I love looking for names, but pick ones as quickly as possible. Researching is fun and I get distracted. Also, I’m pretty geeky, like researching, and get distracted easily. But I guess how to apply which naming method to which story and the process speeds me up a little or shows new ways to find names. Being dyslexic, I have a lot of trouble with names and languages, but, unfortunately, enjoy working with them.

Every so often, I find a name that looks nice as a sequence of letters, then spend a long time learning to pronounce it. Or I try to write down a name that sounds nice in my head and can’t.

Some names fit characters well immediately. The characters need a name, but I don’t always have an opinion about whether or not the names fit. Theoretically, I might not develop the character enough or he might not show up enough to determine the suitability. On the other hand, the reader might have his own opinion about what name would suit a character in the situation. Some names probably grate against a reader who knows more about the character's situation than me.

Though I can overthink names, sometimes persnicketiness matters. And I can’t predict when to be picky. I think more about whether the names generally coordinate with the story. Most people don’t choose their own names, so I think about demographics, family customs, and naming conventions. When I’m familiar with a naming system, picking out names speeds up, so sometimes I spend a while developing the system. Reading about naming conventions in general helps me conlang names and it’s interesting. Symbolism and meaning matters to some characters’ backgrounds. A character’s name might sound better with her born surname better than her married name. A character might be opinionated in the story about which name to use when and why, though that can be shown instead of told.

In most stories written over the past year, I use lists of the most common names for a specific time or place, like from the Social Security website or genealogy sites. Plenty of baby-naming sites list the name’s popularity, usually into the 1800s. Finding a name’s popularity earlier is difficult. Most names in Wolftown came from the Social Security first name lists and a list of Wisconsin surnames, and I spend minimal time choosing them and really only pay attention to the balance of Germanic names and non-Germanic names.

Quite a few sites list thousands of names, even from archaeological finds. Linguists don’t necessarily know how to pronounce the names, so I fill in missing sounds from Anglicized words. English probably corrupted the pronunciation and I made it worse, but the words are writeable and readable in English. When naming characters from unfamiliar times, places, or social groups, I compare multiple name lists carefully. I might be looking at the wrong thing, the names might vary significantly depending on social or historical factors I don’t know, the compilers could have miscategorized them, and the lists may have other problems I can’t recognize.

Also, I have a list of interesting names, which I tend to save for characters predicted to be important. Reading name lists, and paying attention to credits and acknowledgments probably feeds the names into my brain.

I change names while writing (even in the same paragraph) and double-check the consistency while editing. I know the characters’ identities, and since nobody reads the early drafts, confusion about little details matters much less than the storytelling. Also, multiple characters might be combined into one, and it’s possible to waste time thinking about their names and other details. (Sometimes, figuring out details helps me combine characters. I guess which while writing.)

If stopping to name interferes with a writing flow, I’ll call the character, “the [noun]”, with the noun being the role, the relationship to a character, or another distinguishing word. Some never need a name or they are better known by the description.

Changing or finishing a name might be at the last minute, thanks to search-and-replace. Sometimes I have trouble keeping track of the names; I accidentally gave a Wolftown character two different names and had to correct it after publishing. I'm guessing that making a list of characters and aliases would prevent it.

For a minor character, a member of a large cast, or another if the name seems unimportant, I basically scribble a name tag and slap it on him. Occasionally the character becomes important and has to put up with a random name that stuck. If the character is important enough or I’m unfamiliar with his background, I spend more time on naming. If the names seem too familiar, I google them, and if the name is too distinctive and somebody already has it, I change it.

When trying not to interrupt a writing flow, I just stop for a few seconds and the name pops into my head. Then I try out a few ones, like filling in a crossword puzzle, sometimes by looking for similar names. I might have a name list open, or spending a couple minutes looking at one gives my brain a break while being productive.

Writing the character without permanently naming him can give me enough information to find his name. I might think of the name or know which keywords to use. Also, figuring out the name occasionally leads me to useful details or somebody else’s name. Sometimes I need to spend time focusing on the character’s name. I try to search for names outside composing time, but sometimes I have to figure out the name. An unnamed character might be hard to write, maybe because finding a name digs up details about the character or story.

While looking for names, sometimes I list choices, which identify similarities and differences between names, the language, and the story, like finding a flavor or a clash. I try to limit the choices to two or three, but some characters have several options.

To conlang, I combine syllables or sounds randomly with each other, leaving off endings and the like until I have time to figure them out. I change existing names slightly if the language relies heavily on an existing language. For example, Elissa became Alisha. Unaltered names might fit, but for a current work-in-progress, I’ve been checking the names’ origins and replacing names when the characters wouldn’t be involved with the origin cultures. Breaking real words into prefixes, stems, and suffixes, and recombining them works well for me. The meaning might matter or they just need to sound good together. I had this idea because, as a Latin and Greek teacher, my dad could predict the effects of J. K. Rowling’s spells and her character’s identities.

Aliens are a nightmare to conlang and it’s because I assume alien vocal tracts and human vocal tracts are very different. So far, I’ve experimented with giving aliens Human names, approximating the aliens’ sounds to the human vocal cords, and translating alien words into a human language, although the translated thing might just vaguely look alike on Earth and the alien’s planet. “Coral” on Earth is an animal, but a planet’s “coral” might legitimately be a rock; I’m not sure. If aliens use robotic translators, I still have to write the sounds down somehow.

One story has particularly finicky names. The main character’s name is Charles Morgan; the antagonists make sure they have the right Charles Morgan. The antagonists and probably other people triple-check that they have the right Charles Morgan. The time travelers regularly alter their names to suit different historical periods or to keep their identities separate. The royalty tend to have long names and pick them carefully, based on tradition. I spent months calling one character her nickname, Classics, before figuring out her real name, Persephone, chosen because of her family’s interest in mythology. But only Charles may call her Classics; he invented it from a button on her bag. Other characters in the same work rely on codenames, and if they decide to use usernames, at least Charles has a strong urge to yell at them. An important character picked out the codename Macmillan. He wanted to be called Macmorris from Henry V, but I thought Macmorris’ name was Macmillan. By the time I noticed, Macmillan stuck—Macmorris was wrong. Macmillan and Persephone argue about which name Shakespeare used, everybody calls him Macmillan, and I’m not convinced anybody bothered looking up the answer. (Persephone argued for MacMorris.) Calling Mr. Tambling-Goggin anything else feels wrong, though characters use other names. He needed a British-sounding slightly odd name, which probably came from a list of rare British names. I can’t exactly remember its origin, but when it showed up, it was perfect. (This paragraph sounds like the elements should not go together, but they do, at least to me.)

To enter Holy Trinity’s gymnasium, Officer Billy Schuster balanced on one foot, put on his sock and boot, stepped across the sandbags, and repeated the process for the other foot. The whole time, he clenched an evidence bag under his chin.

Schuster trudged from table to table, distributing papers from an evidence bag. Occasionally, he handed a clipboard to a member of the wolf response, who wrote on it. To Wayne, he said, “If you recognize the individual, please sign your name, the date, and time.”

He or Lang wrote on the evidence bag: NOT FOR EVIDENCE.

Wayne glanced at the photograph for three seconds. “Dennis Laufenberg. I was right about the toupee! He is the Chief of Police, John.”

“Dennis Laufenberg is the Chief of Police, but we haven’t made a positive identification of the individual in the photo yet. I’m not going to get tunnel vision. You can try identifying the individual if you want,” Schuster said to John. “No one in the police station told Lang and me to investigate him or tell you about him.”

“Sure,” John said, and Wayne passed it to him.

The black and white security camera barely captured the bald man’s profile. Wayne recognized the long nose and jaw formed by a flabby neck which would be a double chin if his chin was non-receding.

“Now I think about it, Peter’s description matches Dennis Laufenberg and the naked man. A lot of men look like them, though.”

Schuster whipped out a pen and damp notebook. “What makes you say that?” He wrote down Wayne’s description.

Afterward, Wayne said, “Because the phones went out, Rebecca probably can’t fax the list of times he communicated with Happy Howlers.”

“Take your time. I have other, unofficial questions. Mr. Dalton, I don’t know if you want to hear them, but Lang and I don’t mind if you do.”

“Wayne was telling me about the wolf response, but I can get other work done,” John said.

“Danny says I need to sleep, eat, and shower first, and take a break away from the police station, so I’ll come back,” Schuster said.

“You won’t be able to shower,” Wayne said.

“I found that out walking barefoot down the hall.” Schuster looked like he remembered to put a colander in the sink after dumping out the spaghetti.

“Oh no,” John said, making a face, and Wayne said, "Eww!"

“The police can’t go out in the weather, and I was thinking you would have time to answer the questions,” Schuster said.

“Whenever. We’ll be stuck here until sometime tomorrow,” Wayne said.

“Mr. Dalton, a lot of part-time officers become full-time officers during the tourist season. March 10 was the first time we’ve switched every part-time officer to full-time at any time of year. It was the only way we could try stopping the wolf. Other people would tell you, but I didn’t think you would know to ask,” Schuster said.

“I’ll write it down,” John said.

Schuster left and Wayne continued telling John about the events of March 10.

Nobody reported seeing or hearing the wolves overnight; Wayne and the other response leaders thought the wolves returned to the woods. He thought the wolf response chose the completely wrong location to find the wolves.

Rebecca printed warning posters of the wolves, including their pictures, and Nancy distributed them for miles around.

Wayne thought one Happy Howlers employee should remain in town, just in case the wolves returned. He assigned Suzanne Giese to Wolftown because she preferred observing nature without leaving modern conveniences.

John needed authorization from the sheriff’s office to know much about Sergio Vasquez. Wayne limited what he told John, but he brought news reports Wayne’s wife, Nancy, collected.

Since Sergio died outside Wolftown’s city limits, the county sheriff’s office investigated his death. The sheriff’s office asked the public to identify Peter, who met Miranda and Sergio before the wolf attack. The police and search-and-rescue hurried to find the Vasquez’s campsite and Sergio’s body before the flood.

Derrick Charles led the first search-and-rescue team to look for Sergio, believed to be within staggering distance of Miranda.

At approximately 4:00 PM, a wolf charged a local mailman, Troy Vandenheuvel. The thrown doggy treat box missed, but the wolf veered off at the last minute. Troy rang the closest house’s doorbell and smacked the door, but nobody answered. He ran out of sight.

Brittney Ness and her eighteen-month-old son Evan watched the mail route daily. Next door, Brittney hustled Evan into his bedroom, where he threw a tantrum. She called the police.

Troy rang the bell of every house en route to his mail truck. The wolf leaped onto a porch and ripped the mailbag open. He galloped between the houses. Troy huddled inside his truck and waited for somebody to find him.

Police Sergeant Babcock reassured Troy that throwing a doggy treat box at a charging wolf was self-defense and a diversion, rather than feeding the wolf. Wayne thought Troy survived an exploratory attack.

Norman James tethered his wolfjäger, Max, outdoors. A wolf and Max bit each other, but Norman had no idea who began the fight. Norman expected them to gore each other to death; instead, the wolf galloped out of sight. Dr. Richardson predicted a full recovery from Max’s two bite wounds.

A six-year-old boy, Ryan Nolan, reported that a canine killed his pet rabbit. The tractor protected Benjamin Bunny well from other predators. Ryan’s parents worked all day and Ryan attended school and daycare. Due to the wolf situation, the Nolans positioned the rabbit tractor far enough into the grass for nibbling and not far enough for a tunnel, with the rest on the concrete patio. Benjamin temporarily took his morning and afternoon hops in the family room. The culprit somehow forced the tractor farther onto the grass, dug into it, and ate Benjamin—his guts, fur, and blood mixed with the grass, cedar chips, droppings, and leftovers.

Suzanne identified the wolf prints, one bloody, and collected a blood sample and two long, canine hairs. She photographed the skid marks, broken rabbit nails, and carnage. She measured the caved-in tunnel, which she and Wayne thought was the wrong shape for a canine to crawl fully through. Once inside the tractor, it would struggle to turn around or back out through the tunnel. A rabbit probably could fit through the tunnel but would refuse to enter one smelling like a predator. Suzanne and Wayne thought Benjamin would crouch as far from the opening as possible, and they wondered why he was not in the den.

“Is the den the wooden square hutch thing?” John asked.

“Right,” Wayne said. “I don’t know how the wolf would have gotten him out of the den. The best explanations are a wolf attack or a psycho killing a little kid’s pet and blaming it on a wolf. So, I’m calling it a wolf attack.”

Happy Howlers learned about the wolf attacks when the media called the office and Wayne’s house. Rebecca contacted Wayne through the walkie-talkies, and he gave her a message for the media: “Happy Howlers is cooperating with the police.”

John squinted at Wayne.

“The police hadn’t involved us, so we weren’t going to get in the way.”

The wolf hunt intended to go home at 7:00, but the attacks prompted a few members to turn around early or quit. Others, like Derrick Charles, his search-and-rescue team, and Wayne, stayed longer. Wayne hoped to catch the wolves approaching the woods, but Nancy argued with him over the walkie-talkie. She said that Derrick needed to search the area for Sergio, but Wayne would have another opportunity to catch the wolves.

The authorities figured out that Miranda wandered miles from her and Sergio’s campsite. From the moment he heard it, Derrick doubted they would find it and Sergio before the flood. He expected the flood to obliterate the site.

Suzanne agreed to work late; otherwise, Wayne would have patrolled Wolftown at night. Now Wayne wished he had followed the original plan.

The wolf attack on Suzanne lasted less than two minutes, and it was one of the few indications that the wolves hunted as a pack or counted humans as prey. To save batteries and film, Suzanne had turned off the tape recorder and camcorder, so the accounts came from Adam, Jane Matthews, a waitress, and Karl Henry, a corporal in the Wolftown Police Department.

