The White Wolf–an excerpt from The Alabama Horror Collection

The next day, I finally got a good look at my truck. I almost cried seeing it in the condition it was in. The roof was almost completely caved in, the windshield was shattered, and there were long claw marks up and down both sides of the vehicle. What disheartened me even more, was the snow was seemingly going nowhere. As far as I could tell, not even a single inch had melted away. This meant help was nowhere in sight and I’d be trapped up on my hill with this thing for at least a few more nights.

I decided to take what few precautions I could to prepare myself for a repeat visit. I went through every drawer in the house looking for something, anything, that I might be able to use to defend myself. By the time I was done, I had accumulated a collection of steak knives, a butcher knives, assorted screwdrivers (both flat-head and Phillips head varieties), and a baseball bat my nephew had left at my house from the last time he visited. It wasn’t much of an arsenal, but it was what I had to work with.

Suddenly it dawned on me, I had an old metal tool-shed on my back porch. I personally had never used the thing and it hadn’t been opened since I inherited the house but maybe, just maybe, there would be something in there I could use. The shed was ancient, made of the same kind of thin metal that my old high school teacher Mr. Dean’s coat closet had been made of, and was painted an army-issue green color. The green had almost disappeared at this point, replaced by the burnt oranges and reds of rust. The shed had a French-double door design, but unfortunately for me both handles had fallen off long before I had even been thought of. Taking one of the knives I had found, I was as careful as I could be, as I pried the doors open to see what I might have in there that could be useful.

I managed to force the door open without slicing off a finger and began rummaging through the shed. The first item I found was deformed, rusted rake. Well, that certainly wasn’t going to be helpful—unless the werewolf would be willing to roll over on his back and get belly scratches while his leg thumped uncontrollably. I had severe doubts that would work so I laid the rake to the side and kept digging. A couple shovels, a hoe, and another rake later and I had found, what was to me at the time, the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory: a hatchet. It was a bit rusty, but for the most part it still seemed quite viable as a weapon. I had my collection gathered. All I had to do was wait for the beast to return.


I didn’t even attempt to sleep that night. The thought of that thing sneaking up on me was enough to chase even the foggiest notion of sleep away. I sat there in the dark, partially because I didn’t want the werewolf to know where I was and partially because the batteries in my flashlight were going dead and I was trying to conserve them. Nine o’clock, ten, eleven, and still no sign of the creature coming back. Sampson had no clue why I was so uptight, but he stayed at my side the entire time. The wait was driving me crazy. For the love of God! Would the damn thing just hurry up and appear!

Suddenly, the entire trailer shook, as it sounded like a giant limb had fallen on the tin roof. At first I thought that was all it was, or, at least I hoped that’s all it was, but when I heard movement up above me I knew it was something else. My cousin had just put a new roof on the trailer portion of the house last Spring. I had listened to him for hours walking around up there. I knew the sound of footsteps on my roof and that was exactly what I was hearing. My heart started beating out of my chest as I positioned my wheelchair beneath the sounds. I matched the creature step for step. When he moved towards the front of the house, I inched my wheelchair forward to stay directly beneath him. I didn’t know what he was up to up there but the sound of the roof creaking terrified me. It sounded like the roof might give in any moment, sending the fanged furball crashing down right on top of me, so I held a rifle in my hands and kept both the hatchet and baseball bat in my lap.

Suddenly, the thing stopped moving. I wondered if it knew I was onto it or perhaps it was plotting something diabolical I hadn’t thought of. What if the thing was actually planning on bursting through the roof? Would I be ready for it? Could I even get a shot off before it ripped my throat out?

What looked like a blizzard outside the window formed as the werewolf leapt from the roof and down to the ground. I couldn’t see a thing as I took aim with my rifle and Sampson barked at the top of his lungs. The window shattered as the creature dove halfway into my house. Before I could fire a round, with a lightning quick swipe the wolf had knocked my rifle from my hands. Its yellow, discolored fangs snapped at me as its almost human looking hands reached out trying to grab me. Before he could grab hold of me, I took the baseball bat and smacked the beast upside the head. It seemed to daze the werewolf, as it halfway slid back out the window, only hanging onto the inside of the house with its hands.

I thought it was going to try and pull itself back into the living room so I took the hatchet and brought it down from overhead as fast and hard as I could. The blow severed the monster’s paw. It screamed, not howled, out in agony. Its cries sounded more human than beastly as I saw it disappear back into the shadows of the forest. I sat there, relieved to have survived the encounter, and petted Sampson on the head. He was still visibly shaken but he hadn’t retreated, not even a single step. Inspecting the damaged window I wondered how in the Hell I was going to seal the gap up as the wind blowing in cut a hole through me. That’s when I looked down at the pool of blood and noticed a severed human hand laying there. I guess I should have known to expect it but part of me had been holding onto the hopes that it was honestly just a wolf. There was no doubt about it now. I was being stalked by a werewolf in the middle of a blizzard and I would be lucky to make it out alive. I spent the rest of the night patching the window and writing out my last will and testament. I wasn’t expecting to make it out of the situation alive.


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