Shadow of the Wolves

By P.B. Roberts

It is the year 1922. A little girl is found abandoned and left to die in the Tennessee swamplands. A brutal and senseless killing that nearly took her young life causes her to internalize the raw and primal instincts of the canis lupus, or wild wolf. Gentle and spiritual in nature, Jennifer matures into womanhood and exhibits the appearance and life of a normal human being. However, beneath the surface and awaiting the perfect trigger, rests raw and primal instincts which are drawn to wild life more than the common civility of the local town business.

For her, temptation arrives one night in a form that is both animal and human. It is a night when her husband is away and it becomes a supernatural experience, one that will change things for Jennifer, for her husband, and the entire town – and for the gray wolves who have sought refuge from harm – with help from her.

But can she help them without falling prey herself? And what about the child she may be carrying – the one a local doctor told her was not possible? Is it human or a combination of her deepest desires? What would she want it to be?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483515618

Book preview

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Chapter 1

Clarksville, Tennessee - 1922

* * *

The outline of a lone one-story wooden structure pierced the pitch black darkness of a moonless Tennessee night. During the day it served as a mail stop, gun shop, and a grocery and feed store. Off to one corner, a dried buffalo hide hung from a sagging metal wire. This separated the Clarksville County Sheriff's office - along with its tiny makeshift jail cell - from the rest of the store. On the front entrance was a CLOSED sign. Except for the struggling light of a kerosene lamp on Sheriff Jed Horner's desk, the store was in total darkness.

The Sheriff was bent over before the lamp, squinting to write something on a piece of paper. He was a large man in his mid-sixties, short-sighted both visually and in the kindness department and was rarely in a good frame of mind. He was also known to be just a little too trigger-happy for his own good. He blew out the lamp and rose from his seat, having a little trouble because of his size, which wedged him temporarily between the thick wooden armrests.

* * *

Sheriff Horner made his way along a narrow winding foot path he could navigate blindfolded, which was a good thing that particular night as the moon remained securely hidden behind a large formation of dark clouds. As the occasional mountain lion had been seen roaming the area at night, he hummed loudly, as strongly advised by the Fish & Game Association when walking alone at night.

He walked alongside a still brook when unfamiliar sounds began to reach him from somewhere up ahead. He stopped to listen. The sounds ceased momentarily and the Sheriff continued on. Once again the sounds arose but they were much closer now. Again the Sheriff stopped to listen. He realized they were off to his left and not far from the trail. He left the foot path and moved slowly and cautiously through the brush, at the same time drawing his revolver. He quickly checked the chamber but didn't have to go much further when the source of the sounds manifested in full view before him. A tiny child, female in gender, was being suckled by a large female lobo. That was about all that the good Sheriff needed to see. He immediately emptied his gun on the animal, one of the bullets puncturing the breast the young tot was still feeding upon.

Jesus Murphy, Horner muttered aloud, "what the hell's she gonna turn into! Well nothin' far's I'm concerned, he answered his own question. I'll get young Doc Billingsworth to put the needle to her in the morning."

He removed his thick lumberjack shirt and, his head turned the other way and a grimace of disgust across his face, scooped up the screaming infant and trudged on back to the store. Following him from its hiding place a stone's throw from the brutal killing was a pair of steady piercing green eyes.

* * *

The little child was left shivering on a barren cot in the cold filthy jail cell and sobbing uncontrollably while Sheriff Horner sat at his desk scribbling a note to Doc Billingsworth. He stopped writing suddenly. A slight movement somewhere behind him drew his attention. He turned slowly around in his swivel chair to see a figure, tall and ominous, standing in the shadows near the entrance to the store.

Y- yes? the Sheriff stammered.

The mysterious visitor remained silent. It was only then that Horner was certain of the eyes of a wolf gazing straight at him. In the grip of a sudden and suffocating fear, he reached for his revolver. It was to be the last thing in his life he would ever reach for.