Around 9:30 PM, Suzanne ate supper at the Old Wolftown Restaurant and waited for her husband to pick her up. She stood by the door, stiff from sitting in the van all day. Her husband drove as close to the door as possible. Carrying the tranquilizer gun, Suzanne looked around for the wolf and dashed out.

Abel pounced from the dumpsters, biting the back of her thigh, and Suzanne’s blood spurted. She collapsed and fumbled for the tranquilizer gun.

A second wolf circled the car, and Barker or Charlie howled; Wayne could not determine the howling wolf’s location. Adam accidentally bashed the second wolf by opening his car door.

Suzanne rolled onto her back. While Suzanne began going in and out of consciousness, Adam scrambled for the tranquilizer gun. Abel straddled Suzanne, his snout inside her abdomen, and pawed her.

As soon as Adam aimed at Abel, he galloped down the street. At some point, the second wolf left. The wolves howled nearby.

During the attack, Jane Matthews, called 911, and asked for Officer Matthews to respond. She hollered instructions to Adam, but he paid little attention to her. Jane avoided looking at Suzanne.

Jane threw towels to Adam, who said that Suzanne’s blood spurted.

Karl estimated he was halfway to the Old Wolftown Restaurant before Jane dialed the second 1in 911. He sped in his own car because a police car was not available for various reasons, such as the kind of duties he performed and the Wolftown Police Department’s size. He admitted to driving faster than he would if transporting his dying children through Wolftown’s normal traffic. Daily, it hardly amounted to traffic, and the wolves scared people into staying home after dark. Nobody wrote Karl a ticket or gave him a warning about speeding.

Seconds later, Karl squealed to a stop in the parking lot, looked around quickly for the wolf, and knelt by Suzanne. He checked Suzanne’s airway, breathing, and respiration, and tightened a tourniquet around her leg. Saying, “Hold pressure on there,” Karl pressed Adam’s hand against her femoral artery.

Karl rummaged among Suzanne’s internal organs, and blood poured around his hands and her guts. Intestinal fragments slipped out. When Adam attempted to push the bulging intestines into her abdomen, Karl snapped, “Stop! You’re making it worse! Hold pressure on the towels!”

Just as Karl pinched a vessel Abel bit through, Suzanne lost consciousness for too long. He had been counting her quiet moments in his head, like the time between thunder rolls.

Suzanne’s internal bleeding slowed, but she was unconscious until on the air ambulance. The rain soaked her bandages.

Officers Matthews and Jones arrived. Officer Matthews checked on his cousin. After Officer Jones vomited, Karl told him and Adam to wait in the restaurant and send Officer Matthews to assist him. The officers forced Adam to release the pressure on Suzanne’s femoral artery, but Officer Matthews replaced him.

The dispatcher already sent Wolftown’s single ambulance somewhere else, so dispatched the fireman EMT, Chad Gates. He administered an IV and oxygen.

Gingerly, the policemen and Chad transferred Suzanne to a stretcher and carried her into the Old Wolftown Restaurant. The jostling nearly made Karl nearly lose his hold on the vessel.

Although dispatch called an air ambulance, Karl told Officer Jones to bring Dr. Groves.

Chad cut off Suzanne’s dripping clothes, covered her with a blanket, and looked for other injuries. Jane bundled everything into a trash bag for Adam.

During the next part, John steadily went queasy and made disgusted sounds.

Karl told Wayne one observation which they thought Adam should hear from a doctor and only if the doctor thought it mattered. As a Navy corpsman with two tours in Vietnam, Karl learned what perforated guts felt like. He assumed that animal bites felt distinct from gunshot wounds or blast injuries. Jane’s guts felt like the wolf bit and tore them, but, instead of eating them, left them in the abdominal cavity. The damage was too extensive for the fragments on the asphalt to be anomalies. Due to Karl’s discomfort, Wayne decided against asking for more details, to John’s relief.

Wayne said, “Abel could have been feeding. People survive animals eating their muscles, but I don’t know about internal anatomy.”

“Maybe she will recover. It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” John said.

John did not write down the internal chewing conversation.

Karl stopped pressing on Suzanne’s femoral artery, concerned about damaging her leg. Adam asked if he was still applying pressure, and Karl lied to him.

When Dr. Groves arrived, he gave Suzanne ketamine. He delicately found the blood vessel that Karl pinched. He clamped it. Karl worried about the vessel tearing, but the clamp held. Dr. Groves and Karl tended to her for five more minutes, and then, finally, the air ambulance landed.

Officer Jones called Happy Howlers and Wayne’s house, but the wolf response already contacted Wayne. Nancy asked Officer Jones to stay with the children until she reached them. The Gieses’ family lived hours away and Nancy worried about finding a neighbor or friend.

“And she worried that I’d be mauled to death, but she told me to keep looking for the wolf,” Wayne said.

“The wolves are dangerous,” John said. “I personally think they shouldn’t be killed, but they should be stopped.”

“We have a good pen for them.”

“It’s better than killing them.”

Wayne hiked and drove to the Old Wolftown Restaurant and investigated.

Not even Karl told Wayne what alerted him. Wayne thought the murder investigations pointed Karl to the Old Wolftown Restaurant. Either the police considered Karl the best officer for an important part of a murder investigation or Karl responded himself without authorization. Because Karl drove alone and without a tranquilizer gun or radio, Wayne leaned towards the latter.

When Wayne left the restaurant, the police asked Wayne to look at two murder scenes. Wayne knew about the first murder, but the public learned of the second in mid-morning on March 10. He told John the bare minimum.

There was plenty of evidence that a person with a large dog or a wolf was in the first house approximately when the murder occurred. The second house had less evidence. In both houses, the police found wolf prints and hairs. Wayne verified that a wolf left the prints and that a canine shed the hairs. Exhausted, he thought anything else he told the police would be unreliable.

The police asked if it was theoretically possible for a person to make a wolf kill people. Rather than knowing what actually happened, they wanted to know if something could happen. Because Wayne owned books describing wolf training attempts, he said that training wolves was unreliable and impractical.

As far as Wayne knew, it was the first time anybody suggested the wolf murder weapon hypothesis. Later, the wolf pack hypothesis developed from explaining why the wolves appeared alone. Wayne constantly emphasized that he needed time, rest, and data to consider the ideas thoroughly, and that the police should not base their investigation on his immediate opinion. He disliked the hypotheses. Wayne argued the ideas to test them, not to defend them—John understood that, unlike many people. Wayne wanted the authorities to ignore his dumb ideas.

The next part will be posted on Friday, September 20, 2024.

Wayne continued telling John about the wolves prowling Wolftown and the woods.

On the night of March 8 and 9, Miranda Vasquez perched in a sugar maple tree deep in the woods around Wolftown. The wolf left without eating Sergio’s corpse.

Across Wolftown, civilians and police glimpsed wolves and heard their howling. Chief of Police Dennis Laufenberg himself fired at the wolf, but the wolf escaped.

At approximately 5:00 in the morning, sanitation workers delayed their route because a wolf rummaged through 8 Oak Street’s garbage cans. The sanitation workers waited in the truck until the wolf moseyed away. Ordinary garbage could tear the bags worse than the wolf’s claws had.

After sunrise, Miranda hobbled through the woods. When she noticed wolf signs, she altered her course, fearing another attack. But she struggled along in her chosen direction.

Dr. Groves prepared his clinic for wolf bites.

Officers Allen Klug, Larry Jones, and Melvin Matthews guarded the school bus stop and the Holy Trinity Lutheran Church and School crossing and parking lot. Chief Laufenberg ordered officers to carry standard weapons and tranquilizer guns. The police darts contained ketamine combined with other sedatives. The Wolftown Police Department held optional tranquilizing gun training, and the untrained officers adapted.

Chief Laufenberg authorized shooting if the wolves attacked people, defined by biting or clawing. Wayne advised Chief Laufenberg that wolves attacked with teeth rather than claws. Therefore, since Chief Laufenberg wanted to include clawing, it could be grouped into threatening behavior, like veering off at the last second. He said to John, “When the wolves don’t hurt anyone, Chief Laufenberg and Mayor Dwyer call the attacks a ‘wolf encounter’ or a ‘wolf incident.’ When they have to, they say crap like, ‘The potential for an attack at that time was prevented by…whatever.’”

Throughout the wolf response, Wayne told Chief Laufenberg and Mayor Dwyer that they drew the wrong conclusions from the data and presented their conclusions as facts, which would confuse people. He warned Chief Laufenberg and Mayor Dwyer that when people noticed discrepancies between the authorities’ statements to scientific sources, he would not support the authorities’ statements. He decided against openly contradicting them until the wolf situation was resolved.

“Really?” John knew Wayne was opinionated.

“I’m right, and I like being right, but I don’t need to be right about everything all the time.” Wayne also told Happy Howlers employees to disregard misguided conclusions and instructions. He trusted them to respond to the wolf’s behavior.

“A lot of people knew the police are corrupt and the city government screws up sometimes. I didn’t want to make Wolftown’s problems worse. The more the wolf attacked people, the more Mayor Dwyer listened. When Chief Laufenberg stopped being as involved, the authorities’ responses improved. We agree about things more now. Still, I don’t contradict the police in public, to the media, or to people not involved with the operation. I don’t tell people my opinions, but I’ll give them the raw data. I told my employees to do the same things, but you and me are the exception.”

“Could you tell me why?”

“You wouldn’t get accurate information. Chief Laufenberg and Mayor Dwyer were very concerned about vigilantes, and they didn’t want to call up the Wolf Guard.”

“The patrollers I saw?”

“Right. If I contradicted the authorities too much, people could have looked for the wolves. I don’t think that is a good idea because an emergency response needs a structure and resources. Normal, scared people can’t get them easily.”

To capture the wolf, Happy Howlers brought slow-acting tranquilizers but relied on the same kind of darts police used. Happy Howlers routinely carried drugs to counteract the sedatives; each employee assigned to the school routes prepared a dose. Wayne dreaded overdosing the wolf. One dart sedated the wolf in several minutes, but people might expect the ketamine to work in seconds and so tranquilize the wolf again. The plans prevented multiple people from firing one dart each. Also, a drowsy, loopy, aggressive wolf could provoke a shooting.

Happy Howlers employees and Wayne carried new camcorders and tape recorders. They recorded the entire time. The employees hung the camcorders around their necks, letting them switch to tranquilizer guns without destroying the camcorders.

A few children wanted to skip school; some parents forced them to school because, among other reasons, the authorities mitigated the risks. Other parents kept their children home and indoors. Parents drove their children to Holy Trinity and congested the streets surrounding the school bus stop. Wayne’s grandchildren hesitated to attend school, but he told them to listen to their parents.

Members of the Wolf Guard or people who remembered armed themselves. So did the hunting and gun-owning parents, relations, and friends—at least two hunters carried bows.

“If I saw a wolf attacking my kid, I might attack it, too,” John said.

“My grandkids and their friends were going to be there. They were scared, so I told them we were ready to stop the wolf,” Wayne said. “I was worried about crossfire or confusion, and the police asked people to disarm. I bet a few people had concealed carry permits.”

Beginning at the Wolftown sign, a wolf stalked the bus. The bus driver, Lori Ritter, notified her supervisor, who called Wolftown police. Sometimes the wolf galloped alongside or behind, or people chased it away. The driver and children saw one wolf at a time, but their descriptions varied.

Wayne and John knew wolves were endurance predators, but the school bus should have outstripped them. They had absolutely no idea why a wolf would consider a school bus a prey animal. Hunting walking schoolchildren made perfect sense.

Officer Klug waved for Lori to open the school bus door; Wayne and Suzanne waited on either side of the bus. Abel charged Officer Klug, whose tranquilizing gun jammed. He yelled, “Wolf, wolf, wolf! Tranquilizer—Jammed!”

Wayne and Suzanne sent people back to their cars. At the same time, Lori closed the school bus door and Officer Klug hit Abel’s head with the tranquilizing gun and, following him, pepper-sprayed the wolf. The pepper spray blew onto Officer Klug and people, too, but mainly sprayed Abel’s back. Abel bolted.

Suzanne could have tranquilized the wolf, but he moved too quickly near too many people to risk it, and she thought she heard Officer Klug say, “Tranquilizer.”

Before she finished asking for clarification, Officer Klug unjammed his gun and the dart hit Abel. He yelled, “Tranquilizer, tranquilizer, tranquilizer!”

Wayne and Suzanne chased Abel between the houses. Abel ran at over twenty miles per hour and turned corners, losing Wayne and Suzanne. They hoped to follow the tracks, except they jumbled with the other prints. Officer Klug told them to return to the bus stop unless they could intercept the wolf.

Suzanne picked up the dart. It probably had dangled from Abel’s skin, then the running jolted it free. They gave it to Officer Klug.

“Will the pepper spray damage his eyes?” Officer Klug asked.

“I’m pretty sure it won’t blind him permanently,” Wayne said. “But if he’s scared and in pain, he could be more aggressive. I don’t know for sure because people don’t pepper-spray wolves.”

Officers Jones and Matthews would also yell, “Wolf, wolf, wolf” when they saw him and “tranquilizer, tranquilizer, tranquilizer” if they tranquilized him. Shooting would follow the police department’s training for dog or other animal attacks.

At Holy Trinity’s crossing, Officer Jones sat on the police car’s roof.

Officer Matthews stood in the middle of Holy Trinity’s parking lot. Less than a minute after the last student entered the school, Abel pounced on Officer Matthews. Calvin Kowalski saw Abel nip at Officer Matthews’ back thigh, and Officer Matthews heard the snap. He dodged and landed on his side as Calvin tranquilized Abel.

