Before I begin, I’ll give you some pretense. My name is Axel, and I am a 23 year old man living partially reliant on my parents. Together, we live in upstate Alaska not so far off the edge of Anchorage. A small, tucked away town nestled in the woods.
Anything and everything that we can’t get from our neighbors or the surrounding woods requires at least 40 minutes of driving. That’s for a one-way trip, mind you.
By partially reliant, I mean that I live in their house, but I contribute my own rent, food, and utility money. It is not a lot, considering the basic home we have, but it made me feel like more of a man. And the low cost eased the pressure off my wallet, allowing me to buy things for my own enjoyment.
I pride myself in being logical and mentally sound. Ghost stories do not scare me, though they serve to give me mighty entertaining evenings. And any fears of wild things out in the woods, which were not unjustified due to predators in the area, were quickly dissuaded when I purchased a hunting shotgun for my 20th birthday.
Like it or not, I have yet to meet a creature alive that resists 12guage completely. I believe the old adage is “If it bleeds, you can kill it”, though there are many variations.
It is important to note that I keep the gun in my backseat, loaded, but chamber empty, so that any jolts don’t set off the trigger and give my passenger door a case of lead poisoning.
So, understanding all of this, I hope you can come to realize why the fear I felt was so foreign, so intense, that I became afraid of the fear itself.
--
It began one evening, a normal day with clear skies that had been woefully uneventful, a fact doubled by my boss letting me know that he had enough hands on deck for the weekend. There was a lack of snow on the ground, a rare occasion in winter, but the grass outside had frost on it that sparkled in the dying light of the sun.
My mother had asked me to drive to the store and pick up a few groceries. Meat was already taken care of, so it was just a few simple herbs. Any annoyance at taking such a long drive for likely no more than 10$ of ingredients was far overshadowed by the satisfaction of having something to do.
Grabbing my keys, I quickly ran across the driveway, trying not to breathe the far-below frozen air too deeply. The rusted old truck I drove had a terrible heater, and I probably wouldn’t get much warmer until I made it to the store. With my breath fogging against the windshield, I made my way into the backroads. On either side of me, extinguishing any light the near dead sun would have allotted me, we’re thick masses of pine trees.
The first half of my journey was uneventful, as was the shopping itself, save for one detail. Animal crossing signs were always prevalent on these roads, moose being the main threat. So when I saw a new sign, one with fresh paint and and odd red reflective coat, I couldn’t help but read it.
“Warning: Timber Wolf Pack Sighting”
Aside from the silhouette of a large wolf on the sign, no other indicators were given. I can admit now that the choice of wording was a bit strange. Typically they simply say something like “Animal Crossing” and a silhouette of whatever animal was in question. Any confusion or questioning I had faded just as fast as the sign flew by my side.
In fact, the sign was entirely forgotten about by the time I had rung up the ingredients requested of me. Once again, crossing the lot to my truck exposed me to the freezing air, but this time my truck’s age paid for itself with the amazing insulative properties of a solid steel body, and the cabin was actually comfortable when I got back.
With the radio shifting between static and old country blues, I began the second half of my drive back, noting the time had already crawled to 9pm. Once the tiny collection of streetlight had disappeared in my rear-view mirrors, I was left with absolutely no light besides my dim yellow headlights.
Bored as I was, the drive served to be relaxing, giving me plenty of time to think, an overly common pastime of mine. I was perhaps halfway through crafting the sub-plot of my very own movie when the same red sign flashed out against my headlights, nearly unnatural in its glaring brightness. The briefest of chills brushed my neck and I cussed, making sure all windows were soundly rolled up.
When I finished my check, having seen no gap between glass and door, the sign was long behind me. Though the chill had left me, I dropped a gear to raise the RPM of the engine, hoping the additional motion would translate into more heat for me.
Not even a minute after I heard my radio cut out. It didn’t go silent, but the shift from music to static was hard and sudden. Behind the static, in place of where music should’ve been, was the faintest high-pitched ringing, like microphone feedback resonating with itself. It was piercing, yet overpowered by the static that now seemed just slightly louder than any music I had been listening to so far.