* * *

With the little child wrapped in Sheriff Horner's blood-drenched shirt still rigid with fear, the unidentified visitor left the lone building, the tiny soul held gently in his massive arms. He climbed a low hill to survey the surrounding landscape below. His attention was drawn to a pale orange light shining from a small farmhouse in the not-too-far distance. He looked down momentarily to check on the little life cradled in his arms only to find her suddenly calm and peaceful. A soft pink glow shone from her cheeks. She was gazing straight up into his eyes, the eyes of the wolf. All fear and rigidity had completely left her little form.

* * *

It was almost 4 a.m. and pitch dark outside. Elijah Rexsmith was getting set to head out the front door to begin his daily chores out in the fields a short distance up the hill from the modest little farmhouse. Devoted wife Florence, having fed her husband a hearty breakfast, was back in bed planning on snatching another two or three hours sleep. But when Elijah opened the front door, the stream of light coming from inside the kitchen highlighted the tiny form asleep on the front porch and wrapped in the Sheriff's blood-stained shirt. Elijah jumped back a step or two.

Florence? he shouted over his shoulder, regaining his composure. Git yourself on down here right quick, will ya! We got us a little visitor. Night visitor, he added, kneeling down to get a closer look.

Florence rushed down the stairs, fluffing up her hair and tying her robe as she headed for the front porch.

Oh my! she exclaimed, stopping cold in the doorway. Heavens-to-Betsy, the poor l'il thing! Is it alive? Something about the little form suddenly drew Florence in for a closer look.

Looks to me like a little girl. Is she one of us though? Florence asked.

If ya mean is she a human being, I would tend to say so, Florence.

Oh now Elijah, you know what I mean. Florence continued to study the tiny child a moment.

Kinda looks like she's got some Indian in her. Not much but…

She can have a whole lotta Indian in her far's I'm concerned, dearie. Does it matter any? Let's get her inside the house pronto and see if we can find where this here blood's comin' from. We may just havta get her over to the Doc's house and posthaste. Four in the morning or not, Elijah exclaimed, lifting the little bundle carefully up into his arms.

The mysterious entity waited in the dark until the little child was safely inside the house. But it would be back. It had to be back.

Chapter 2

Emerson County, Montana - 1947

* * *

The only sound breaking the silence on this dark moonless night was the mournful cry of a lone wolf off in the distance somewhere. Flickers from oil lamps struggled to make themselves seen through a low hanging mist dancing quietly in the stillness of this sparsely populated valley nestled in the rural hills of western Montana. It was the year 1947 and one of the worst years in decades for crops. Men were forced to take on any jobs they could find just to put food on the table. Luxuries such as taking in a fifteen cent movie in the Church basement of some small neighbouring town on a Saturday morning or partaking in the occasional dinner at Ruth's Truck Stop Cafe off Highway 83, as inexpensive as it was, had become clearly out of the question for the time being. And unless one had a very trusty crystal ball, no one could foretell just how long that 'time being' would last.

* * *

With nightfall approaching and a pale golden sun easing itself down behind one or another of the majestic jagged peaks, the entire rim of the mountain range emanated a subtle deep purple hue. Glimmering almost religiously in the dying light of day, one couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Heaven wasn't beyond man's reach after all. But the low hanging mist wasn't the only thing hovering low and silent over this once-thriving valley of Emerson County. There was something else waiting. Patiently. For the right time. And as surely as the shadow is formed by the body, that time would arrive.

* * *

Jennifer Workman, 26, slender with long dark hair and pretty in an unassuming manner lived with her husband Brad in one of many small wooden-framed houses scattered sporadically throughout the valley and foothills. The little abodes were so distant from one another that it was only at night when one was made aware of their existence. This was thanks to the pale orange glow that flickered eerily into the quiet darkness from tiny wooden framed windows here and there. But mostly there.