The wolf galloped past Officer Klug, who lacked a clear line of fire. Somebody else missed shooting Abel and anything important. The crowd objected to firing and missing and wondered why Officer Matthews held his fire. He refused to acknowledge their questions, let alone explain to civilians. Also, Wayne suspected who fired, but the police would not release the name.

Somehow, Abel escaped.

John said, “I listened to the radio on the drive here, and the reporter said that the wolf attacks began yesterday. Wasn’t Abel attacking the police officers?”

“I think the wolves could have been engaging in exploratory attacks.” Wayne sighed. “Abel only attacked police, and the police don’t always tell people what happened to officers. The police gave the media the information. Most people didn’t have a good view, so it could look like a charge. Abel was really fast. A reporter would have trouble figuring it out.”

All day, Wayne led Happy Howlers: gathering physical data, responding to wolf sightings, and tracking the wolves.

Nancy, Wayne’s wife, collected personal accounts and ran errands, such as having camera film developed or making copies of people’s camcorder footage.

The secretary, Rebecca, provided authorities with as much information as they wanted, while unable to acquire information from them. She joked about requesting records under The Freedom of Information Act, but Wayne said to wait a few months.

“And Schuster and Foster called the office,” Wayne said. “They told Rebecca to only give copies to the police. They said we needed to keep the originals and recommended keeping copies.”

“Why?” John jumped off the assumption that Wolftown police mishandled evidence.

“Rebecca gave the police copies because they might keep the tapes. Making back-ups is a good idea. Foster said, ‘Keep the copies somewhere secure,’ and Schuster said, ‘Off the premises.’ They asked me to contact them if I saw misconduct. I haven’t needed to.”

Calvin noticed police officers at 3 Elm Street, but he continued working as planned, staying out of the way. Officer Lang told him to stop and forbid documenting the wolf sightings on the block. Later in the day, Wayne requested permission, but the Wolftown Police Department said it may interfere with an ongoing investigation.

Two miles apart, between 1:06 and 1:09 PM, Glenn Malone and Calvin both saw a wolf. Neither wolf ran swiftly enough to be the same wolf, and they ran in different directions. Glenn’s wolf sprinted away when he tranquilized it. Although he chased it, the wolf outran him. He searched long after the ketamine would have worn off.

At about 3:30, oddly, Suzanne discovered a wolf strap tangled in a boxwood.

“Do you know what a wolf strap is?” Wayne asked, showing John a picture.

“Yeah, I saw that one in the police station. They have a wet one, too,” John said.

Something other than the unexpectedness seemed weird to Suzanne, but even days later, she could not explain what. Though she did not believe in böxenwolves, she supposed local people owned wolf straps. Wayne told her to document the site, and, if she considered the wolf strap suspicious, turn it over to the police.

The officer on duty handed the wolf strap back, saying, “We aren’t taking werewolves into consideration, ma’am.”

Officer Lang said, “I’ll handle it,” and stored it in an evidence bag. He also questioned Suzanne.

People found wolf prints, mostly from Barker and Charlie, in gardens, half-brown grass, and trampled crocuses, and on pavements. A forsythia snagged wolf fur. By the end of the day, Wayne noticed a lack of verifiable wolf feces, and nobody reported wolves urinating or marking territory.

On various streets, a wolf scared people into their houses, businesses, and cars. One police car patrolled for wolves, while other officers performed their normal duties and investigated Wolftown’s police corruption and murder.

Wolves chased squirrels and birds, and people barely let their dogs outside.

Ralph Turner and his neighbors noticed fewer cats on the block in the days after the wolves’ arrival, but a normal amount of yowling. He thought little of the bloody grass.

While Happy Howlers and the police guarded the school bus’s drop-off route, the wolves roamed everywhere except the children’s routes. Wayne suspected Abel abandoned town after the pepper-spraying.

Meteorologists predicted storms and flooding in the next several days, which Wayne predicted would deter the wolves. The woods provided comfortable high grounds compared to Wolftown’s higher areas.

Wayne and Glenn tracked two routes, the first about one mile deep into the woods. In the twilight, they lost the second trail, found it again, and went home before they lost it and themselves. The decision relieved their wives; in retrospect, Wayne hated it. Quitting the wolf search for the night ranked in his top three worst decisions.

Mayor Dwyer contacted Wilderness Search-and-Rescue, a non-profit organization. Lacking evidence of unusual wolf activities elsewhere, Mayor Dwyer thought the situation did not require assistance from the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, Wisconsin Emergency Management, the local fish and game association, and other private organizations.

Although the Wolftown Police Department searched for people missing in the woods, like the beaver trapper, the police could not spare any officers. The police department placed Billy Schuster and Zachary Foster on unpaid leave while investigating their allegations of corrupt officers. Two fewer officers and three major problems—the corruption, the murder, and the wolves—overworked the department.

Rebecca called every potentially helpful organization in the phone book. Somebody could have encountered the wolves or seen something odd, but Wayne also wanted to warn people about the wolves. Ruby Klug directed Rebecca to wolfjäger owners who trained them for tracking wolves. All evening, Rebecca tracked down trackers and hunters willing to search the woods, to the annoyance of Mayor Dwyer and Chief Laufenberg.

“How are they different from the people in town?” John asked.

“They had instructions from search-and-rescue, and we were going to be calm and intentional. Some of them had search-and-rescue experience, and they weren’t going to shoot someone.”

On March 10, at 5:00 AM, people gathered to look for the wolves. Derrick Charles led the search-and-rescue team, which also brought necessary medical supplies for a wolf attack. Hunters carried guns capable of killing wolves because the law allowed them to shoot wolves in self-defense.

Since March 2, Derrick Charles led the search for Joel Block, the missing beaver trapper. Joel liked to spontaneously extend his stays in the woods, but he prepared well for emergencies and accidents. Erica, his wife, thought he could survive for weeks. She worried when he missed his shift at the BP station, then around 1:00 AM, March 2, she called search-and-rescue in the evening. Erica expected him to wander through the door a week later, oblivious to the search.

The search-and-rescue team found Joel’s footprints at his well-kept traps, but no signs of an animal attack. Erica guessed Joel might return to check his traps. When search-and-rescue returned to his traps, they found wolf tracks. When Derrick sent pictures and when the wolves began killing people, Wayne thought the tracks did not give evidence for or against a wolf attack.

Nobody could determine whether or not somebody accompanied Joel into the woods. Joel’s trail went cold; the other human signs could be unrelated to him.

John considered trapping a torment, whatever the method or prey, but he wanted Joel to survive the flood, and he felt sorry for Erica. He hoped search-and-rescue would recover his body or explain his death.

Wayne and Glenn marked the point to begin searching, but their trail markers vanished overnight. The maps indicated they started in the right spot, and some wolf signs remained. Wayne thought he and Glenn had muddled the trail.

The wolves’ trails became confusing, so the searchers dispersed further.

A team tracked bare human footprints until they led out of the wolf signs. It would have alarmed Derrick if there was a sign of a scuffle or distress. Before the flood, he double-checked the area and declared it a false alarm.

Eddie Miller practically stumbled upon Miranda, who lay almost unconscious on the damp, cold ground. Search-and-rescue called an air ambulance and administered first aid.

(Part Seven coming on August 23 or 30, 2024.)

Wolftown’s wolf response was headquartered in Holy Trinity Lutheran Church and School’s gymnasium, ideal for muddy, wet people. The wolf responders stationed constantly in the gymnasium sandbagged the doorways between the locker rooms and the gymnasium. Expecting Wolftown’s water level to rise another two or three feet, volunteers prepared classrooms for flooded-out families. Somebody monitored the generator. The town plumber, Phil, and a church and school custodian, Gary, bailed out the boys’ locker room.

“What’s wrong with the sewer system?” Wayne asked.

Phil said, “Something blocked it all over town.”

“This didn’t happen last time we had this rainfall,” Gary said.

“I don’t think the sewers were inspected before the storm,” Phil said.

“They should have been,” Gary said.

Phil shrugged. “Try the restroom on the upper floors.”

“We’re muddy,” Wayne said.

“I spread plastic over the carpets,” Gary said.

Wayne changed his clothes and John hung up his foul-weather gear.

The responders napped in classrooms and ate in the combination fellowship hall and school cafeteria. Pastor Virgil Mickelson officiated optional, short church services.

In the gymnasium, Wayne and John sat at a folding table. John plugged his laptop into an extension cord plugged into another orange one, but, at least, Holy Trinity’s wall outlets had surge protectors.

“We don’t have internet access,” Wayne said.

“If you don’t use it, I won’t need to.”

“Why do you have it anyway?”

“Paula thinks computer technology will make conservation easier. I keep notes on floppy disks, write, copy files, and can’t do much more.”

“What about Y2K?”

“Thankfully, she didn’t need to reimburse anyone for wasting $2,000.”

Wayne shuffled through notes and papers left at his folding table seat. “The kid was a missing person.”

“Oh, no,” John said.

“No one said he was when the police asked us to identify him.” Wayne sighed.

“I forgot about the beaver trapper, but I bet he was one of the missing persons Mayor Dwyer mentioned. Search-and-rescue declared him presumed dead today.”

“Condolences,” John said.

“We kept an eye out for him while looking for the wolf.”

“Did a wolf attack him?”

“No idea. I don’t know if we will know because of the flood. The first rabies tests came back negative,” Wayne said.

“Good.” John inserted a floppy disk.

“Here’s a note from Schuster: ‘Megan photographed Zach’s wolf bites, wrote down the measurements, and made a few copies. She said to call if you had questions. Megan can say what she wants. I’m working on Barbara Luben’s evidence. You are authorized to view evidence of Zach and Mrs. Luben’s attacks. I’ll try to bring them to you but can’t guarantee it.’”

“Do you want to look at fatal injures? It’s hard.”

“And harder if you know the people or live in the same town. I need to.”

“Do you want me to start with the hiker or the official first victim?”

“The hiker if it is chronological. I can take notes out-of-order, but I have to put it in order sometime.”

“I know I said I could tell you about the hikers, but I forgot about the police,” Wayne said. “They haven’t found Sergio Vasquez’s body yet, and Miranda Vasquez’s story is a little difficult to understand.”

As one of the most informed people involved in the wolf response, Wayne considered classifying the wolf situation pointless at best and, at worst, prevented an adequate response. He released any data somebody requested; it possibly provoked Mayor Dwyer’s restriction of out-of-town journalism and non-communication with local media.

Wayne suggested the most useful people to contact. Via Sharon Smith, Mayor Dwyer’s secretary, Wayne pestered the mayor for permission to answer the questions or to contact another person. Within half an hour, Mayor Dwyer allowed Wayne to explain details he considered pertinent—except about the wolf which attacked Miranda and Sergio Vasquez. The police continued to investigate Sergio Vasquez’s death. Mayor Dwyer permitted details about how they encountered the wolf, how it attacked, and how it stopped. To John’s surprise, Wayne agreed without argument.

John typed notes and listed evidence to copy.

While Sergio and Miranda Vasquez honeymooned in the woods near Wolftown. On March 6 and 7, they briefly met Peter, a stranger. He warned them about wolves in the area and suggested camping a couple of miles west. However, they stayed at their campsite. They built a fire and bear-proofed their food, which coincidentally deterred wolves.

In the middle of the night, Miranda left the tent to relieve herself. She zipped up the tent, but the hikers woke to a lone wolf inside the tent.

John said, “Sometimes the zipper doesn’t catch the other side of the fabric, but it sounds like it zipped.”

“I asked her. I haven’t had time to find out if a wolf can tear through a tent, but I told her I would,” Wayne said.

Sergio fought the wolf and slashed an escape hole for Miranda. She brandished a burning branch, which ignited the tent. Somehow, Sergio and the wolf struggled out of the tent, as Sergio yelled for Miranda to climb a tree.

Miranda tugged singed, bleeding Sergio from the tent, while the smoldering wolf rolled on the ground. The wolf retreated slightly, giving Sergio time to boost Miranda into a sugar maple tree. She hauled him up, but the wolf dragged him down. While Sergio stopped screaming, the wolf bit Miranda’s leg. The wolf’s teeth shredded her left leg, but Miranda tugged her leg out of the wolf’s mouth.

“How?” John asked.

“Adrenaline,” Wayne said. “But I’m surprised her the bone didn’t break, and he didn’t bite an artery or a vein.”

Wayne continued the chronological order, moving to the wolves entering Wolftown on March 8. Each wolf entered Wolftown on a different side of town by 2:00 PM, March 8. People treated them as a curiosity because sometimes wild animals passed the city limits.

Later, Wayne named the wolves Abel, Barker, and Charlie, although he initially thought Barker and Charlie were the same. Wayne said, “Abel looks like an overweight male, Barker is underweight, and Charlie is average. I don’t know Barker and Charlie’s sexes, but if the wolves are a pack, they are probably females. The wolves are about the same size, but people said Abel was big. Locals have a better idea of a wolf’s size than tourists have, but a wolf looks bigger in real life.”

“Probably more when you think it’s dangerous,” John said.

“And he was fat, and people called him fat.”

“He is.”

“At first, I thought the wolf was pregnant, but he is a male. I think he is bigger than Barker, but not unusually big.”

Around 3:00, Abel loped down Main Street into Holy Trinity Church and School’s playground. Barking and growling, he trotted, then cantered, then galloped. Kids scattered, and adults hustled children indoors, into cars, on top of the jungle gym, or down the street. Witnesses said fleeing felt like a natural response and thought the wolf could not chase everybody at once.

Playing hopscotch, Mallory Vaughn stood on one leg. Abel knocked her down; his paw left a smudged print on her pink jacket. Her older brother, Raymond, swung his stuffed backpack at Abel. He scooped up winded Mallory and dashed to the nurse’s office. On the way to the nurse’s office, Mallory accused Raymond of shoving her, even though Raymond babysat her. She merely skinned her knees, palms, and chin, and bumped her nose.

