Wolves at the Doors by Jeremy Schneider

 

      She slams the door, locking the knob and the dead bolt. She gulps a frightened breath into her lungs, strangling the scream that’s half way up her throat. Oh, my God, that was Charlie! I have to do something! She pushes herself off the door and heads for the phone. She makes it to the phone without collapsing and dials 911. She says into the phone, “Please. You have to help me. My name is Audrey Dearborn, I live on Poplar drive in Hidden Forest Estates. There are wolves outside on the street. I know it sounds crazy but they killed Charlie and I think they might have killed Lou too.”
      The line goes dead. She listens for a signal. She says timidly into the phone, “Hello?” A snarl answers her. She slams the phone onto the cradle. “No. No. No.” She runs over to the door again and checks the locks. She peeks through the drapes on the front door and sees that the wolves are still out there feasting on Charlie the paperboy.
      The wolves surround him, she can make out one of his black Adidas sneakers hanging limply over the back wheel of the bike; bouncing up and down in time with the mastication.
      His paper-bag is still slung over one arm. Some of the papers are scattered on the street where the wolves took him down. The front wheel of his ten speed spins idly in the soft summer breeze. The street is silent, save for the sound of rending flesh and the hungry snarling of the pack of wolves.
She scans the street. From her vantage point she can see directly across the street into the Lewis’s yard. Their garage door is open, but there is no car inside. The Stapleton house to the right looks dead. The front door of the Katz’s house is wide open but there doesn’t seem to be any movement inside. Where is everyone?
      A wolf trots out of the open front door with a tiny right arm clenched in its jaws. It lays the arm down on the lawn and begins to feed. “Oh God, Connie,” she whispers. (The youngest of the Katz Kids.) She feels her breakfast in her throat and bravely fights it back down. The sounds of splintering wood and breaking glass come from the kitchen. “Shit!”
      She spins away from the front door, races down the hallway and stumbles into the kitchen, breaking the heel on her left shoe. The snarling and spitting muzzle of a wolf biting at thin air pokes through a broken window pane on the back door. Blood drips from its wounded gray snout. The wolf’s claws scratch frantically at the door. Tiny slivers of wood fall onto the linoleum.
      She takes her broken shoe off and tosses it at the door. She screams, “Get out of here, bastard!” The wolf withdraws its muzzle from the window.
      The wolf’s claws click-clack on the stone patio in the backyard. The clicking stops. The only sound she hears is the rhythmic beating of her heart in her ears. The click-clacking begins again, faster than before. The wolf rams head first into the back door, rattling the hinges and breaking another pane in the window.
      She pulls a chair from beneath the kitchen table and braces the door knob. The wolf stands on its hind legs and looks in through the cracked window at her. Its eyes like blue diamond tips.
      She backs up hurriedly and knocks into the refrigerator. The wolf presses its snout against a window pane and snarls. Its hot breath steams the glass; its teeth scratch at the window. She hears the clicking of many more sets of claws coming down the walkway.
      Another wolf smashes into the window above the kitchen table. The glass splinters and gives way. The wolf pushes its way through the window, landing on the table and knocking the vase of daffodils to the floor. She tosses her other shoe at the wolf and retreats into the hallway.
      The wolf’s claws come down on the white linoleum in a jumble of purple pottery, brown earth and yellow daffodils. Hackles raised, teeth protruding from its snarling muzzle, it walks slowly over to her framed in the doorway.
      She stands rooted to her spot in the door way, her right hand gripping the swinging door. The wolf crouches down on its haunches, its razor sharp claws click on the linoleum; every muscle in its body is primed and ready for attack. The wolf pounces, foam flies from its muzzle; a snarl follows.
      She screams. She swings the kitchen door closed just as the wolf reaches her. It smashes into the door and yelps. She turns and runs down the hallway and into the foyer just in time to see the front door give way as three more wolves push their way in.
      She bounds up the stairs and the wolves follow. With each foot fall, with each step gained, she can feel that they are on the verge of overtaking her. Their snarling and barking vibrate through her body, chilling her spine and evacuating her mind of any rational thought.
      She reaches the landing a split-second before the wolves do, but in her stocking feet she slips on the hardwood floor, her arms flap out in front of her and she grabs the banister to steady herself. The wolves, coming up right behind her, don’t fare much better as they reach the landing. The wolf in the lead slips and the other two behind it collide with each other and carom into the wall.
      She pushes off the banister and stumbles down the hallway to the only safe place she can think of: the bathroom. She glances over her shoulder and sees that one of the wolves is up and racing down the hall toward her.
      As she reaches the bathroom door she feels teeth sink into her left arm, just below the elbow. She screams. The impact knocks her on her stomach half way into the bathroom. The wolf’s forepaws dig at the flesh on her side. She continues screaming.
The wolf has her left arm between its jaws, wrenching it back and forth. With her right arm she grabs the door jam and pulls herself farther into the bathroom. The wolf matches her effort as it attempts to keep her trapped in the hall.
      She manages to twist around on her back. Kicking out with her left leg she connects with the wolf’s genitals. The wolf releases her arm as it staggers backward, yelping in agony. She pushes herself the rest of the way into the bathroom. She slams the door with her foot, reaches up, turns the lock on the knob and collapses on the floor.
      The air in the bathroom is still steamy from her shower. The vanity mirror and the window are still fogged. The shower door is still beaded with droplets of water.
The wolves are clawing at the door again. One of the wolves is howling, in pain or in anger, she does not know which. She looks around the bathroom for something to brace the door with. There is nothing. She grabs the tin garbage pail and tosses it at the door. Wadded up tissue, toilet paper and several empty pill bottles scatter when the can hits the door.
      She scrambles to her feet and opens the tiny window. It is too small to allow her to get out onto the roof and besides, in the backyard she sees dozens of wolves milling around.
      She looks past her fence and into the Mathews’ backyard. Their patio table is tipped on its side; two broken plates with the remains of breakfast, two coffee cups and two glasses lay shattered on the patio bricks. The water in the pool, which usually is a striking blue, is now a soupy red color. Pool toys litter the ground and one floats lazily in the crimson water.
More often than not, on a summer day like this, the sounds of the Mathews’ children playing can be heard through any of her open windows. But now all she hears is the soft breeze soughing through the trees and the tinkle of the wind chimes that hang from a tree in her backyard.
      She scans the horizon: nothing but houses upon houses and not a sign of any other human presence. Beyond the houses, the gate surrounding the perimeter of Hidden Forest Estates looms like an ever-present metallic sentry. “This isn’t supposed to happen in a place like this. I’m supposed to be safe here.”
She turns away from the window and looks at the door. There’s no way out, just open the door and let them come. Sure, it’ll hurt at first, but after awhile you won’t feel a thing. “Go away!” she screams.
      She hops into the shower and slides the door closed. She sits in the tub and pulls her legs up to her chest. The rattling, and clawing at the door continues. The blood from her left arm runs in rivulets down her white silk blouse. “Oh God. Oh God,” she whispers over and over again.
      The sound of the door giving way is like a rifle crack inside the tiny bathroom. It ricochets off the walls and returns to her ears with enough force to make her wince and clamp her hands over her ears. The wolves push there way in. The sound of the wolves is slightly muffled by her hands, but she can feel there barking and snarling in the enclosed space. The wolves can smell her blood, or her fear, because immediately after entering the bathroom they are clawing at the shower door.
      She is trapped in the shower with no way out. She knows this and slumps down farther into the tub. Hands still held over her ears she closes her eyes. There is another loud report and little shards of glass rain down upon her. She screams.
She is still screaming as they take her away.

 

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