The Quiet Slumber Of The White Wolf.

By Molecat Jumaway

Joe's life is a series of breakdowns. It's cost him his job and his family. Each time he falls he needs to rebuild his life.
His estranged wife contacts him, their son is missing.
The correlation between his son and his own staggered madness is too great.
Now he must listen to the voices he fears.
Now he must enter a world which he dreads.
Now he must take his divorced wife with him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Molecat Jumaway
• Release date: Jul 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465935014

Molecat Jumaway

Molecat Jumaway lives in Melbourne, Australia and has been writing short stories and novels for many years.“Rules of the Soul” was his first book and is followed by “Eating at me”.Even though Molecat is fond of his book, "Eating at me." He refers to it as his "Dirty Little Book.""Quiet Slumber of the White Wolf" is his third novel and he is currently working on two others.He is married to a beautiful but strange wife who is convinced ‘Dr Who’s Daleks’ scream “Extravagant” instead of “Exterminate” as though they were some kind of Decor Police.He likes old typewriters and old phones. He has a fear of balloons.When tired he buys cheese, he does not know why.Some of his Short Stories and updates can be viewed at:http://www.blinddustcollection.com

Book preview

Chapter 1.

There’s a point, a moment, a split second between random thoughts. So quick that we don’t catch it, so precise that it impacts upon our every decision. Like a subliminal message it shapes the very way we live, the very way we think. It could be a dream, a nightmare, a memory.

Quiet…

I’m hiding.

Something was wrong, it wasn’t just childish fear. My sister, Anne and I had run into the old hall, me ahead, almost dragging her behind me. Holding her wrist, clenching it tightly and nearly pulling her off her feet. I knew the great pain that it brought her but I clung onto her, kept her close as she clung on to me. We were in more than just simple danger, there was something else, something that tried to cling onto us as we clung to each other. So we ran into the great hall, ran down the aisles. The long wooden bench seats flicking by us like roadside markers do in a car, on a highway. I ran to the end, not the very end but as far up as I thought was safe. Panting and moaning, my sister weeping shrilly and me, in total panic making a sound with every exhale, a deep gurgling whine.

Something bad was coming, something very, very bad.

I dived in between the bench seats pulling my sister with me. She struck her head on the edge of the chair and made a small sound. I held my breath, she was still making a small sound so to quieten her I held her tight and put my hand over her mouth. She understood quite plainly because very soon they came.

We had slammed the door shut behind us, the old country halls, the heavy doors with their large iron rings as door knobs. I was young and had been nowhere else but I imagined that everywhere in the world, across its vast numerous country sides there were halls, exact replicas of this one over and over, like there were trees and cows. The heavy double doors were out of view, like all these halls there was a separate peaked little chamber out the front for the entrance. We could hear the large iron rings slowly creaking, the latch that held the door in place, slowly raising. Almost clumsily, as though the thing behind it had never seen such a contraption as an old iron latch. There was a fumbling, a cluttering and a sound that sent chills down our spines, a sound that made us clench each other so tightly that bruises were a certainty.

There were no clomping footsteps, no slow and staggered pace. That was part of our whole dread, there was a complete lack of humanity about this. At first there was silence as though there was a deliberate pause to draw out the tension. Then from the silence, a padding, bare feet on the wooden floor. Not adult footsteps, there was a small soft quickness about them. Not like a child but close, like a dog or a wolf. Under the chair we lay, holding each other for dear life and in the distance, through the many rows I saw them. They were not the bare feet of children, they glistened white in the faint light of the hall. They sat up so high on their toes, four sets, like a dog has four paws, heading around to the aisle. Another four feet scuttled by quickly to join the other in the aisle. There was that sound again and when my sister made a grimacing noise in response both their sound and their movement stopped dead. I held Anne tighter than ever before and we both rolled under one of the seats.

Their movement started again, more excited than before, two moved down the aisle while the other paced in the front of the hall.