The wolf galloped out of the playground under a barrage of textbooks, lunch boxes, a ball, a copy of An Explanation of the Small Catechism, and a Furby. The playground monitor, Cindy Brown, slammed the gate shut and locked it.

As Abel wove through traffic, Maurice Williams nearly crashed into him; days later, he told Wayne he wished he totaled his car and killed Abel. The wolf caused erratic driving and two minor accidents. School-hour traffic and pulling over for the police cars complicated matters.

The wolf bounded through the grounds of the Sun ‘n’ Rain Childcare Center and the Giggling Forward Preschool. He circled the blocks and bounded again. Steve Taylor considered shooting the wolf, but the children were too close.

Throughout the town, people called 911 or Happy Howlers to report sightings. The wolves often left before anybody arrived—everybody focused on the schoolchildren. But the number of calls and the locations indicated two or three wolves roamed Wolftown.

Chief of Police Dennis Laufenberg was out of town. Until he arrived, Deputy Chief of Police Vincent Woods oversaw the police’s response. He told officers to carry tranquilizers and fire a gun as a last resort.

Because a wolf could easily jump Holy Trinity, the daycare, or the preschools’ fences, Wayne recommended that the staff keep children indoors until their parents arrived. To his relief, quite a few adults and children came to the same conclusion. The staff and parents arranged impromptu carpools and pickups. Officer Jones watched for wolves and staff or parents walked the children to the cars.

Police officers patrolled for unaccompanied walking children and drove them home, and they offered rides to accompanied children. Officer Matthews escorted the school bus and officers or parents walked children to their doors.

Around 4:30 PM, one wolf disappeared, probably into the woods, while two others continued prowling Wolftown. Wayne still wondered which wolf fled and which wolf remained.

Raymond and the adults’ reactions scared Mallory more than a wolf running her over. Just as a precaution, Dr. Groves ordered a rabies vaccine. Wayne examined Mallory’s jacket and collected wolf hairs from Raymond’s backpack.

The police unjammed traffic, despite Barker’s presence.

While Abel wreaked havoc, black-and-white security footage tracked Barker and Charlie, either of whom could have also chased the school bus. The wolf walked and loped, stopping to howl or bark. If somebody tried chasing him away, he cantered or galloped. He loitered around Main Street, but neither entered the school grounds nor threatened the parking lot. Wayne supposed the cars scared him.

Calvin, a Happy Howlers’ employee, tracked down Barker or Charlie at approximately 5:00. The wolf saw the car, turned around, and hid in a residential area. Suzanne backed up Calvin, and they almost cornered him. He jumped a fence at 6:00, but they tranquilized him. He headed for the woods and the Happy Howlers employees followed on foot at 6:10, plenty of time for the wolf to pass out. Neither wanted to chase the wolf on foot or search thoroughly for a trail, so they gave up a couple of minutes later. The wolf escaped. Wayne defended Calvin and Suzanne’s decision.

Around 6:30 PM, a wolf mauled Jill Vogel’s off-leash dachshund-Yorkie-miscellaneous mix. The wolf picked up Button and bolted out of the park. Button’s death eventually indicated Charlie existed.

Sightings halted after the attack.

The Happy Howlers administrative assistant, Rebecca Austin, sent information to the local media, which reported the wolf sightings for the evening news or morning paper. Other people heard rumors or they told their friends.

Happy Howlers intended to tranquilize the wolves and ask Dr. Jodi Richardson to examine them. If she declared the wolves healthy, Happy Howlers would tag, vaccinate, and release them. Employees nursed ill or dying wolves, except for rabid ones.

John disagreed with euthanizing animals for any reason but understood the reasons behind killing a rabid animal. Paula and the Nature Protection Society thought rabies and other diseases justified euthanasia. Because of that and Wolftown’s sensitive situation, he felt uncomfortable mentioning his opinion. He thought Wayne guessed, but they did not discuss it.

Wolftown’s nightlife consisted of McDonald's, the Old Wolftown Restaurant, and the Wunderbar, but they were quieter than normal.

“What’s the Wunder Bar?” John asked.

“It’s the only bar in town. One word, W-U-N-D-E-R-B-A-R.”

“Thanks.”

Mayor Dwyer made town officials, his family, and close friends to eat out, buy gas at the BP Gas Station, and play in the park.

“I told him it was a stupid decision,” Wayne said.

“Did something happen to him?” John asked.

“No, but it’s like living in Jaws! Would you have gone outside?”

“I’m a homebody.”

“And you already got into a wolf situation.”

“I had an escape route.”

Wayne sighed.

“You do it,” John said.

“I’m armed and keeping an eye out for the wolf. I don’t want to kill the wolf, but I want to survive.”

Seven businesses and the police station had security cameras. Four businesses had taped over their footage before police requested copies, and two showed barely any wolf. The police refused to turn over their videotaped footage but copied the low-quality time-lapse tapes. Wayne borrowed the school’s TV and paused the footage when necessary.

The security footage showed the wolf returned to downtown Wolftown at approximately 8:30 PM.

A couple of anonymous teenagers snuck out of their houses to buy junk food at the BP Gas Station and eat it in Sugar Maple Park. They noticed wolf tracks in the playground sand. Button died on the opposite side of the park, so Wayne suspected they found the first overnight tracks. The teenagers looked for the wolves because wolves would deter tourism, which their families depended on.

Schuster spotted their flashlights. He told them that Laufenberg ordered the police to send children and teenagers home, regardless of their parents’ usual rules, if the children walked or rode bikes alone after dark. Apparently, the teenagers had sneaked out. They could either go to the police station and give a statement about the wolf or go home without any mention of the wolf. The wolf howled behind the teenagers, too close. Schuster hustled them into the car, but the teenagers went voluntarily.

“I bet the parents found out anyway,” Wayne said.

“I won’t identify them,” John said.

(Part Five coming on August 9 or 16, 2024.)

I'm chronically ill, so when I have an additional health problem (especially several in a row, which happened recently), doing anything is pretty difficult. I'm so used to health problems interfering with plans, that when necessary, I warn people about it.

I've already delayed a Wolftown post once due to health problems, so I definitely did not want to again. Unfortunately, because of an ER visit and needing to follow the doctor's instructions, I have to postpone the next installment of Wolftown for 2-3 weeks. Posting will resume July 19 or 26, unless yet another health problem hits me. On the bright side, since making a goal of posting one story (or part) monthly since October 2023, Wolftown is the first project which's delays I have needed to point out to readers. I posted a couple of other stories by the skins of their teeth; this is an oddly successful, reliable schedule for me.

Even when feeling terrible, I have been able to tell myself stories or bits of stories, and now I generally feel well enough to write them down and edit them. I'm excited to finish Wolftown! It changed so much since the first draft, but I love figuring it out. But I can't work on it at the moment.

Mayor Dwyer granted John permission to observe the wolf hunt if he rode along with Wayne McDowell, who agreed with the idea. Also, the mayor authorized John to view Wayne’s scientific data.

The Nature Protection Society was founded in 1985, and Paula hired John in 1997. Over the past three years, he worked hard, gaining real experience, participating in training, and independently studying. He accompanied Paula on the last trip to Wolftown, which went well, and he developed a good business acquaintanceship with Happy Howlers, the wolf sanctuary. Paula sent John to Wolftown alone, despite his newness, because he functioned as an observer, simply giving Wolftown people a good general impression of the Nature Protection Society. Since Wolftown was his first opportunity to represent the Nature Protection Society Wisconsin branch single-handedly, Paula supervised him closely. Neither he nor she expected such a serious situation.

John opted to tell Paula about his and Kevin’s böxenwolf conversations later; something so private and wild required Kevin’s permission. He summarized other events since his last update.

Paula said, “Well, Wayne suggests he hire you for a while. I told him it was your decision.”

“Mayor Dwyer said if I snuck around, I would have to leave town,” John said.

“Finding useful, official information seems difficult.”

“Wayne feels the authorization should be unnecessary. In my opinion, the way he said it was a little suspicious.”

The thunderstorm disrupted the phone lines, but eventually, John heard Paula say: “I’m concerned you might get into trouble with the police, possibly unjustifiably.”

My lawyer says he was a werewolf, and a public defender can’t get here until the flood stops, John thought. As the phone lines went down, he said, “They let an attorney be present and I didn’t feel threatened.”

John hesitated to spend the satellite phone’s battery—he fully updated Paula. If she worried, she would call him. The Nature Protection Society owned the satellite phone but required each employee to bring a satellite phone into the field. Paula and John thought a wolf hunt called for wilderness preparation. The wolves roamed and hunted inside city limits but lived in the woods.

Then John called Paula. “I’m using the satellite phone. About your last concern, so far, I’m not worried.”

“I was going to say leave if you become worried, but can you?”

“If I walked, yeah, but I know better.”

“Oh, good Lord! Don’t!”

“From what I’ve seen, I can’t imagine a worse problem than hiking through a flood.”

“Be careful!”

Because Wayne had a legal question for Kevin, preferably asked in person, Kevin and John watched for him through City Hall lobby windows. They barely saw the street.

“I’m thinking about how other people might look at a böx—transfor—wol—”

“I know who you mean. Böxenwolves.”

“Good. Why do you think people fear them?”

“It is possible the stories about losing control of oneself came from a person’s temperament. A person might feel freer or more primal in wolf form and take advantage of it. I could think of a reason that doesn’t assume böxenwolves exist. How would other people look at it?”

“It’s my personal opinion. Monsters sometimes look like real animals. If people think the real animal is scary, sometimes they are scared of monsters that look like animals. Could people be scared of böxenwolves because people are scared of wolves?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you mind if I ask alike are böxenwolves and wolves?” John asked.

Kevin said, “A böxenwolf looks just like a regular wolf. You can tell the difference when we move, though.”

“Why?”

“It takes practice. I couldn’t figure out my ears and tail.”

“Sometimes people thought one thing caused an effect, but something else did. I’m not saying you are wrong. Do you know what paralytic rabies is?”

“I felt calm and friendly, not at all rabid.”

“With paralytic rabies, an animal can be rabid and non-aggressive. It causes paralysis and sometimes animals act tame. So, could a wolf with paralytic rabies look like a böxenwolf?”

“Swallowing and folding up my tongue was difficult. I’m more willing to believe rabid wolves attacked our town than that violent böxenwolves did,” Kevin said.

“Other people have very different opinions and experiences than mine.”

“I’m here to learn about them,” John said.

Several minutes later, Wayne rushed indoors, and squelched over, as tablespoon-worths of water puddled on the floor. He, John, and Kevin said hello. Wayne said Suzanne Giese (his employee and a wolf attack victim) was stable but showed few signs of recovery. Because of the attack, Calvin Kowalski quit, between the attacks and the flood, and Glenn Malone stayed home.

“What can John know without getting into legal trouble?” Wayne asked.

Kevin said, “If you or someone else accesses a government office’s evidence or data without permission, you would have broken policy and could have broken the law. If the person gives it to someone else, he breaks the law. The person you gave it to may not have had authorization.”

“Great, I’m not going to learn anything,” John said.

“You might not want to get information from Billy Schuster,” Wayne said.

“I believe Billy knows where the line is,” Kevin said.

The conversation answered Wayne’s legal question, so Kevin said goodbye.

“Do you want a job?” Wayne asked.

“If I worked for Happy Howlers, I’d be working for an organization that tries to capture a wolf on behalf of a government that intends to kill it. I can’t work for you,” John said.

“Then I’m going to call Sharon, the mayor’s secretary, every time you ask a question, and tell her I need approval to answer it. I bet after about twenty or twenty-five questions he will let me say anything.”

“They might think the Nature Protection Society is annoying,” John said.

“I’ll take the blame. And weren’t you arrested?”

“The police had questions about the wolf sighting and why I was in town. I felt uncomfortable answering without a lawyer present.”

“I’m glad you and Billy Schuster survived.”

“If I was in a wolf attack again, I would chase it away or tranquilize it. I can’t think of a way to make the wolf attack me, instead of somebody else, without hurting it, though.”

“We have enough tranquilizers for Jurassic Park, and I have an extra tranquilizer gun. I confiscated it from a patroller who tranquilized a wolfjäger.”

“Oh no!”

“The wolfjäger is fine.”

“Good. I don’t want my behavior to cause an unresolvable conflict between us or someone else,” John said.

“Same here. I’m armed, and we won’t get close to the wolf.”

“My first aid kit plans for wolf bites.”

“The tranquilizer might work before someone bleeds to death. I would pick you over most people I have been working with, and I’m including a policeman. Can you be around armed werewolf hunters?”

“Sure,” John said.

“I bet we can’t stop the patrollers but try if you want.” Wayne sighed. “You know, Mayor Dwyer only allows the wolves to be killed because they have killed and injured so many people.”

“Many people would agree with him,” John said.

“I’d like an alternative to killing the wolf. We have a nice, cozy enclosure set up for the wolves. Maybe capturing them will change his mind.”

Inside the Happy Howler’s animal transport van, Wayne began explaining Wolftown’s situation to John. The lack of communication between the teams baffled Wayne and the authorities’ attitudes frustrated him. He considered the combination ridiculously hazardous.

“I’m pretty sure only Mayor Dwyer puts together the information, and he holds a lot of it back. The rest of us guess and work on our own,” Wayne said.

“He probably just releases the most important things,” John said.

“Nothing has worked, so you’d think he would want us to review everything and come up with new ideas.”

Wayne sighed and unfolded a crinkled and marked-up map. He traced Wolftown’s sectors with his finger: one and two fenced in, three open, four being fenced in, and five open. The town center—City Hall, Holy Trinity Lutheran Church and School, Wolftown Bank, Schultz’s Country Store, space for a farmer’s market, and various businesses in old-fashioned buildings—formed the fifth sector. If responders fenced in the first four sectors, the fences naturally formed chokepoints, also sealable. The defenses withstood Wayne’s ambassador wolves in 1983.

