of it rounded, juvenile shapes.

Holy heaven…

“Holy heaven, you’re a werewolf! A little werewolf!” I know I said.

Then I noticed the blood on its chest and hands, also furry, with short fingers tipped with small nails that scratched my floor. Despite that, it moved without pain, so I assumed the blood wasn’t its own. From its dinner, maybe?

Please. All it took was one look at that adorable thing to think, Seriously? Is this dangerous?

The creature lifted its head a little more when it heard my voice; perhaps the fact that I was no longer screaming convinced it that we could understand each other. It stood up on its legs, which were normal, human legs, but covered in thick white skin that looked soft to the touch, and turned toward the door. It gestured wildly with its arms toward the snowy land and the trees, my impenetrable boundary.

I blinked, incredulous. Or maybe not. But that’s what I would have done. I understood it, and at the same time, I didn’t.

I still hadn’t gathered enough courage to move from where I was, but…

“What’s wrong, kid?” I asked, stupidly.

The child flattened its ears and whimpered again, pointing toward the trees with more emphasis. It began to pace, taking a few steps toward the stairs and then back again. Given the situation, I dared to get down from the couch. It wasn’t hard to identify what that little white ball wanted—it was asking me to follow it toward the wooded land.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again, this time more firmly.

It whimpered softly, through clenched teeth, and I realized it was crying in its own particular, unintelligible language. It looked down with an expression far too sad at its blood-stained paws and the red smear on its chest, and finally covered its snout with both hands, curling in on itself on the porch. My heart shattered at the sight. Part of me felt sorry for it and wanted to hug it and comfort it. It was just a child—who knew what had happened to it, or where it came from? It was trembling from cold and fear. Its fur was damp, dirty. It smelled awful. Like a wet, dirty dog—a smell that was painfully familiar.

I didn’t move, though.

“I know you can speak. Tell me… what’s wrong?”

My cautious side couldn’t rule out the possibility that it was a trap, because, I mean—what were the chances that if this little one was at my door, there wasn’t an entire pack of adults out there waiting to pounce on me? I should have bought a rifle. Or accepted the one my father wanted to give me when I moved here, which I had refused, believing that in this remote corner of Wyoming not even Sasquatch showed up.

The small creature uncovered its face and rubbed its tear-filled eyes with its fists, smearing its white face with blood. It sniffed loudly and lifted its snout in a very canine manner. But the words came out very clearly, even through its baby fangs:

“…help, please.”

That was all it had to say.

Its voice sounded very sweet. Very human. It was a small child.

I didn’t think twice. I took one of the thick coats off my coat rack and put it on, pulled on my boots, still in my pajamas. For a moment I looked at the wolf-child and the way it trembled. Its fur didn’t look very winter-ready; it was more like thick fluff, like a chick’s down. If you looked closely, the poor thing was even gangly, with a face and ears too large for such a small body, and standing like that, it was clear that it was male. It was wet. It was cold. I’ve never been very good at judging these things, but I thought it couldn’t be more than five years old. It wasn’t very tall.

I took down another coat and carefully approached it, to wrap it up. I showed it the garment and silently gestured that I wanted to put it on him. Surprisingly, the child didn’t recoil or panic; instead, it stretched its hands out willingly toward the thick jacket—those small, bloodied claw-hands—and let me help him put it on as if he had done it before. That child had a mother or a father, and human habits. Only a parental figure teaches you how to dress yourself in childhood. I pulled the zipper up to his throat, kneeling in front of his small figure. Poor thing—it was almost ridiculous. The coat was huge on him; the sleeves were far too long, reaching his feet, but it didn’t hinder his movement much.

At least he wasn’t trembling from the cold anymore.

“Thank you,” he said, those big eyes fixed on my face.

At the risk of continuing to be impressed by the humanity he exuded, I cleared my throat and went on:

“Who needs help?” I asked, keeping my seriousness.

“Please, come! There’s no time!” the creature urged me.

Another whimper from the child made up my mind, and I stood up to go out.

“All right, take me there,” I said.

I had not the faintest idea what I was going to do or what I was going to find, but I closed my eyes and entrusted myself to God’s will—if He was there and watching me and felt like taking care of me. Let Him take care of my soul, at least, if this wasn’t the product of a restless dream beneath the moonlight in my bedroom. But my dreams usually didn’t have such a soft touch or such a strong smell. Good Lord—how that child smelled. Now that I was running beside him, my hand held by his small claw, I was close enough to also catch the stench of carrion.

He led me across the yard and into the trees, but we weren’t heading toward the road—we were heading toward the mountain, north, in the direction of the sawmill. I was afraid of getting lost. Stupid me—I hadn’t even taken a flashlight. What was I thinking? My senses quickly adjusted to the silence, and I began to hear every sound of the night as if it were a recording playing through my sound system, in addition to our footsteps. I calmed down a little when I realized there was enough moonlight to see clearly. The creature was very fast; it was hard for me to keep up, but after a long run in which we crossed a small frozen stream, we reached an area of rocks and small cliffs, fallen trees, and a great deal of accumulated snow, and…

I don’t know how long I had been running—I couldn’t go on—but we weren’t far from my cabin, because when we climbed high enough among the trees, I could make out a white column of smoke in the crystal-clear night. My chimney. I stopped for a second to catch my breath, and the wolf-child circled around, sniffing the air, whimpering softly with sharp urgency.

Only when he fell silent and still was I able to hear it:

“…Is that a baby crying?” I almost screamed, terrified.

There was no doubt. It was the cry of an infant, loud and close.