I closed my eyes tight, like a child, if I did not see it, it would not see me. I felt as though I could disappear if I could, soak into the very grain of the course wood beneath. I do not know how long it was before I opened my eyes but I eventually did slowly open my eyes. I looked and nearly let out a cry as I saw the creature staring back at me, a white wolf. There was a moment, a pause where I stared at it and it stared at me. The inhuman feet, the claws and the head bent down, matching my gaze. Solid black eyes that saw and knew my fear, penetrated my very soul and named me. It’s mouth opened to bare it’s doglike teeth and it hissed a harsh sound at me. It was suddenly joined by another and the two of them leapt towards us. Claws darted in and snatched at my sister, she wailed and she wriggled. My hold on her actually deterring her resolve to flee. They caught her and started to drag her out, she started screaming a scream that I do not think I will ever hear again. I tried to hold her but I saw the eyes looking me over and fear let me loosen my grip. Screaming her face red, her nails digging into the harsh, old wooden floor I saw her slipping and then being quickly dragged away.

I woke up in a pool of sweat.

Jesus Mother Of Holy Crap. I said in a gasp though by the time I had finished my sentence I had forgotten the whole contents of what was in my head. I found that I was shaking, I knew it must have been the nightmare, the nightmare that came at me relentlessly. Time after time, sometimes I would remember, other times I would not but I would always remember the fear. I sat up and moved my feet over the side so they pressed on the hard wooden floor. Something made an out of chord note in my head at that and a chill went down my spine. I did not know why, just something that happened and was happening more often.

I had a half drunk glass of water on the bedside table, my mouth felt as thought I had been screaming, dry and a sore jaw. The water helped a little but it tasted old, warm and stale. I was nervy, upset and shaken. It was that very moment that I knew one thing and one thing only, I decided I needed a holiday.

Chapter 2.

It’s very difficult for me to explain myself. To be honest and open myself up with exact descriptions and relevant emotions. This is no dating video, where I glorify the highlights of my career. This is no job interview where I gloss myself up to look valuable and wanted. In fact this is quite the opposite. To explain my situation my aspirations, goals and achievements are not relevant. It is my worst moments that need to be conveyed.

It is very difficult because my worst moments cannot be explained, most of these moments are not remembered or vivid. They are gone and it would seem that moments like those are better forgotten but I still carry the lingering guilt and pain that these past forgotten events held.

I have quirks, every man has quirks. In my best moment I am quirky, at my worst moment I am like a fast spinning, self-firing cannon. You ask a recovering alcoholic what his best achievement is and it will be that he has not had a drink in such and such amount of time. You ask a severe trauma patient the same question and the answer could be that he has survived. Ask me the same question and the answer would be that I haven’t had a breakdown in two years. It’s not about highlights, it’s about survival, it’s about slowly rebuilding your life.

The painful thing is that it is all endured alone. Parents eventually die and everyone else looks at you and remembers you at your lowest point. They may try to sympathise but when they look at you they do not see the man trying desperately to rebuild his life. They see the man going nuts, crazy. They see the man at his worst point, they see the man they feared.

As I said, it is not always a good thing to forget the bad moments. I remember the good moments of my past. Meeting my future wife, marrying her, loving her, conceiving our child, all gone through my bad moments. Moments that I cannot remember, tarnishing the highlights in my life. Turning the happiest days in my life against me and making them sour, painful memories.

So to explain myself I would have to say that every few years I loose it. I do not know what happens but all I know is that I loose everything. Only when I am stripped down to nothing am I left to rebuild my life. Haunted by my lack of memory. My fear of things that are not there, a mere teasing into the glimpse of my own insanity. I try desperately to climb from the hole I have dug myself into.

This is me now, surviving. Alone. heavy with guilt, accompanied with my bizarre, left over antics. I sleep with the lights on, not just the bedroom light but every light in the house. Not just merely every light in my apartment, more lights had to be purchased. I have the only flat where night is brighter that the day. I’ve found myself staring at the window, staring at my own reflection. Stagnant and frozen for hours as if a long forgotten memory is whispering to me. I stand there trembling but to have blinds is worse. With the windows covered I cower and hide at night like a cat from a vacuum cleaner. There are no dark corners, there are no closed closets, there is no spot that I cannot see when entering the room. There are five locks on my front and back door and I double check these locks when entering by unlocking and locking. Feeling the mechanism slide back and forth is comforting. Each lock gets checked five times and then each lock get rechecked on the hour, every hour, five times. Two doors, five locks each and I am home for about ten hours a day. I’m moving locks approximately one thousand and twenty times a day which includes entering and exiting the building. Then there is the dream.