Wayne had increased the wolf count to three, and people reported wolves in every sector. The wolf response teams found no wolves or wolf dens in sectors one and two and fenced them off—and then somebody filmed a wolf inside it. The wolf disappeared before Wayne reached the house. Sector three’s four-inch deep running water deterred most activities. Because of awful weather, the authorities called off the search.

“Ready to go?” Wayne asked.

“Sure,” John said.

“I think the wolves left town. If we find them, we will be lucky. Our other attempts didn’t work. Ruby Klug trains some of her wolfjägers to track wolves. Do you know her?”

“I met her last time I visited. She trains them traditionally with legal wolf fur?”

“Right. But they can’t practice on live wolves,” Wayne said. “The search-and-rescue dogs and county K-9 unit track the wolves better than the wolfjägers, but they aren’t trained for wolves, either. No idea why. The wolves are untagged. We haven’t seen the wolves on trail camera footage yet, but we can’t even retrieve the most recent film.”

John and Wayne passed a pair of patrollers hunched in a doorway.

The woods supported a stable wolf population, which ate well throughout the winter. Wolves could find comfortable, rural high ground, even in minor floods. Humans hardly encroached on wolf territory over the past several years, and the region could support many new wolf packs. Police fined people who interacted with wild wolves and Happy Howlers discouraged the practice, so Wayne doubted the wolves were habituated to people. Dr. Groves tested the wolf attack victims for rabies. However, Wayne thought every idea insufficiently explained the wolves’ behaviors.

Wayne parked in standing water next to a meadow and looked through a pair of binoculars. “Do you see the steer in the pollinator habitat?” He handed the binoculars to John.

The steer stood several inches deep in mud. The shelter of plastic tarps and PVC pipe offered little protection, especially considering the wind had half-collapsed it. Hay floated in an aluminum feeder and the water trough overflowed.

“You want to fix the shelter, don’t you?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah, it is annoying me,” John said.

“You should know we want the wolf to eat the steer instead of people. Bring your tranquilizer gun.”

“Most wolves need meat to survive, but the steer looks miserable,” John disagreed with rearing domesticated animals, but he treated them compassionately.

Belatedly, Wayne warned John about a pothole, but his fishing waders protected him. He and John skidded and slipped in the mud. Between heavy breathing, cracking, popping, and oof noises, Wayne told John about the steer.

Every time the wolf killed somebody, other people transferred the victims to the doctor or funeral home. Because the wolf could not return and feed, it hunted somebody else—but the wolf abandoned the site, and the other wolves never approached it. That increased Wayne’s doubts about surplus killing or ordinary hunting.

Wayne thought the wolves might prefer beef, and Wolftown bought four Angus cattle from a nearby farmer, Mike Davis. In various places near the woods, he made the Angus cattle as comfortable as possible. When a wolf charged the nicely marbled, juicy, unprotected steer, a camouflaged hunter intended to tranquilize the wolf, notify Wayne, and if necessary, euthanize the steer and track the wolf.

And to Wayne’s extreme exasperation, the wolves were totally uninterested in cattle.

Wayne and John spread stained but clean towels on the van seats.

“Let’s get out of here before the shelter falls apart again,” Wayne said, turning up the heater.

“What do you think of the suspect who kills like a wolf or a large dog?” John asked.

“I’ve advised the police about the suspect, so I have to be careful. I keep thinking about ways it could work, but I don’t think they would happen in real life. My best-trained ambassador wolf ever is Daisy. Do you remember her?”

“A car ran over her mother before she was born?”

“I raised Daisy from a pup, and I love her.”

“She is really sweet and cute,” John said.

“But Daisy could kill me in a few seconds because she is still a wolf. If she got confused about human behavior, or I provoked her, she would attack. Training a wolf is possible, and it’s possible to train multiple wolves over a few years.” As Wayne spoke, he turned a corner and crawled down the sloping street. A car floated at the end. Wayne reversed and chose another street, saying, “This intersection always floods, but I always try anyway. If the trained wolf hypothesis is true, and the wild wolf pack hypothesis is true, they could have happened at the same time. It’s very unlikely. It’s worse if someone trained a pack of wolves and let them loose. I wouldn’t leave a wolf somewhere and expect it to attack or not.”

“Don’t wolves and dogs respond differently to training?” John asked.

“Training dogs is very easy compared to wolves. The wolf domesticators must have been crazy. A well-trained wolf might not obey commands. I wouldn’t feel safe training a dog to kill a person.”

“He might figure out you are a person?”

“Right. I’m not talking about the police theories because I don’t know their ideas. I definitely wouldn’t leave a wolf somewhere and expect it to attack, even if it heard the command word somewhere.”

Wayne rolled down his window and argued with a patroller, who refused to let him drive through the fenced-off zone, especially because of John, an outsider. Apparently, the alternative routes flooded while he and John wrestled the steer’s so-called shelter. The storm interfered with walkie-talkies and phone connections. However, Wayne made the patroller write a permission slip for the gate guard on the opposite side.

“You probably can’t answer if I asked what happened during the murders,” John asked.

“The wolf response communication sucks, so I don’t know anything about them for sure. I’ll try to get you the evidence legally. But I’ve worked out different theories with the police, and none of them make sense.”

“Do you think the missing persons have something to do with the wolf attacks?”

“We live in a tourist town, so kids get lost, or a stranger commits a crime, and the police ask for the public’s assistance. We’ve had kidnappings and lost hikers, and we find them pretty quickly. Our last murder was about thirty years ago.”

“The police asked me if I saw the naked man,” John said, unsure if Wayne wanted to answer his question.

“I hope he isn’t a drug addict or having a mental breakdown.”

“If he is, someone needs to find him quickly.”

“Right. I think that’s why the police keep mentioning him. If he is only a streaker, I have no idea why he picked a thunderstorm and quiet streets. We don’t have a good picture of his face, but his height, weight, and profile match Dennis Laufenberg’s. But a lot of men look like them.”

“Officer Schuster and…Foster accused him of corruption?” John said.

“I think if Billy Schuster and Zach Foster’s allegations are true, Dennis Laufenberg could have run away. You can get everything else I know from the police, but you won’t learn much from the news.”

“Aren’t Wisconsin chiefs-of-police appointed?”

“A lot of people knew he was a bad cop, but if it was worse than we thought, we have a bigger problem than him.”

“I can’t believe so many problems began at the same time,” John said.

“It gets in the way of catching the wolves. Why would the wolves keep attacking during a flood?” Wayne asked.

“I can think about it, as a scientist talking to another scientist.”

“We’ve been asking outdoors folks if they have seen anything weird in the woods, like uneaten prey or something.”

“I think wolves kill for survival. Hunting gives them the best opportunity to feed. They always attack for a reason, but maybe we can’t figure it out yet. Maybe we need more data, or we need to learn more about wolves,” John said.

“A lot of victims were hamstrung, so it doesn’t look like playing,” Wayne said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Wolf Alpha, the fat wolf, is the most dangerous one. I’m not convinced the other wolves have attacked people, but I think one ate a little boy’s pet bunny.”

“How is he?” John asked, as Wayne said:

“He will be fine. I talked to him about wolves.”

Wayne convinced another patroller to let him and John exit sector two, then said, “I think the wolves might have killed more people than the police say. If I’m right, the wolf attacks began earlier than the police say.”

“Really?” John asked.

“A hiker said a wolf attacked her and her husband. We found her while looking for the wolf, but we couldn’t find her husband. I’ll tell you about it when we get to the school. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell people this, but I bet people will know about it soon.”

“But we had to identify a body. I don’t think he matched the hiker’s description. I’ve looked at the victims or photos of everyone’s injuries, but not him. He looked too young to drink.”

“It’s terrible,” John said.

“I really don’t think a wolf attacked the kid.”

“Wolftown has been through enough.”

“It’s only bad timing. The flood is a very small problem, and Billy Schuster and Zachary Foster needed to speak up about Chief Laufenberg. No one thought the wolves would act like this, including me. The kid only made a bad few days worse.”

Sorry about the delayed posting. Though I can write while sick, I felt too sick to finish part four in time. The next part will be posted on Friday, July 5, 2024.

As John hung up the pay phone, police officers carried a hollering man into the jail. John returned to the office area.

“The police brought in a guy yelling about the Constitution and yelling for you,” he told Kevin, a lawyer.

“Not surprising. Thanks for telling me.” Kevin stood up.

“Mr. Dalton,” Lang called.

John went to Lang’s full, tidy police desk.

“The mayor wants to see you in about five minutes,” Lang said.

“Do I have a chance of staying?”

“All the other outsiders haven’t been allowed to search, and now, with the weather, we can’t exactly send them out of town again.” Lang wrote down directions to the mayor’s office, also in City Hall, and said, “Please come back here when you finish.”

Wolftown’s police station’s doors and windows had been modernized, and it had electricity and plumbing, but most of City Hall resembled the 1800s construction. Portraits, photographs, and historical artifacts lined the walls; none included wolves.

Several people sat on benches and chairs through the Wolftown City Hall lobby. They seemed prepared to stay for hours, with things to do, like books, homework, knitting, a card game, coloring, and a happy apple toy. Volunteers set up lunch in a conference room.

John walked up the spiral staircase and down the hall, both wooden and squeaky, to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Dwyer hesitated to allow John to observe the wolf hunt. He assured Mayor Dwyer the Nature Protection Society had no intention of ridiculing Wolftown, inciting trouble, or actively discouraging tourism. If necessary, only John’s boss, Paula, would see the report and notes for months—they could release it when Wolftown’s investigation ended. He also offered to help.

Because regarding wolf matters, everybody consulted Wayne McDowell, who ran a wolf sanctuary, Mayor Dwyer argued that Wolftown did not need John's assistance. Mayor Dwyer reviewed Wayne’s humane wolf capture methods, hoping John had any other ideas, but Wayne thought of them all. Therefore, John could not assist with the wolf response.

The police investigated crimes while hunting the wolf, two potentially connected problems. John may mistake temporary stress and tension with behavior which provoked the police corruption accusations; John pointed out he had absolutely no interest in local law enforcement problems until they affected the wolf. Because he would not have authorization to view police evidence or government findings, his presence was unnecessary and a huge waste of time. Mayor Dwyer thought that John might be in the way, even if he remained in the background, or give responders yet another thing to worry about during a wolf attack.

However, Mayor Dwyer understood why John requested information about the wolf and worried about people’s reactions to the wolf. He agreed asking in person seemed more trustworthy than phoning or emailing.

The flood, wolf, murders, missing person cases, and police corruption investigation stretched Wolftown’s resources so thin that dependable civilians volunteered to help. People adapted their usual lives to the flood and sometimes the wolf; few tourists stayed in town. The police corruption investigation, missing persons, and murders were abnormal, but affected law enforcement and local government, instead of the people in general. The response was normal. Everything else about Wolftown was as usual. John thought Mayor Dwyer phrased the normalcy oddly but could not identify how or why—the ordinariness stretched over multiple sentences and popped up here and there.

John suggested understanding Wolftown’s history might help him predict people’s reactions to the wolves, so Mayor Dwyer explained.

Native Americans lived in Wolftown’s vicinity for thousands of years. European settlers arrived in 1816. Dozens of German families migrated from Wolfberg, Germany, to Wolftown in the 1800s, the first of which founded Wolftown in 1825. Nazis provoked the a major wave in the 1930s. Wolftown supported post-war Wolfberg, and in 1957, the cities twinned.

In Wolfberg, the Wolf Guard protected locals from wolves, which they continued in North America. However, North American wolves posed less of a threat than European wolves, and conservation movements began. So, the Wolf Guard hunted wolves to protect pioneers and farmers if necessary but leaned towards conserving wolves. Their presence proved to be unnecessary, but traditional. When Wayne founded Happy Howlers in 1963, many Wolf Guard members supported the organization. The Endangered Species Act of 1973 banned wolf hunting, restricting the Wolf Guard to activism. Now the handful of Wolf Guards hardly did anything other than wear the traditional costumes for the 4th of July Parade. And John suspected the remaining Wolf Guards were the patrollers, or, at least, the patrollers fulfilled the Wolf Guard’s traditional purpose.

Out-of-town reporters attempted to observe Wolftown, and Mayor Dwyer refused them. Police escorted one to the city limits. Still, Mayor Dwyer decided to consult other people and give John an answer as soon as possible; sneaking information would ruin John’s chances.

The thunderstorm had worsened through the morning. John liked thunderstorms and rainy weather, but something bothered him. He figured he was worried about the flood. As an introvert, John was annoyed by an unexpectedly extended stay in a different city than his own.

Kevin worked at a police desk. Lang gave John the internet password and permission to plug in his laptop but forbade John from using a desk with a computer or answering the phone.

John typed up everything he remembered, in any order, and then sifted through the notes. Of the Wolftown residents John spoke to, he noticed Wayne mentioned the böxenwolf first (to discredit it), Kevin described them, and Lang’s wolf hides (called “evidence”) implied the legend, if John assumed the wolf hides were wolf straps. Mayor Dwyer never mentioned them; neither did John.

A clap of thunder shook the windows and pictures of former police chiefs. Multiple lightning bolts struck simultaneously, so John unplugged his laptop.

John typed, Does Kevin think the böxenwolf myth makes people scared of wolves? Ask Kevin: How does the böxenwolf legend affect people’s perception of a wolf? But John felt uncomfortable thinking up humanities-orientated questions. He wrote them down but decided to ask questions as they occurred to him. John compared it to watching an animal in the wild, rather than in a laboratory.

