One of our neighbors had renovated their old relic, attaching new siding and surrounding it with an expensive plank fence. From within the tidy paddock, three horses watched us approach. They stood around the remnants of a round bale of hay, the last of their winter fodder before the spring grass appeared. When Keen and I reached their driveway, their demeanor changed and their heads swiveled toward the bush that bordered their paddock. Keen lifted her nose at the slight breeze and paused as something shook the bushes like a terrier shakes a bone. The horses turned as one and bolted for the far corner of the paddock, where a gate would open to the pasture in the summer. Now, however, it remained closed, and they skidded to a stop before it, wheeling to face their fear.
Keen growled.
A hare erupted from the bush, darting beneath the fence, a pale streak in the darkness. Behind it, bounded one of the creatures. I didn’t know what to call them—wolf should have worked but didn’t. The black beast vaulted the fence as though it wasn’t even there. Its hind legs launched it in great, leaping bounds across the paddock, moving so fast it was on the hare before I could blink. There came a shriek, and it was over.
The creature leaned over the bloody corpse, then paused and swung its wide skull toward the horses. They had watched the pursuit and death of the hare while plastered against the gate, and now, beneath the creature’s predatory gaze, they began bolting back and forth along the far stretch of fence, bouncing off the sturdy planks, half rearing, approaching the point at which they’d hurt themselves trying to get away.
I’d seen what this thing could do. And be damned if I was going to let it do to those horses what it had done to the bison. I was already in motion, running up the drive toward the grassy lane leading to the pasture gate. Still on her leash, Keen ran with me, but she kept crashing into my legs because she wouldn’t take her full attention off the wolf-animal. I was almost at the lane when the creature abandoned the hare and took a long, loping stride toward the horses.
One horse jumped the barrier from a standstill, hooking a hind leg but wrenching it loose before galloping unhurt into the pasture. Its friends renewed their desperate assault on the fence, lacking the confidence to jump, but panicked enough to try barging through.
As I left the drive and splashed through a deep puddle along the lane, the creature paused, lunged forward again, and stopped.
It’s doing it deliberately.
If the horses noticed me or Keen, they gave no sign. In blind panic, they crashed against the barrier, one post cracking like a pistol shot beneath their weight. I reached the gate and wrenched Keen back by her collar so she wouldn’t get trampled when the exit opened. I unhooked the chain and let it swing wide.
For a split second, the damned horses stared at me, nostrils flared. I was still downwind but close enough now that they got a whiff of me. Just then, the creature did another strange leap, and I became the lesser of two evils. The horses pounded through the gate and past me, racing to join their friend.
Which left Keen and me facing the creature in a bizarre case of déjà vu.
Most farms had at least a single yard light, and the one on the pole by the house cast a glow into the paddock. It shimmered highlights and shadows on the dense black fur around the creature’s head and down its back, making it appear even less like a wolf. When it shook its head, I realized the hair surrounding its face was long, forming a mane that hung heavy along its neck.
It stared, and Keen leaned against my leg, alternating between a low growling and a high-pitched, desperate whine. I swear neither of us drew breath until the bloody thing turned its back and did its odd, leaping lope back to the hare. It lifted the body in its jaws, took two long bounds to the fence and one over it, and vanished.
My dog and I stood in the puddle, the water soaking into my boots. Finally, I moved, taking Keen back down the drive. The horses were safe in the pasture. I didn’t believe the creature was interested in doing more than scaring the hell out of them. I’d drop by the farm in the morning and explain that I’d let the horses out after they’d been scared by a wolf.
A wolf. Right.
* * *
I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for the weekend. Saturday morning, after another sleepless night, I stopped at the farm and talked with the elderly owner of the horses. She’d wondered how they’d started the night in the paddock and ended up in the pasture. I explained about the wolf—there was no way I could tell her the truth of the matter, whatever it was—and asked if I could cast in plaster any paw prints I might find.
Mystified, she told me to have at it. So I raced into the hardware store in town and stocked up on supplies before returning to stare in dismay at the horses stomping around in the paddock. They’d returned to the hay, since the pasture grass was not yet growing. Fortunately, the dirt had hardened in the pre-dawn chill, so my efforts were not in vain.
Keen found the prints. I noticed her sudden intensity as she tracked through the paddock, and I pushed her aside to see them, crystal clear in mud, still frosted at the edges. I stared at the impressions, my brain racing, until Keen poked me with her nose.
I had no idea what I was