Now I know the dream is not fictional and I know the dream is my own faded memory of a childhood traumatic event. I know that the event that it described has some bearing on my situation an event my sister never recovered from. My knowledge in these facts only makes matters worse. Like someone with a cough that goes to the doctor to find he has a throat infection. The infection is treated and the cough should stop. I’ve been treated for this, I should be sane by now.

No, the quirks remain, I still slip slowly in and out of pure insanity and the reoccurring dream remains. I recover from my worst point and the dream haunts me, slowly subsiding. The dream is always there but when it is more frequent I know that my life is about to crumble around me and I will be left again, naked and with nothing. Last week I woke up nightly with the dream, the week before, every second day. The week before that, it was merely once a week but tonight I woke up sweating, a scream on my breath three times.

In a way I am lucky, I have lost already all that I cherished. Even though I do not remember past experiences I still recognise the onset. I wish desperately to dissuade this manifestation of what I consider my central being. I previously climbed a mountain to be kicked on nearing the top. I fell to the absolute zero and resumed climbing, I know the top will never be in reach again. The life I had, the future I envisioned is gone forever. Maybe if I pause my life, maybe if I stop climbing. Maybe then when I am kicked I will not fall so far. What I’m trying to say is that if I’m on holiday maybe no one will notice.

Chapter 3.

The blind is drawn in my boss’s office and as I entered I felt the fearful voices of old coming back to me. It was not the deep shadows, the dark corners or the despondent figure behind the desk that disheartened me. Though in my best condition these attributes would be enough to shakily force me away from entering. It was the fact that even though it was merely the two of us, two shadows sitting and glumly facing one another. I felt that there was another presence, sinister and hidden but protruding. As though it’s very presence bore the outcome of our trials.

Get a grip on yourself, was my finer voice telling me. You know you’re going nuts, is this but not a symptom. The answer was a very resounding yes. Though I could not help to think that the person in front of me, the sturdy Mr Wilkins. The man who governed hundreds of people felt the same way. Our gazes were locked, I feel that nothing was said to me and I said nothing in return. All I can do to justify my concept that we were locked in silence is my own insanity.

This was the very proof on the reason why I was here. I needed to get away, I needed to be alone. At work all I could do was jeopardize my future by going nuts. The long, painstaking process of rebuilding my life would be gone in an instant. I could feel my recurring dream sneaking into the room with us as we sat in the gloom. Inside my head I could see the reflection of the wolf staring at me. Grinning at me with the drawn out muzzle, the white teeth gleaming as the lips curled upwards. The dark, shiny eyed focused on me, daring me to move when I could do nothing. I could see the arched back, the silvery, white fur catching what little light was here. But it was in my head and we must of talked though I do not know what I had said and exactly what I was told. I left the room shakily only with the knowledge that I was given time off. Two weeks to be precise, I must of seemed in need as it was to start immediately. The other thing was that I had entered with the idea of going to an isolated coastal town. I had left with the idea that I was going to go up into the mountains. Maybe we had talked about that, I do not remember. It seemed a better idea, more isolated. More of a retreat than going up the coast in the midst of a warm summer.

I suddenly realised that I did not know what the definition of ‘immediately’ was. Did it mean at the end of the working day or right from this moment on. I was out of the door, it had closed silently behind me. I turned was about to ask through what I thought was an open doorway to find it solidly shut. I placed my hand on the door knob and felt a chill through its metal. The feeling passed right through me and I found myself standing there motionless. I could hear indistinguishable voices from within and a cold fear came over me. I let go of the door knob, my hand shaking. My vacation was to start immediately and that meant right now. If you can walk then walk, just get out of the building, go home and start packing. You’re loosing it, you know very well what is happening. I shakily backed away from the door, from the sound that I heard. I turned, put my head down and headed for home.