Kevin wanted to tell John more about the böxenwolves at lunchtime. Volunteers fed people sheltering in churches, schools, and City Hall. When packing for Wolftown, John expected to spend quite a bit of time without refrigeration or reliable access to vegan food. He brought food in his pockets because his car despised large puddles and he walked whenever possible. John got black coffee, grapes, a sweet pickle, and vegetables.

After flipping his tie over his shoulder and spreading a napkin on his lap, Kevin said that a minority of Wolftown citizens actually believed the legend. Most people did not even think about it, let alone be influenced by it. However, during a böxenwolf situation, people would receive information from those who thought böxenwolves existed. Other people would rely on misremembered memories or make up an explanation that made sense to them. People’s behavior varied too greatly for Kevin to predict responses to a confirmed böxenwolf.

"The average person almost definitely thinks the wolf is a particularly ferocious wolf, but a wolf." Kevin crunched a potato chip. "But we can’t separate Wolftown’s emergency procedures from the böxenwolf, and people don’t like that. For example, the fences are too high for a wolf to jump and too slippery and high for the average man to scale alone.”

“The apron on the ground keeps a wolf from digging a tunnel,” John said.

“And I doubt a man would dig one. People must stay indoors until their sector is fenced in. After fencing in a sector, the patrollers search for the wolf. The fences keep people from leaving the neighborhood and the wolf from entering. People are not always willing to comply with the searches and fences.”

“Why use the walls instead of a police barricade and humane traps?”

“I suppose the wolves are too aggressive, quick, and sneaky. Nothing else stops them. And we already had the walls.”

“The people on the street come from the Wolf Guard, right? How do they affect the wolf?” John asked.

“Mayor Dwyer was very reluctant to authorize the patrollers. Higher government must know they exist because they were licensed to use tranquilizers before the wolf attacks. I would be more worried about a person attacking a patroller or policeman than a person harming the wolf.”

“But what if a patroller killed a wolf?” John asked.

“A wolf killing could be self-defense or a scared person cracking under pressure. We haven’t needed a Wolf Guard, though. Wolfberg historians say every hundred years or so, a böxenwolf becomes violent. During attacks, böxenwolves were preemptively jailed.”

“So, people came to the police station?” John said.

“Exactly. Some people sheltering in City Hall had or have a wolf strap in their possession and of their own accord, came here. They were concerned about their safety and came here for an alibi, or to aid the emergency response. The churches are traditional, and the schools are our emergency shelters. If böxenwolves are bad guys, wouldn’t keeping them, the police, and the entire local government inside City Hall be dangerous?”

John nodded; peanut butter and jelly clogged his teeth.

“In Germany, the Wolf Guard would search for the other böxenwolves, capture them, cure them, and destroy the wolf strap. We have had one violent attack attributed to a böxenwolf, in 1878. Some wolf strap owners stayed indoors or were taken in for questioning, and some helped carry out frontier justice. The mob lynched one böxenwolf, and another was killed trying to defend him. The wolf strap owners killed two people during the lynching. Everyone said wolves killed the victims, but who knows what a medical examiner would have ruled it?”

“Could it happen again?” John asked.

“The 1878 incident was chaotic and uncontrollable. Our wolf situation is chaotic in a different way, and our emergency response came from the 1878 incident. A person drawing the wrong conclusion could kill a wolf strap owner. I don’t think modern Americans would be accomplices.”

“I’m pretty sure I can say this. Mayor Dwyer said that police think somebody trained a wolf or dog to attack people. Wouldn’t that look like a böxenwolf?”

“Very possibly. A böxenwolf in human form can work a doorknob. Is it possible for a wolf to enter a building alone?”

“The news said the wolf went through a dog door. Maybe it figured out buildings have food, but that sounds like bear or raccoon behavior, not wolf behavior.

“Sometimes I make up cases and think about them, like a thought experiment. I’m speculating, but criminals have made more stupid plans. I don’t have any evidence of that happening here, and I doubt most criminals would try it. Do you suppose a person could use a wolf as a murder weapon? He’d leave böxenwolf evidence behind, like wolf straps. Maybe the police would disregard the evidence as superstitious and attribute the cause of death to a wolf attack. There are cases of people who were accused of using magic to commit a crime, where using the magic itself was not the crime. I highly doubt an American judge would allow law enforcement to prosecute a case that relies on magic.”

“Then why do people think the straps are evil?”

“For about 1,300 years, Westerners believed that quite a bit of unexplainable phenomena were magic or miracles. They believed a werewolf was not a miracle from God or a mysterious natural phenomenon. The alt—”

John jumped as thunder rolled and lightning struck. City Hall lost power, and the window blinds blocked what dim light landed on them and the windowsill. Lang called, accurately, “The generator will turn on in a minute.”

Kevin said, “Like I was saying, the alternative was magic, and they believed magic came from Satan. The böxenwolf legend began during that time period. Some religious people would use wolf straps and others wouldn’t.”

When children learned about böxenwolves in school, teachers treated it as a myth and never mentioned the Devil—that might lead to Peter Stumpp. Saying that Peter Stumpp’s criminal record gave people negative opinions about böxenwolves understated it. In the common, child-friendly legend, two friends’ hard work made them hungry. The first friend sat down to eat, while the second friend went into the trees. Soon, the first friend saw a wolf run into a field, eat an entire calf or foal, and run away. The second friend came back, complaining of a stomachache. The first friend said, “Of course, what did you expect after eating the whole thing at once?”

John said, “One very hungry, adult wolf could eat a lot of a very small, very young, newborn calf. A wolf eats almost everything, even hair and small bones."

“Did you notice something odd about Lang’s questioning?” Kevin asked.

“I’ve never been questioned before, and I assume fiction police officers behave differently than real ones.”

“He could have told Officer Matthews to question you about the wolf straps.”

“So, they were wolf straps.”

“In fact, Lang has not questioned anybody since I came here, except for you.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, it is probably nothing important to us.” Then Kevin’s tone changed. It fell between admitting he used marijuana once in college and telling an imaginably accepting person his sexuality. “You might not believe this, but before I donated it to a museum, I wore my family’s wolf strap once.”

John bit half through the baby carrot.

“Don’t worry. It didn’t affect my legal services,” Kevin said.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” John chewed with effort.

“I transfigured into a wolf,” Kevin said.

John mumbled jumbled words instead, then settled for, “Really? How? What?”

“Just once,” Kevin said. “It was on September 8, 1973, in the woods when I was eighteen. My grandpa thought it was important. Our family has instructions to make wolf straps. I just tied on the wolf strap, and I looked like a wolf. My senses worked like a wolf’s, and I could think like a person. I think that protects people from us. He told me never to do anything while transfigured that I wouldn’t do while not transfigured. I didn’t have any wild animal urges or evil thoughts while wearing the wolf strap or after taking it off. I untied it with my teeth, and I transfigured into a human again. I didn’t like being a böxenwolf.”

Lang overheard the last couple of sentences. “I wanted to be a hare, but Kevin’s recipe didn’t work.”

“You used a rabbit,” Kevin said.

“I am not having this argument again!”

“The legend says the person can transfigure into a hare, but I’m not aware it ever happened. And you would probably agree that was good, or Lang would’ve been eaten.”

“I didn’t know what would happen to my mind if I was a wolf,” Lang said.

“Also, he didn’t want to kill another alleged rabbit and fail,” Kevin said.

“We ate the meat if that makes you feel better. Anyway, Mr. Dalton, you are allowed to observe if you ride along with Wayne McDowell. You will not have access to evidence, but you may make your own notes. Nobody is required to answer your questions, and everybody has the right to refuse you access to something. You must wear a reflective vest because of low visibility and to identify yourself. You must carry a tranquilizer gun, but the state of Wisconsin requires a permit. Is that acceptable?”

“Sure. John handed over his tranquilizer gun permit for verification.

Next part coming Friday, June 28, 2024, hopefully. I have had several bad health problems in a row and if I don't feel better by Monday morning, I might need to delay the next installment by one week.

The wolf charged John. He yanked the antiquarian bookshop’s door open and squeezed into the bookshop. Simultaneously, Schuster activated his lights and sirens, and accelerated, and began firing his gun.

As the bookshop door closed, the wolf cracked the glass. Schuster’s car hydroplaned and skidded sideways onto the curb. John flattened himself on the floor but had seen the wolf gallop away.

Schuster stood in front of the bookshop and continued firing. John rushed out, hands raised, and saw the wolf dodge from a doorway to an intersection.

“Hey! Stop! It ran away! Stop! I was in a safe place! The wolf couldn’t attack!” John also yelled other comments.

Schuster alternated chasing and shooting the wolf, radioing throughout, and John chased Schuster. The wolf crossed the intersection a second time and bolted down the block.

Just when two patrollers and a wolfjäger splashed up, Schuster emptied his magazine, and the wolf turned a corner.

“Are you okay?” Schuster reloaded.

John took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Schuster resembled a snapped rubber band five minutes ago, but now he looked glued together, and the glue was still wet.

“The wolf isn’t, but I’m fine,” John said.

The armed patroller asked, “Why were you chasing the wolf away?”

“Okay, guys, everything is fine.” John wondered why Schuster tolerated the patroller’s revolver.

“Come on, Dogzilla.” The wolfjäger and handler ran, but the other patroller asked,

“He aided and abetted a suspect. I heard him.”

“You go that way and around in a circle.” Schuster pointed.

“But he helped the wolf.”

“I was present at the time.”

Over the patroller’s objections, Schuster said, “Mr. Dalton, you can go ahead and lower your hands.”

John did.

Schuster spoke deliberately and firmly. “Let’s get back on track. Circle the block, meet up with your partner, and patrol. Radio observations.”

The patroller complied.

“Okey-dokey, we will be stuck here for a while because I discharged my weapon,” Schuster said.

“Your arm is bleeding.”

“It’s fine. I mean we will be here. You are a witness now. Let’s go back to my car.”

“Have I broken a law?” John asked.

“No, sir, but you witnessed the wolf, and Wolftown would appreciate your cooperation in the investigation.”

John understood little of Schuster’s radio message.

“I’d like a lawyer to be present before I say anything,” John said.

“Okay, no problem.”

Sitting in the police car with the door open, Schuster juggled fresh bandages and the radio, both urgent issues. Once John noticed, Schuster accepted his help with the bandage. It was the first time John saw sutured wolf bites in person, and the shooting had torn and separated several stitches. The long pattern and the smaller punctures matched a large carnivore’s teeth, and the welts and scratches were inconsequential.

Schuster and the police dispatcher struggled to send more police officers to the scene. He told a patroller with the other police officers to lend his walkie-talkie to Officer Matthews. “You guys are two blocks away and can’t get anybody here?” Schuster asked. Convincing Officer Matthews to use his radio, Schuster forced himself to speak calmly and evenly. Then his volume increased with every word: “No, Dustin, I’m not going to investigate my own shooting alone! Come on! Get your asses over here, damn it!” He restrained further outbursts and regained his composure.

Finally, the supervisor intervened, and Schuster’s taut rubber band tendencies relaxed.

Observing Dogzilla, John wondered if some people reported false sightings: a wolfjäger misidentified as a wolf. Dogzilla was approximately the same size as a Great Dane, St. Bernard, or English mastiff. His tail and head resembled a German shepherd’s, though his pointy ears sat further apart, closer to a wolf’s position. Soaked fur emphasized his pointer dog shape. Medium-long, bushy fur covered him—mottled and darker on his back and sides, with a light underbelly, and pale facial and leg markings. Especially in low visibility and from a distance, a frightened person unfamiliar with comparing canines might become confused.

On John’s last trip, he met a wolfjäger breeder, Ruby Klug, who said that Germans bred the dogs to hunt wolves and bears. Wisconsin banned hunting wolves, and the dogs mangled anything smaller than a fox. Most hunters trained the wolfjägers for elk and deer.

In 1982, some wolfjägers escaped Ruby Klug’s property, and two or three bred with wolves. Though she, Happy Howlers, animal control, and government departments searched and captured some, the wolf-wolfjägers caused mayhem. Then they mauled a young girl to death. Wolftown requested the public’s assistance in trapping or killing them. The effort succeeded. Although many people supported euthanizing them, Wayne welcomed them into Happy Howlers and had them sterilized.

Between the patrollers’ suspicions and the risk of another attack upon the wolf, John decided to accept Schuster’s offered ride. He overheard an argument between Schuster and another policeman, whom Schuster thought should take John to the police station and question him. The policeman, Matthews, thought he had more important duties. They compromised: Schuster transferred John, and Matthews would question him when time allowed.

Regarding riding in a police officer’s car, John was less than thrilled. He felt all right with Schuster, who uncovered police corruption, which threatened his career. Though John considered himself minimally cooperative, Schuster accepted his hesitations.

Schuster searched and handcuffed John, assuring him it was routine for both people’s safety and particularly important because John rode in the front seat. Foster’s blood had soaked the backseat and dried. Though Schuster rinsed the floorboard and wiped down the interior, blood dribbled and dotted the police car. Also, his bitten arm had stained the driver’s side.

“You’re a wildlife biologist, right?” Schuster asked.

“Yeah, though I’m more familiar with African, Asian, and South American animals than with wolves.”

“How did you end up on three continents?”

“I worked for a charity concerned with the illegal wildlife trade.” Mentioning that he burned out and quit seemed thoughtless, compared to Schuster’s recent experiences.

“Believe it or not, I really hate seeing animals suffer.”

“I agree with you about that, but I was okay in the bookshop.”

“Can I ask you a question that is about wolves?”

“Sure.”

“I couldn’t tell visually, but I fired seventeen times. We found fifteen bullets, and one of them went through the wolf.”

John prevented himself from saying, Poor wolf, aloud.

“I’d say I shot it three times. If it’s the same wolf, I shot it five times total today, and one of the shots grazed it,” Schuster said.

“In the same day?” John asked.

“Yeah. My question is, should the wolf be dead, let alone able to attack?”

