Short Story

19 November 2025

Since the posts from December 2012 refer directly to Christmas, I will reserve those for later and skip ahead the beginning of 2013, where I share one of the short stories I wrote, the explanation follows.

21 January 2013

After a short hiatus, marked by visits and poor health, we return with a short story, written long ago. I don’t recall the exact circumstances of its creation–it might have been an assignment to write a ‘short short’, as they are sometimes called, but I suspect the idea for the story came from all those years watching “Fractured Fairy Tales” and other cartoon warping by MGM and Warner Bros. A stroke of inspiration caused me to ask the question, “how does the wolf feel?” probably a result of seeing a couple of cartoons telling the story from the wolf’s perspective, so I crafted the following short:

Wolf’s Bane

Consciousness came suddenly–like leaping from one’s warm, dark den into the light of noonday or the shock of plunging into a rushing river in the dead of winter. I stood on the verge of the forest, looking again upon the encroaching village of the two-legs, who stole fur from the creatures of my realm to protect themselves from the icy cold. Village–a vulgar sounding term in my speech–my mouth shuddered to speak it. I, as king of the forest, must respond to the howls of anguish over mates and offspring slaughtered by the two-legs. I caught a familiar scent and padded on silent paws towards its source.
Familiar scent? It was odd–the past seemed strangely hazy and distant, as if the time before my return to consciousness on this morning were not contiguous with my present. The scent was familiar but I could not recall the circumstances of its familiarity. I heard voices from an older two-legs speaking to one of its offspring. I crept on my belly to the edge of a thicket from where I could see and hear the exchange. I, like all of my kind, caretakers of the forest, could understand the speech of all living things–a gift from the maker–enabling us to protect the forest from the ravages of the two-legs. The young whelp was a she, instructed by her bitch to convey sustenance to an elder of her pack who lived within my realm. A hunger not unlike that which follows the lean time of winter constricted my belly, giving me a second, less idealistic reason for pursuing and killing the whelp. The two-legs were vulnerable in regard to their offspring, a thing not found among any of my kind. This particular whelp was of the foremost pack among the two-legs, as was the elder she would visit. If I killed them both, the two-legs would grieve and be vulnerable to a concerted attack on the part of my subjects to drive them from the forest and restore the balance. I crawled back into the forest and loped off in the direction of the elder’s den.

#

I stood before the den, altering my voice to imitate the whelp. “Grandma,” I called, “I’ve brought some lunch. Please let me in.” My voice sounded hideous and screechy to my ears.
The elder’s voice trembled with age. “Come in, my dear. Alas, but I’m too weak to get up.”
I forced my way into the den, and in a single bound, leapt onto the elder, easily snapping the brittle neck. A strange force filled me, swelling my body to a size that surpassed the two-legs. My hunger grew apace; I gorged upon the elder’s tough flesh, looking forward to the tender morsel I would have in the whelp. The same force caused me to assume the elder’s form. I waited for the whelp.
The elder’s den seemed familiar to me. I had a feeling that I had been here before, puzzled by the strange sensations of the material the elder had covering her, which now covered me in my altered form. I struggled to pierce the darkness of my past. The whelp’s voice interrupted my reflections. I responded as if I were the elder, my voice again sounding strange, as if one of my brothers had me on the ground with both paws firmly on my throat, choking me when I tried to speak. The whelp entered, looking at me oddly. She asked questions about my appearance which I answered, until I saw a hint of fear. I tried to leap on the whelp, but the coverings slowed me ever so slightly. The whelp began to howl, running from the den. I pursued, slowed by my two-legs form. My shape altered again, returning to normal, and I was able to catch up with the fleeing whelp. As I was about to bring the whelp down, I caught the scent of a tree-killer and for a moment, hesitated. A flood of memories rushed into my mind, showing me that this had happened before and what would happen next. I turned, too late, from my pursuit of the whelp and felt the ax of the tree-killer bite into my neck. . . .

#

Consciousness came suddenly, but this time I could remember my past. Perhaps the act of turning from the whelp had somehow altered the strange course of my life. However, if the tree-killer had taken my life, how could I be alive? I should be returning my essence to the earth, for the use of all those who follow. The scent of the whelp came again, and I deliberately loped off in the opposite direction, to avoid the outcome I now remembered. I halted, startled, when I saw before me the village, the whelp, and the bitch, conversing as before. My claws tore up the ground as I spun and ran away from the village. Before I achieved full stride, the village appeared again before me, and the speech continued as if I had not left. Again my claws tore the earth as I spun away, two strides bringing me again to the edge of the village. I slid to a stop beyond the thicket, in plain view of the whelp. She did not see me but turned and went in the direction of the elder’s house as before. I ran again, in the opposite direction, trying vainly to escape my fate. The elder’s den appeared before me. I turned away, and the den remained before me. I tried to run past the den, but only succeeded in forcing my way into the den and gorging on the elder’s tough flesh. I tried to leave the den, only to precipitate the whelp’s flight and the tree-killer’s ax.

#

When I awakened again, I vowed to remain where I was to avoid my fate. However, the ground moved under me, bringing the destined meetings to me. I tried to hold my jaw shut, but the elder still entered and hung heavy in my belly. I howled at the sky, asking the maker why? Why am I tormented so? What have I done to deserve this terrible fate?

#

Old leather creaked as the large book was closed. A satisfied cackle followed. An old woman slowly stood, returning the book to its place on a high shelf. Below it, on a wooden peg, a child-sized cape and matching cap hung, their color not faded beyond recognition, still distinctly red.

It is our hope that the previous story ‘brightens’ your day. . . .