A little voice played in my head. ‘Just get out, just go. just get out, just go.’ Over and over like a panicked chant. I did not look around, when walking I looked at the ground, my feet pacing. When sitting on the train I looked at my legs resting. When at home, I watched my hands as they busied their time packing. Everything else was obsolete, everything else was a way to show my inability to cope and be fully functional. It did not take me a long time to book a cabin in the mountains. It did not take me long to look up directions, on the contrary it was almost like I already knew where it was.

Everything in the car and all the doors locked behind me, locked, unlocked, locked unlocked, over and over and then finally out I went. As I drove through the city I kept my attention solely on the traffic ahead. From the point of leaving that doorway to leaving the city not once did I look around me.

When the country started to grow up around me only then did I start to relax. When the passing houses turned into passing meadows did my arms slacken and my grip on the steering wheel loosen a little. Soon it started occurring to me that it was merely two hours ago when I was in my boss’s office asking for time off to go on a holiday and suddenly here I was.

Chapter 4.

Before long it was dark and I was still driving. I was getting close to my destination, climbing up and down the windy roads through the mountains. There were no street lights out here, it had been some time since I left the world of street lights. The headlights lit up the long endless white tree trunks as I turned each corner. They flickered by one after another and on the straight path from the side windows the horizon lit the distance through the tree shadows. The peeling bark and imagined shapes that they made had a nervous effect on me. I felt like a kid after a series of horror movies. Maybe this was the best medicine for me, freak myself out into reality.

I turned and wound up the side of a mountain and then down the other side, anxiously speeding up a little as the car was aided by gravity. On turning a corner, the headlights catching each soaring white tree trunk as it flickered by. A silvery white figure whizzed by, black eyes seemed to peer into my very soul. My heart missed a beat and I gave a little yelp. It went by so quickly that I could only try and rely on my memory. I kept telling myself that it was merely a tree stump jutting out. You’re nuts Joe, don’t go all dramatic over everything you think you see. I kept driving, but slower and my mind was uncontrollably trying to recreate the event. I could not overcome the feeling that there were eyes in whatever it was that I passed, staring right at me. Staring right into me, as if I was known, as if I was expected.

Freaky hey, that’s what being nuts is all about. The stuff that goes through you mind has no rhyme or reason. It does not have to be explained or justified to anyone though I know of a physiatrist that would say otherwise. It is hard to explain the emotions going through my system at this very point in time. I’m excited, getting away on a secluded holiday. I’m fearful, the darkness, the long trees, the seclusion. Much like a man, scared of dogs and then thinking that going to a dog show would be a novel idea. Here I was, in the midst of many of my own phobias and I had not even gotten there yet. I was shaking and nervous, I would find myself humming and singing a high pitched panicked tune as though it was some kind of personal prayer. I was relieved as well, I had escaped the judging eyes of society. I would be hidden away to do whatever it is that I would do if and when I eventually completely lost it. Hopefully there would not be any slow rebuilding of my life. I’ve put it on hold to return to it at some later stage.

The eyes, the figure returned to my memories. It went by so quickly that I could not grasp anything but my own fright. I was trying to reason out what it could be in a normal, sane world. Maybe a whitened stump, sticking out from the side of the road. It could very well have been a hitch hiker, having heard the sound of my approaching car he could have turned to greet me. Hoping that I would stop and pick him up. Could be anything really and my elusive, paranoid mind could have filled in the blanks.

I gave a long sigh and looked down at the dashboard where the radio should have been. Music would be nice at this stage. Something to calm me down, something to distract me. If I weren’t so terrified of radios I’d have one to turn on right now.

I seemed to predict where the turn off would be to the cabin. This was very lucky for I think I would have missed it otherwise. A very narrow track, unpaved and a little overgrown. I could very well imagine myself missing it completely, there were walking tracks strewn throughout these mountains and it could very well be mistaken for one of them. If seen at all. I could imagine myself continuing to travel the unfamiliar road round and round, up and down for hours and hours until I realised that I’d missed something. I don’t know what even prompted me, I slowed