“It survived somehow, but it should be dying, and too weak to find a safe place to die.”

“I was trying to kill it both times. I hit its hip and chest.”

“It shouldn’t have galloped.”

“Did you see blood?”

“No, but it was moving fast, and I couldn’t see well. The rain probably washed off blood, too,” John said.

“I’d say he was high if he was a human, but he is a wolf. Here we are.”

Schuster parked behind Wolftown City Hall.

Wolftown’s police station was inside City Hall, and Schuster brought John through the police entrance. In an office area, one police officer worked at a desk. A middle-aged woman knocked on the Chief of Police’s office and entered.

Schuster looked around the seated people and pointed John to the lawyer. Kevin Miller snored under a newspaper, but fumbled and rustled to the surface.

“Hi. Sorry to wake you up,” John said.

Kevin waved it aside.

“Officer Lang said you were a lawyer?”

Kevin nodded, standing up in black socks, and shook John’s hand. “Kev—” he yawned, “excuse me.”

“My name is John Dalton,” John said. “Officer Schuster said to wake you up.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Kevin Miller. I offer any legal services people need, issues with the wolf are pro bono.”

“How did you know?”

“I came here yesterday for that purpose, among others. I might not be available otherwise. Let me wake up for a moment.” Kevin stretched, then retrieved his black shoes from under the chair. He wore a loose paisley tie, partially untucked white shirt, and a brown suit; the jacket hung over the chair’s back.

Kevin tidied up in the restroom. John wondered how he managed to fall asleep in the awful chairs.

In one of two interrogation rooms, John told Kevin what happened since his arrival in Wolftown. Kevin asked, “Does something specifically bother you?”

“The local authorities sanction killing the wolf, and I’m worried if a man with a wolfdog murdered people, the wolfdog will be killed,” John said.

“Other than professional concerns, what concerns you?”

“The corruption,” John asked.

“It is completely separate from the wolf attacks. You may feel better if you know the Chief of Police is unavailable,” Kevin said.

John raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“There are strong reasons to prefer the Deputy Chief of Police,” Kevin said.

“Vincent Woods. Honestly, I think you have scarcely anything to worry about. You can expect routine questions. Why would anybody suspect you?”

“I grew up in a bad LA neighborhood. I made two of my life goals not being shot at by anybody and not being killed by a gang. I don’t want to see a police shooting, too.”

“The police supervise the patrollers closely, but they have been threatening or going beyond their authority. I know what people think of them, and how police respond to them.”

John and Kevin made small talk while waiting for Officer Matthews’ arrival.

Officer Matthews rushed, impatient for the questioning’s ending. Kevin predicted the questions accurately, until Matthews left, and Lang entered with two evidence bags. Both held fur, one wet and one dry.

“Just a moment,” Kevin said. “Why are those pertinent?”

“They may help our investigation,” Lang said.

Pointing between John and Lang, Kevin said, “I would like a minute alone with you, then him, or you, then him. Either order.”

“Me first,” Lang said.

Kevin opened the door a minute later, calling into the lobby, “You had opportunity yourself, Danny!”

“Oh, go tell him,” Lang said.

“He expects me to tell you.” Kevin sat.

“About what?” John asked.

Lang stuck his head in. “You wanted him to be informed before I questioned him and if I told him, you would want to listen, and if you listened, you would find something objectionable.”

“Why didn’t you say so first?” Kevin asked.

Lang muttered, “End with the strongest point,” as the door shut.

“We grew up together,” Kevin said.

“You seemed to know each other,” John said.

“Have you been to the local museum, by any chance?” Kevin asked.

“Last time I visited. I understand that some Wolftown residents think the wolf is a werewolf or böxenwolf. It’s a kind of werewolf?”

“Yes, and I think Lang will ask you about them. How do you want to answer?”

“I’ll tell them I don’t know much about them, and I’d be telling the truth.”

“I can easily stop the böxenwolf line of questioning. Just say so, anytime.”

“But why do the böxenwolves matter to the police?” John asked.

“I highly doubt the police force in general believes in the böxenwolf, as in, believing a man can turn into a wolf. Who could turn from one thing into something else? But just the same, we can’t separate Wolftown’s emergency procedures from the böxenwolf legend. Maybe at some point, the emergency procedures and laws will change, but at the moment, we have them. Wolftown laws state that being a böxenwolf in and of itself is not a crime and that a person who commits a crime while being a böxenwolf cannot receive a lighter or heavier sentence or unlawful treatment owing to his transfigured state. It was a reaction to Germany’s treatment of werewolves. Maybe I can predict the questions.”

“Sure,” John said.

Kevin’s questions included idealizing wolves or having an interest in tanning and taxidermy, German folklore, alchemy, and Satan. According to legend, the Devil gave a person a wolf pelt girdle or belt that transformed the wearer into a wolf. But in exchange for the gift, or as a condition of receiving the wolf strap, the wearer either performed the Devil’s work or the Devil possessed him. Therefore, Kevin explained, in the 1980s Wolftown, people voluntarily turned wolf straps over to the museum or police. Without mentioning specifics, Kevin said that modern experiences contradicted the occult theory. Wolftown citizens owned wolf straps; police found all kinds of things in crime scenes. He doubted Lang would ask about Satan, but the idea mattered to the legend and Wolftown’s history.

Lang asked if John had been to Germany or Poland, killed a wolf, or acquired an uncured wolf pelt or a cured wolf pelt product, or instructions for tanning a wolf hide. He omitted questions Kevin considered unlikely—like idealizing wolves or having an interest in alchemy, German folklore, or tanning and taxidermy.

“This is an example of a suspicious object.” Lang passed John an evidence bag holding a strip of dry fur. “Can you identify the object?”

John felt sorry for the animal. “It looks like a wolf strap from the museum, but I don’t know if this was the one I saw on display or not,” he said.

“Do you notice anything about it?”

“Why?” Kevin asked.

“I’m asking him as a wildlife biologist and because he had some idea about what it was.”

“I’ll answer,” John said. “Can I look at it up close?”

“I brought a pair of gloves and a magnifying glass. Don’t let it trail on the floor.”

The bag listed the fur’s dimensions (about five feet long and seven inches wide), so John pulled out one end, from which dangled a rawhide string. He examined it. “It is a cured strip of animal fur, probably from a wolf or a coyote. I think it is wolf fur, though. Wolves have darker fur on their backs and lighter fur on their bellies, but I can’t tell if it came from the wolf’s back or side. The fur is white and grey, probably from an older wolf. A wolf grows a thick undercoat in winter and sheds it in the spring, and the fur doesn’t have an undercoat. The wolf was probably killed in summer.”

John thought the muddy fur belonged to a young but full-grown wolf, and it died in spring or autumn. The strip changed color from creamy to mottled brown and black, and along with its shorter length, indicated the skinner lay the hide flat and cut side-to-side instead of lengthwise.

The wolf straps’ musty, stinky wolf odor had faded, but the first strap smelled like the plastic bag and the second like Wisconsin’s forests and mud. Furs he sniffed in second-hand stores absorbed perfume, cigarette smoke, closet must, or dry-cleaning chemicals, none of which applied to either wolf strap.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Lang said. “You are free to leave now.”

“I’d still like to offer assistance or stay to observe,” John said.

“Mayor Dwyer knows, and you need his permission.”

Lang suggested waiting with Kevin, since the wolf response used a buddy system, among other teamwork, close contact, and communication methods. Kevin was willing. To demonstrate cooperation, John agreed.

Since John needed to update Paula, his boss, Kevin directed John to a pay phone and returned to his seat.

“If you don’t feel safe now, you will feel less safe later, and don’t forget about the floodwaters,” Paula said.

“I won’t. I want to stay and find out what is going on. I’m making more observations now than I could last time. If it gets too weird, I’ll leave.”

“Weird how? The werewolf?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to express it yet, but I’m thinking of something. I think we would miss a lot if we came back later, and I don’t know if it would be a cover-up or people unwilling to talk to strangers.” John spoke over Paula, who stopped talking. “Somebody can find out if they try, but a lot of people wouldn’t try, or they overlooked something, or something has to fit the right way to be understood, or people have impressions. Somebody reconstructing events wouldn’t figure it out easily, and I don’t think I could understand it. I don’t know if multiple observers could, or if they would come to one conclusion. I’m wondering if a local could, but I don’t know if they would try, or if they want to. Sorry, I interrupted. What did you say?”

“Be careful,” Paula said. “Thinking of something else?”

“Like I said, I don’t know what I’m thinking yet.”

“Now, be really careful.”

“I’m probably fine, but the wolf isn’t. I’ll call again before leaving City Hall.”

(Next part coming Friday, June 21, 2024.)

“Wolves have killed three people in Wolftown, Wisconsin. Most recently, Officer Zachary Foster, 25, died of his injuries at the UW Health University Hospital. The names of the other two victims and details about their deaths have not been released. Foster leaves his five-month pregnant wife, Megan, behind. Wolftown Mayor Herbert Dwyer says, ‘Officer Zachary Foster’s death greatly saddens us in local government, and of course, those in the police force, and, I imagine, members of other emergency services who worked with him. The citizens of Wolftown will no doubt remember his sacrifice for years to come.’ Our listeners may know that Foster and another officer, Billy Schuster, were put on unpaid leave pending an investigation after they brought forth evidence of Wolftown Police Chief Dennis Laufenberg’s misconduct and criminal activity. Wolftown Police Department has revealed some details about the wolf attack that killed Officer Zachary Foster and injured Officer Billy Schuster, and Megan Foster also answered some questions. Megan says that Foster and Schuster felt like they, ‘couldn’t sit around all day waiting for a wolf to kill someone.’ When the wolf attacks began approximately eighteen hours ago, the officers volunteered for duty. At around 5:20 this morning, Foster and Schuster responded to a 911 call reporting a wolf entering a house through a dog door.”

“Why would a wolf do that?” John asked to the radio.

“—Foster sustained injuries on his neck, arms, and legs, and Schuster was bitten on the arm. Schuster shot at the wolf repeatedly, but it escaped. Schuster and an unidentified civilian administered first aid, and Schuster drove Foster to Wolftown Medical Clinic. Foster was then transferred to the UW Health University Hospital. The wolf has yet to be found. Nobody on the property was injured.”

The wolf’s escape relieved John, but he wished Foster survived. Local people and the authorities probably felt even more hostile towards the wolf and upset by it than before.

A police roadblock stopped John, the only person driving into Wolftown, Wisconsin, and a line of cars waited in the opposite lane.

The roadblock police officer said, “We’re checking each car for a dangerous suspect. Have you seen unusual behavior on your way here, either a person behaving unusually or a wolf behaving unusually, or a big dog maybe?”

“No,” John said.

“Have you seen a naked man running around on your way here?”

“No. In this weather?”

“Have you seen a wolf, wolf-dog, or large dog, whether loose or with a person?”

“No.”

“Do you know anybody in Wolftown?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to say who unless I need to.”

“What brings you to Wolftown today?”

“I’m a wildlife biologist from the Nature Protection Society Wisconsin Branch, and I’m here about the wolf. I want to offer assistance if possible, or at least observe the events,” Paula, John’s boss, intended to open the second branch in Michigan.

“We don’t allow outsiders to hunt the wolf.”

“In my opinion, humans killing animals is unethical.”

“Please, say you have something to defend yourself.”

“I have an air horn. I understand what carnivores do and I respect them.” He thought, And I’m not stupid enough to approach the wolf before tranquilizing it.

“You are aware of the killer wolf and highly dangerous suspect.”

And that some locals think the wolf is a werewolf, John thought.

“The other road out of Wolftown crosses a flooded bridge, and if the rain keeps up, this road will become unpassable. By the time you change your mind, it will be too late.”

“I’m prepared for the flood,” John said.

“The tourists have been leaving because of the flood. I’m going to radio that you intend to stay in town. We need to collect as much information about the wolf and highly dangerous individual as we can. We’ve been asking people to go to the police station and find out if they might have useful information.”

“I will keep it in mind.”

“Most of the businesses left their doors unlocked for people running away from a wolf. Go inside and shut the door when you see a wolf. Keep a really careful eye out for the wolf.”

“I will.”

Wolftown’s sign read:

Wolftown

Welcome to the Pack

Founded 1831

Population 1,524

Wolftown’s state of emergency applied to the floods—other current issues were the wolf, allegations of police corruption, and two murders, all of which occurred in the past week. John wondered if the wolf attacks were the town’s last straw. On the drive, he listened to local radio, hoping to learn more about the wolf, and ignoring the corruption and murders. Reporters knew little about the corruption, and police strictly withheld information about the murders. Wolftown’s settlers brought a werewolf legend from Germany, but the news never mentioned it.

The reporters repeated the same wolf information. Authorities identified one killer wolf and at least one other wolf roaming the town. Already, Mayor Herbert Dwyer condoned killing the wolf or wolves. Wisconsin Fish, Wildlife, and Parks Division aided Wolftown. The city also had an animal control department, but Happy Howlers tended to wolves. Dr. Jodi Richardson (a popular large animal veterinarian who treated the odd wild animal when called upon), and dozens of local civilians volunteered to hunt the wolf.

John drove to Wolftown because the people’s reactions seemed odd, and he found insufficient information remotely.

Before coming to Wolftown, John spoke with Wayne McDowell, who founded the local wolf sanctuary, Happy Howlers. Sometimes Happy Howlers and the Nature Protection Society worked together. He understood John’s concern but thought coming was a waste of time. “I bet nobody will let you look around or do anything,” he said.

The police identified the highly dangerous suspect as a person with a wolf, wolf-dog, or large dog. Both Wayne and John acknowledged some modern people successfully trained wolves like dogs. Due to the difficulty of acquiring a trainable pup, Wayne and John guessed the suspect worked with a wolf-dog or a massive, strong dog. In Wayne’s experience, a wolf, wolf-dog, or above-average domesticated dog’s bite force was at least one hundred times more forceful than the attacking canine’s. John trusted his judgment.

