Page 25 of Vice
In the distance, a single, low howl splits the night air apart. Back by the house, the group of men and women gathered in white robes mutter and mumble to one another, panicking like sheep as they shift against one another, trying to move to the rear of the party, further away from the forest. The howl goes up again, and this time it’s joined by another, and then another.
“Their song is quite haunting,” Fernando says. “I’ve always loved it, though it seems to disturb some of my other guests.”
Yeah, no shit. I’m not surprised they find it disturbing, if you’ve been feeding their friends to your little pets.The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to keep my thoughts to myself.
Fernando squeezes my shoulder, sighing. “What do you think of my story, Mr. Garrett? Do you think I did the right thing in killing Kechu?”
“I think once an animal turns against its master, there really isn’t anything else you can do.”
He seems pleased by this response. “Exactly. I am pleased you understand. You remind me of him, you know. In a strange way, I think of him every time I look at you, and it’s like I’m visiting with an old friend. I think I will call you Kechu, if it doesn’t bother you too much.” It’s not a request. He’s going to do it, regardless of if it does bother me or not. I’m not stupid enough to ask him not to, though. And I know what he’s doing: he’s giving me a warning. He will accept me, we can become friends, but no matter how much he likes me, if I fuck up and do something to offend him, or hurt those he cares about, he will shoot me in the head without thinking twice.
“I don’t mind,” I tell him. “I don’t mind at all.” I should be giving him a warning of my own. If I find out my sister has been here, if Fernando has even laid eyes on her for one fucking second, I will do worse to him than shoot him in the head. I’ll be murdering him with my bare hands, and I will be taking my goddamn time with it.
The wolves arrive then. They appear like ghosts, forming out of the shadows, taking shape slowly, gradually. It feels like my eyes are playing tricks on me as they slink forward out of the darkness, as if they aren’t really there, only the suggestion of them as the prowl up toward the house. Their paws make no sound on the short grass. They make strange chittering, yipping noises to one another as they weave around each other’s bodies, eyeing the situation before them.
Are there ten of them? Fifteen? The way they move around one another, dipping in and out of the shadows, makes it impossible to count. Their coats are stunning—brindle, gray, black, tan and stone, all blending together as they shift and press cautiously forward.
The guy I shot, William, has been taken out of the sheet he was carried out in and has been laid out on the grass, arms spread out wide on either side of him, his eyes closed, his skin pale and ashy; the way they’ve arranged him makes him look like some sort of offering. A sacrifice. A worried rumble goes up from Fernando’s players. The men in black have all looked stoic and cool up until now. Some of them have even looked turned on by the whole situation, their eyes bright and shining, filled with anticipation, their hands rubbing at their cocks through their suit pants. Now they don’t look so excited. They look concerned as the wolves pad silently toward them, as if they are made out of the thick silence and the oppressive darkness of the night.
“I’m gonna fucking shoot that one if he comes any closer,” one of the guys hisses. “I don’t like the look of it.”
The wolf pack splits, warily hedging around William’s body. They smell the air as they investigate. They are trying to work out what level of danger this prone man lying in the grass poses to them. I see the moment they catch the scent of death on him. A ripple of excitement runs through the pack, and the largest of the animals, a huge male with a black streak through his gray ruff, darts forward, snapping his teeth at the body. He grows braver when William doesn’t defend himself.
Then, in a whirlwind of fur, flashing teeth and ripping claws, the wolves descend upon the body. It’s mayhem. I cringe as they make short work of William’s shirt, tearing it from his torso, and then it’s flesh they’re tearing from him and not fabric.
Blood spackles their muzzles. They eat in a frenzy, fighting over various different organs they yank from the body. It’s fascinating to watch the hierarchy of the pack in effect: the largest gray wolf is clearly the alpha. A smaller, black wolf must be his second, because he gets to remain at the body, eating, while others dart in and out like fish, grabbing a mouthful here and there where they can. If either the gray or the black wolf bares his teeth, snapping, the others hunker down, golden eyes on the floor, backing away.
“It’s a miracle, no?” Fernando asks, folding his arms across his chest.
“Something like that,” I reply.
The huge gray wolf tips his head back and howls so loudly, the sound echoes off the surrounding mountainside. His pack stops eating and interweaves their own cries and howls in with his, creating a beautiful yet terrifying chorus of ecstasy that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
They eat until there’s nothing left but bones.
