Approaching the lighthouse was dangerous by sea, and if I beached my boat too far away, the wolves would get me.

If I knocked and there was no answer, I would become something evil.

So, I breathed in the night and ran.

HOWLING.

The door opened and a harry arm grabbed me.

‘Are you nuts?’ The Keeper asked me. He had a distorted face, but a kind one.

‘All of the prisoners are off their meds,’ I said. ‘The psychiatrist turned. We got to get out of here.’

‘No can do. The ferry won’t be here until next week.’

‘By then, the wolves will be coming down the chimney.’

‘Yep.’

‘That’s all you have to say?’

‘Yep.’

‘We’re dead!’

‘Yep.’

He had a smile on his face. ‘Let’s have some dinner,’ he said.

The mutton tasted like a dead body. I couldn’t enjoy it.

“Wait. How do you know what a dead body tastes like?” Charlie asked.

“Be quiet, and listen to the story,” Bill said. “Now, as I was saying…

We ate by candlelight. We didn’t want to give those wolves an excuse to knock our door down.

I don’t know if I preferred the dead silence or the murderous screams—either way, we weren’t going to leave that rock alive.

‘What’s your name,’ I asked the Keeper.

‘Ben.’

‘How long have you been a Keeper, Ben?’

‘Since I can remember.’

‘How long is that?’

‘Yesterday. I suffer from short-term memory loss.’

‘How do you do your job?’

‘I write everything down. See.’

He showed me the lighthouse log. Increased werewolf activity.

‘Is there a way off this rock?’

‘Yes and No. My balloon is out back.’

‘Balloon?’

‘Hot air balloon. I could get it ready?’

‘Let’s get it done.’

‘Okay. Does your rifle work?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why don’t you pick-off some of those wolves—keep ’em distracted.’

The lookout was 360 degrees. I could see over the horizon. It was beautiful and ugly up there. The wolves were eating each other, near the eye socket.

I set up my sniper rifle, and took aim. Then the wolves came.

Firing a gun was a bad idea. They were half-man, half-wolf. I recognized some of the prisoners I had brained with a shotgun. Evil doesn’t die easily.

The balloon was made of bedsheets. The bag was lifting off the ground.

That’s when a harry man ran out of the bushes and ripped Ben’s throat out. His blood was gushing like a geyser.

The wolfman looked at me, from my high peak of safety, and started to climb the wall. The bag was rising higher. Ben hadn’t tied it down, and the wolves were waiting to eat me.

To be continued…

2 thoughts on “Wolves, Coming Up the Chimney

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