I went to crank down the volume, already beginning to feel an earache coming along. I twisted once, twice, and on the third turn the knob fell right off, bumping my leg and landing somewhere in the passenger floorboard. I cussed again.
Even if the radio was at a more acceptable volume, I still had to find that part before it disappeared into the same unknown space every mechanic’s 10mm goes to. In a rather stupid decision I centered my truck between the two-lane asphalt, giving myself enough room on either side to not roll into a ditch while I was rooting around next to me.
My eyes were off the road for perhaps three seconds total, my fingers almost immediately finding the radio knob and chucking it into my door handle. But when I looked up, there was a figure in the road. It didn’t dart out like some swift shadow, but simply sat there as I approached. I was lucky for my earlier drop in gear, as it reduced my speed and gave me time to hit the brakes.
The truck skidded to a halt, tires screeching while my eyes flung dangerously close to the steering wheel before the seatbelt caught me. I lurched as it stopped, and was rocked back into my seat and into the perfect position to stare at the figure in the road.
I had half-expected the damn thing to dart away as it realized the glowing 2ton mass of metal was heading towards it. Instead, my gaze met the eyes of a wolf, barely a dozen feet from the front of my truck.
It, like myself, was situated perfectly in the center of the road. My headlights cast against its body, painting the animal’s shadow against the aged pavement beyond it. Even as I caught my breath, the wolf did not move. It’s pitch black coat betrayed the earlier sign of timber wolves, but damn if this thing wasn’t huge.
I swear it’s head was damn near in line with my own, or at least up to the hood. Enough that, even crouched over as wolves are, its posture still allowed its own eyes to lock with mine.
God, those eyes. That’s where it started. Though unnerving in size, I was certain that anything this wolf could try would at worst leave some dents and scratches into my truck, which was already a relic. But those eyes…
They burned a deep crimson , as if an artist had perfectly captured the embers at the center of a campfire, but had run out of orange and yellow to paint them, settling on the bloodiest of reds. I was frozen then, though I didn’t realize it for a few more moments. I could only stare it back, the ungodly shade of red seeming to burn itself into my mind. I didn’t even realize I had stopped breathing.
Then it began to change. No, I’m getting it mixed up. The wolf itself did not change, but the air did. The radio static, having before been reduced to nothing but a dull roar in my ears, was ever so slowly ramping up in intensity. The ringing was back, now beginning to overtake the static in its volume. My ears stung, my eyes burned. I was cold.
Everything continued getting worse from there. I began shivering subconsciously as I gazed at the wolf, seeing it’s massive form casting shadows behind it. Was it closer now? I couldn’t tell. From my peripheral vision, my eyes still locked with its own, I could see movement behind it. The shadows were moving.
Rolling, bubbling, shifting. They grew and shrank, stretched and contracted. God it felt like the shadows were screaming at me. It felt like the wolf’s eyes were glowing brighter. God, it was closer. Not by much, maybe only a few feet, but it had moved.
How did it move? I was staring right at it, unblinking even, and yet I never saw a thing. I felt cold, beyond cold. Like the chill seeping into my veins was slowly coagulating my blood, thickening it until it felt like my heart was pumping slush through my veins. I wasn’t breathing.
The fear started then. First it was confusion, then apprehension, and now I was afraid. The moment I realized the fear it seemed to multiply hundreds of times. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t move, but I had to, primal fear taking over me.
I needed to put miles, no, worlds between me and this thing. My body shook violently, damn near seizing. Whether it was from the cold or my efforts to move, I cannot say. It was closer again, six feet at most. Those shadows still rolled, ripping apart and converging like mutating meat.
The feeling was beyond fear now. It wasn’t simply me being afraid of being mauled to death by this wolf. No, in that moment mauling would’ve been a better alternative. It was as if I was afraid this creature would somehow destroy the very idea of me, rending my soul into tatters and tearing into my spirit like fresh bloody meat.