Jen and husband Brad Workman lived in the westernmost area of wolf territory, an area that harboured the largest and most dominating of the animals. This was the gray wolf, commonly referred to by the locals as simply the gray. This was where the real Jennifer Workman was to be released from the secrets within that had bound her since childhood. But she could not know this. At least not yet. What she did know however and without a shadow of a doubt in her mind was that this was where she had to be. And hence her gentle yet unyielding stance to remain in their converted little farmhouse, in the westernmost part of the valley, where the wolves were the largest of the species.

* * *

Keenly aware of the ever lurking danger of wildlife roaming the area, or the occasional drifter for that matter, and the fact his wife was left alone almost every night with not a neighbour within earshot, Brad Workman couldn't help but argue from time to time they not inhabit so secluded an area of the tundra any longer but pull up stakes and head for higher ground. Safer ground, that is to say. As understanding and giving a woman as Jen was regarding any of her husband's other demands or concerns, in this particular instance there was no changing her mind. Something Jennifer Workman was yet to identify, something deep down, told her in no uncertain terms this is where she had to be. No matter what. Not too far down the road however, the answer to that question would be drawn straight to her front door, but in a form she could not have had expected in her wildest imagination.

* * *

Sounds of any kind - whether the rustling of leaves or foliage against the little cabin, the snapping of a twig, the crisp, clear echo of a hoot owl off in the distance - became sounds that could at times take on an otherwise eerie and suspect identity. Especially in the misty silence of this peaceful secluded valley. It took very little to entice the curious and playful side of Jen to rush out into the mysteries that awaited her on any warm and beckoning night. There was an empty space in her life, one she could not put a name on, but only feel, that drew her into the wilderness.

With husband Brad away until the wee hours, Jen was always grateful for the opportunity to wander barefoot far from the so-called safety of the cabin and into the promising wilds despite repeated warnings from her husband of the certain dangers that lurked in the seclusion of where they lived. Danger however was a concept Jennifer Workman had never learned to entertain. She knew something most humans would never know. Unless they too had been destined to enter this existence playing a game of Russian Roulette with life.

* * *

At a very young age little Jennifer's life had opened itself, by itself, to the beauty and bounty that graced the natural world, a beauty and bounty unnoticed by most. Ever since she could remember, she had always felt more a part of this side of life than that of human society. The natural world was very real for Jennifer. It was far from something just theoretical, or abstract. Unlike most of the trappings of everyday life, it could always be counted on. It had no ulterior motives and it was there only to nurture you. If one would, or could, just allow it.

She would stand quietly in the middle of a forest somewhere and simply listen, just close her eyes and listen. She would hear things others could not hear. There were times she was almost certain she could feel the night breathing. But it wasn't the night.

Jennifer harboured no fear of what she couldn't see, what was not visible but that she knew was there. Even from the time she was a little girl secretly playing with wolf cubs in the wilderness as the mother alpha stood faithfully by. And not only for the sake of its young ones. Little Jennifer possessed no fear of them nor they of her. She always knew when one or more of the beasts were present, whether visible or not. She would pick up their scent and could hear them even when no sound was made. Only much later in life would she come to realize the reason for their presence.

* * *

Jen's husband Brad would come home at times only to find his beautiful but reckless and carefree young wife standing alone in the night. She would be barefoot and in a thin cotton housedress blowing in the wind, arms open wide and gazing up at a glittering star-filled sky. These times, when she became unaware of any separation between herself and the rest of existence, were to become sacred to her.

You tryin' to imitate Chief Crazy Horse or somethin'? Brad chuckled when he'd catch his pretty young wife whirling around in the dark silence smack in the middle of someone's long abandoned property.

Prayin' for rain? he'd quip, as Jen would be humming something low and steady into the night's black void. Except to Jen there was no such thing as a void. She always sensed the invisible life teeming within it.

* * *

Tonight was no different from most other nights. Heading home in his '41 fire-engine red Ford pickup, Brad found his wife straying just a little too far from the safety of the cabin. Safety in his mind anyhow.