Escape was no longer on my mind, at least not physical escape. As the wolf approached, somehow moving despite my eyes telling me otherwise, it placed a paw onto the hood of my truck. I began straining for a different kind of movement.
I tried to reach in the back, towards the shotgun I kept in the seat. No, dear reader, I was not reaching back with the intention of placing buckshot into this creature’s head. I was reaching backwards with the intention of killing myself, blowing my brains out at whatever cost, in the hope that the swift death it brought me might save my essence from being torn apart by this otherworldly predator.
But I could not move. I was trapped in my own shaking, ice cold body. My chest burned with both a lack of oxygen and the feeling of my heart struggling to move my blood, now feeling like molasses within my veins. My ears stung with the sound of the radio’s incessant ringing, and now I swore I could hear screams from it as well. Human, animal, and anything else you can image, all crying in terror and fear.
The wolf was perched entirely on my hood now, glaring down at me through the windshield as the entire truck had lurched forwards under its weight. It’s gaze burned. The expression of the wolf was not what one would expect from a predator about to catch a meal. It seemed as if it was only observing me, waiting for me to die. Soon I would, as I was now certain my heart had given up its futile effort to move my frozen blood.
Then, barely audible over the radio, there was another sound. A deep, splintering crack, far unlike anything simply stepping on a branch. It was the sound of an entire tree’s trunk being swiftly rent apart.
The wolf’s head snapped to the side, freeing me of its gaze. My veins ached as blood began to move again, feeling like ice crystals were being pushed through them. I raked in a breath of air, one that was not ice cold, but rather the stale warm air of my truck’s cabin.
Along with the wolf, I instinctually turned to the source of the sound. It was a moose, but different. It’s pelt was stark white against the black trees, its eyes glowing an incandescent blue. Everything about it nearly mirroring the abomination perched on my hood, except its size.
The sheer size of the beast caught me off guard. The wolf was still within the realm of possibility, though surely would’ve been the apex predator of whatever area it called home. But this moose was beyond massive. At least 12ft at the shoulder with a rack wider than my own truck. Looking at it, I found the source of the cracking sound that had shook me loose of the wolf’s impossible grasp.
A pine tree, fully grown and plenty stout, had been shoved over by this thing’s antlers. Now, it’s view unobstructed, it only stared at the wolf. And the wolf, for the first time since I had seen it, began to growl. The pitch black fur on its back raised up as the wolf crouched, digging its claws into the hood of my truck.
The growl was deep and rumbling, shaking the frame of the truck so much that I could hear loose objects rattling around. The moose responded, letting out the signature keening scream of a reindeer, but much lower. This sound shook my bones.
The massive moose drug its hoof across the ground, creating a divot wide enough to make a sound grave, and snorted as it lowered its own head. The wolf, clearly far beyond anything I could hope to kill, began to back away. Like mercury it seemed to almost flow off the hood of my vehicle, crouching onto the ground and retreating backwards into the woods, never breaking the gaze between the two creatures.
When it was out of sight, and my blood had significantly thawed, the moose shifted its gaze to me. I felt no fear from it, but I did not feel like it was an ally either. Snorting again, it jerked its head down the road, as if telling me to leave. Telling me that I wasn’t welcome.
I needed no further incentive to floor the gas, rocketing up to 80mph on thin backroads all the way back to my home. A thirty minute trip turned into just over ten minutes, but it was long enough for my labored breathing to slow, and for warmth to finally creep back into my bones.
Upon my return, in which I sprinted from the driveway to the door, my parents must have known something was up. Deep inside I knew that they would never believe me if I told them everything, so I told them what I could.
I nearly hit an animal on the road, a wolf, and in swerving I nearly fell into a deep ditch. Though they looked at me strangely, I told them the same thing I’ll tell you.
If you are alone on the roads at night and you see a wolf, don’t stop or swerve. Simply look down and press the gas.