Hey young lady! Brad called out the window as he pulled onto the soft shoulder.

Aren't we wanderin' just a tad far from home? Can barely see the dang cabin from here in this crazy mist!

Jen covered a shy grin as she climbed in beside her husband. She rested her head gently on his shoulder as they continued on to the cabin.

There're wolves out there Jenny, I keep tellin' ya'. Big ones too, he emphasized.

I know, she replied lazily.

How come they don't frighten you? Huh? How come? I just don't get it.

Should they?

Boy, you sure beat me! he chuckled, shaking his head to himself.

* * *

The following day found Jen spinning in broad graceful circles atop a hill bordering the plush mountain forest. With long flowing hair blowing in the wind, arms open wide and head thrown back, she found herself melding into the beauty of a clear storybook-blue sky.

Stopping to catch her breath, she noticed a burnt out log and went over to sit on it. She was sitting quietly for some time when she heard the subtle snapping of twigs behind her. She smiled to herself as the sound transported her back to when she was a little girl sitting on a similar burnt out log. She closed her eyes. Her breathing became slow and even, allowing the images to float freely through her mind at will.

She was five years old and sitting very attentively with her Raggedy Ann doll draped over one knee. She had picked up the scent of her step-brother Timmy approaching from behind. She looked down at her doll and addressed it quite seriously.

That's silly Timmy, she nodded. He thinks I don't hear him, but I can hear everything. Even if it doesn't make any sounds, she told her little friend.

She called out for him to come and play but there was no response. In the next moment she picked up the energy of fear. Not any fear but the kind that arises from the threat of imminent danger. Timmy had run across a wandering wolf cub and thinking it to be someone's lost puppy dog scooped it up into his arms.

Little Jennifer stood up from the log and turned just in time to see a large female alpha a heartbeat away from springing for Timmy's throat. It was in that split second, that infinitesimal gap between life and death, that this mother wolf caught the scent, then sight, of Jennifer, as she strode calmly and naturally into the small clearing between it and the trembling young lad.

The large animal's mass of contracted muscle returned to its natural fluidity, its entire being suddenly one of attentiveness. The attentiveness was then followed by a sense of obeisance. It watched the little girl closely for a moment or so then almost as if by an unspoken command, took several steps backwards from the young boy. Jennifer then turned to her step-brother.

It's alright, she assured him, it's not going to hurt you. I promise.

H-how come? Timmy stammered. Do you know him?

Her, she gently corrected.

Chapter 3

* * *

Jennifer and Brad were sitting at the kitchen table, their habitual spot for family discussion. Despite Jennifer's gentle prodding, Brad Workman remained unusually adamant about getting a second opinion regarding his inability to impregnate his wife thus far.

Why won't you see another doctor, Brad honey? There's someone new in town. He's quite a bit younger than old Doc Billingsworth and I'm quite sure a little more up to date on things.

I'm tellin' ya hon, it's just a matter of time. For some it happens right quick, for others it just takes a little longer. We gotta have patience. At least 'old Doc Billingsworth' as you call him, knew that much.

Brad Workman was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. This did not escape Jennifer. But out of her genuine love for him and her concern for his feelings, she always remained sensitive in her approach. Especially in regards his masculine identity, an invisible line she would take great pains not to cross.

It's been over a year Brad, she replied as delicately as she could.

I can count Jen, he responded, beginning to bristle ever so slightly.

Time to back off. She lowered her head slightly, smiling seductively at him. He cocked a mock-suspicious eyebrow at her. She definitely had a way about her, one he had always found impossible to resist.

Uh-uh, Brad shook his head, while trying to keep a straight face. I know that look. Don't you be tryin' to get off the hook now.

Maybe if we did it more often, she purred.

Giving her the evil eye from beneath lowered brow, Brad just sat there regarding this pretty woman of his for a spell. Then short of bursting out laughing altogether