Police Chief Laufenberg’s misconduct and crimes seemed unrelated to the wolf, but the allegations’ effects on the police officers concerned John. Officers probably disagreed with each other, leading to teamwork problems. Meanwhile, they worked together for long hours under high stress, managing multiple crises, routine calls, and supervising wolf hunters, which combined could make them mishandle the wolf situation. Because Wayne said the wolf attacked his employees, John thought between the stress, emotions, and cooperating with the local authorities, Happy Howlers might harm the wolf. Wayne said he had distributed tranquilizer guns and people carried their normal weapons. He struggled to reassure people that one dart made a full-grown wolf unconscious—even after Wayne demonstrated on an ambassador wolf. Multiple tranquilizing darts would overdose the wolf. Through experience with various animals, he and John sympathized with people’s doubts about their safety in the few minutes before the wolf fell asleep. Finally, the werewolf rumor could provoke mass panic and violence towards wolves and people, whether or not somebody correctly identified the culprit.

Neither Wayne nor John believed in werewolves, but Wayne told John, “They wouldn’t look like wolves because wolf and human musculature and bone structure are so different, they need to change. It takes a long time for real animals to totally change their form, and an object doesn’t make them change their form.” According to the folklore, wearing a special belt made of wolfskin turned the wearer into a wolf. The folklore called the werewolf böxenwolf.

Wolftown beautifully maintained its brick roads, half-timber buildings, and other historic architecture. A few businesses had lights on, and two people exited a closed gift shop. Despite the rain and workday, cars filled the church parking lots; other parking lots remained empty.

People stacked sandbags, often looking around for a wolf, or under apparent guard. Pairs of people in reflective vests walked wolfjägers, and one pair carried a rifle. John pitied the soggy dogs because the wolfjägers had absolutely no choice about suffering the weather. The thick, cold rain hurt and it was a cool March day.

John owned an eco-hostile, half-useless pick-up truck. The van belt squealed about a puddle of water. He pulled over into a street parking spot, fed the meter, and opened the hood.

“Just so you know, there is no parking here,” a man in a vest said.

“I’m stopping long enough to adjust the van belt,” John said.

“Do you need a tow?”

“I’ve done this before, and once today.”

The man carried a break-action shotgun, cracked open and unloaded. Still, it scared John. He concentrated on the engine.

“We try to be a friendly town, but we don’t welcome outsiders today," the man said.

“The officials want to keep people safe," John said.

“You’ll need to go back the way you came and an hour out of your way.”

John shut the hood. “Thanks for your concern.”

The man spoke into his walkie-talkie while John drove away. Another unarmed pair followed him. He wondered if they had concealed carry permits or hid their guns illegally.

To learn Wolftown’s layout, John drove around Wolftown. He saw weird posts and holes lining the streets on his last visit. The town needed them for a 12-foot tall, rusting, corrugated metal wall, on which they hung detour and Do Not Enter signs. Water trickled under the crack and through drainage holes. On grassy land, a 3-foot corrugated metal apron prevented tunneling. In John’s experience, a farmer's wire fence with a wire apron blocked the average wolf’s entry. Wayne built wire and concrete fences because tourists came so close to wolves.

Before John left for Wolftown, every hotel, motel, and bed-and-breakfast refused to reserve a room, but he came prepared to sleep in his truck. He found a motel room in person, at the first place he asked. The manager warned him about the flood and wolf. She said that the motel cooperated with the police, which meant notifying the police he had checked in. Great, John thought. He checked in anyway. On the phone, the police also asked him to come to the police station (in city hall) for voluntary questioning.

Paula worried about John’s safe arrival and the town’s room availability, and she needed his phone number. She agreed some aspects of Wolftown seemed odd. If, at any point, John felt unsafe, she encouraged him to leave.

John dressed in his fishing waders, raincoat, and rainhat, packed his briefcase in a waterproof bag, and asked the motel manager for directions to City Hall, and walked. Though he planned to visit City Hall, seeking wolf information, he hoped to avoid questioning. Wayne was his only connection to Wolftown.

A patrolling pair followed John on foot, sometimes using their walkie-talkies until a police car sent them away. The officer caught up with John.

“Excuse me, sir, are you the guy here about the wolf?” he asked.

John stopped in front of the Beyond Bagels Bakery. “Me?”

“John Dalton?” the police officer asked, with a tense, stretched expression.

“Yeah,” John said.

“My name is Officer Schuster. With our ongoing situation, walking alone is very unsafe. I can give you a ride, but—”

Schuster’s radio interrupted him. Among untranslatable acronyms and numbers, John heard “wolf,” and street names. An older pair of patrollers hustled out of the bakery.

“Patrollers! Come here for a minute!” Schuster called. To John, he said, “Sir, if the wolf comes here, you need to be somewhere safer. Do you want to go into the bakery or my car?”

The patrollers waited.

“I’m not comfortable going into a police car,” John said.

“When I say, go into the bakery, and you need to comply immediately, or I will put you in the bakery.” He pointed. “Push the door.”

“Sure,” John said.

Schuster answered his radio again, and one of the patrollers listened to the walkie-talkie. By the end of the transmission, Schuster looked like a rubber band about to snap.

“Okay, John Dalton is here about the wolf. You need to keep an eye on him if I leave.”

The patrollers agreed, and John asked, “Why?”

All John understood from the radio was something about “knocked out” and “attack.” Schuster answered the radio again, and hesitated, looking at John. The emergency siren sounded.

“Haven’t you done enough?” the woman patroller asked.

Church bells rang.

“Everybody would understand if you went home,” the man patroller said, as Schuster half-shoved and half-dumped John through the door.

“Sit down and sit tight. Keep an eye on him,” Schuster said. He rushed to his car and sped away with lights and sirens.

The patrollers joined John, and the man locked the door. The thunderstorm, emergency siren, and church bells muffled the police sirens and gunshots. John and the patrollers, Frank and Debby, introduced themselves.

“What happened?” John asked.

“Something bad,” Frank said.

The bakery smelled like fresh bread and doughnuts. Somebody had turned on every light and spilled a still-steaming cup of coffee. John cleaned it up with napkins.

He overheard Frank's staticky walkie-talkie “He got away. We’re fencing in sector four.”

The corner TV blurted robotically, “A wolf attack—”

In another room, a man shrieked the same volume as the TV's blaring emergency address. Frank rushed in its direction.

“—has been reported in sector four. If you are in sector four, stay inside, and lock all windows and doors,” and listed which streets were in the sector.

“I need to go to city hall,” John said. “Is it in sector four?”

“You shouldn’t leave until told,” Debby said.

“Tommy dropped a kitchen knife on his foot,” Frank said.

“Oh, darn it!” Debby said.

“I have a first aid kit,” John said.

“He does, too. The alert scared him, and his hands were sweaty. I’m radioing for transportation to Dr. Groves’ office.”

“But you know Dr. Groves’ office is only good for little operations, like fishhooks and Bunny’s abscess.”

“Dr. Groves knows where to send him. He gave Foster a blood transfusion."

Schuster returned a few minutes later and looked like the rubber band snapped and ricocheted off the ceiling. “Okay, walking to the police station is extremely dangerous, but I can’t keep you here. In the police car, you wouldn’t be detained, but you would be in handcuffs.”

“I like walking," John said.

“No problem. I’ll follow you.”

“Does that mean if we see the wolf, you will shoot him?”

“If he is trying to get you, yeah.”

“Officer Schuster survived a wolf attack,” Debby said.

“Good! Condolences about Officer…Foster.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not comfortable being in a police car when I haven’t broken the law. And I don’t want the wolf to get shot because of me.”

“Here’s a compromise. If you see the wolf, blow your air horn, and if the wolf runs away, I won’t shoot it.”

John nodded grudgingly. “Can you follow far away?”

“Okey-dokey,” Schuster said.

Schuster trailed about one block behind John. Patrollers gave him odd looks, but let him pass.

Catty-corner from John, a door swung shut, and something moved. A lamppost’s flowers and a mailbox obscured a massive, canine shape. It looked up and down the street, then bolted at thirty or forty miles an hour towards an alley, while John mentally compared dogs, wolves, and coyotes, and decided he saw a frightened wolf. The wolf’s ears were flattened, its head lowered, and its tail between its legs.

Why did the door open? John wondered.

The wolf poked its head around the alleyway and glared at John. Turning to face the wolf, John stared back. It stepped forward. John blew his airhorn, waved his arms, and shouted, “Run away!” He backed against a pull-to-open door, and the wolf laid its ears back and raised its tail horizontally.

(Next part coming between Friday, June 7, 2024 and Monday, June 10, 2024, and then I will post the parts one week apart. Because of a family priority, I can't schedule the exact date yet.)

(Update: Because of an illness, the next part will be posted on Friday, June 14, 2024.)

(About: A young woman thinks her ovarian teratoma is a monster and finally finds a doctor willing to treat it.)

“I can’t get no one to address my concerns about my lump, so I thought a doctor wouldn’t repair It,” Jada said.

“I promise I and the nurses will address your concerns,” Dr. Smith said.

Jada yelped and tears squeezed between her closed eyes. A white Sharpie oval marked a distention on her pelvis, with a knife half-embedded in the center. A foul smell indicated a perforated intestine.

“Jada, are you pregnant?” Dr. Smith asked.

“Not pregnant,” she said.

Jada refused addictive painkillers, and the IV acetaminophen barely helped. Rolling her onto her side for a nerve block required stabilizing the knife. Jada already immobilized it with bulky bandages, but even when she lay on her back, the knife swayed. A nurse held it still.

Dr. Smith ultrasounded Jada’s spine for the nerve block and, coincidentally, saw the mass. Without changing his expression or tone, he asked, “Jada, how long have you had the lump?”

Answering verbally interrupted Jada’s self-controlled breathing. “At least eight years.”

“You should feel numb within about half an hour. Have you been diagnosed with cancer?”

“No.”

“The lump is very big and serious. I’m more concerned about it than the knife wound, but your knife wound also needs repair. Have you received treatment for the lump?”

“Nobody’s done nothing about it.”

“We will do what we can, and you will need to stay in the hospital for treatment, possibly overnight.”

“Keep examining me.”

“A further exam may cause too much pain, and you are stable.”

“Fine. Examine me.”

Carrying a backpack and document box, Jada entered the Jacksonville Mayo Clinic Department of Emergency Medicine. She immediately went to the women’s restroom, where she stabbed herself. Jada bandaged her wound and walked calmly towards the triage desk. Another woman in the restroom alerted the triage nurse, who met Jada halfway.

The mass shifted under Dr. Smith’s hands, and wincing, Jada held her breath and clenched the blanket.

“You didn’t hurt,” she grunted.

Something jabbed visibly under Jada’s skin.

“It may be an awkward question, and nobody here will judge you. I need to ask. Has anything living or moving gotten stuck in your body?” Dr. Smith asked.

“No,” Jada said.

“You aren’t pregnant. Do you have any idea what might be moving?”

“It grew in me, and It’s mad.”

“What is It mad about?” Dr. Smith asked.

“At me. Stabbed It, and we’re going through withdrawal, and It’s hungry.”

“Can you describe how It moves?” he asked.

“It moves when It wants to. I can’t make It stop.”

“Can you make it move?”

“By hitting it.”

“When it moves, are you pushing like a bowel movement or something like that?”

Jada shook her head.

Dr. Smith ordered a CT scan, then started reading the green journal titled For the ER Surgeon. Jada had duct-taped the journal and her West Virginia ID to her sweatshirt. The ID stated her age (21), ethnicity, and gender. She wrote in gel pen, and the text resembled a bullet journal. White-outs and corrections dotted the pages.

I’ve had It for at least 8 years, and I lost weight, so you’d see It. I’m tired of asking for tests and doctors not running them. I couldn’t get good medical care. I don’t want to be addicted so I’m not a drug seeker. I’m not suicidal or harming myself, and I can’t kill It because I’d die. I sterilized my hands, abdomen, pelvis, clothes, and knife.

Then Jada listed her medications and the last time she drank alcohol, smoked, and used drugs, all within the past week. To prepare for surgery, she fasted from food for twelve hours and water for eight. Also, she had checked her golden labrador service dog, Ping-Pong, into a local kennel, and gave the address, and her parents’ contact information.

Next, Jada summarized her medical history. We didn’t go back to no doctor that didn’t listen, she wrote.

At age eleven, Jada underwent the removal of a benign ovarian teratoma by a reluctant pediatrician Dr. Ripley. The non-cancerous tumor developed from a germ cell and grew on Jada’s right ovary; it caused no ill effects yet and removal could damage her ovary.

Jada and her mother suspected the teratoma recurred at age thirteen. She wrote, When I was about fifteen, Mamma thought maybe he left it in, but we don’t have no proof. But her doctor expected her to outgrow the symptoms. The second doctor diagnosed her with an ovarian teratoma. Because the surgery would damage the ovary, the doctor refused to remove the teratoma.

She bounced from doctor to doctor and specialty to specialty. Jada cooperated with tests and treatments. Also, she and her parents researched specific conditions and requested specific tests, occasionally about teratomas. Doctors often deemed Jada’s self-researched conditions and tests unlikely and unnecessary. They addressed other health concerns with the same symptoms. Over the years, surgeons considered operating and always found reason not to, despite Jada and her parents asked.

But Jada gradually differentiated between the teratoma and her other health concerns. Managing the others rarely helped the teratoma. Treating symptoms reduced her overall discomfort, but sometimes she doubted she had the conditions or that the treatments addressed the root problem. I tried talking to them, so they’d understand, she wrote. I tried not telling them about the teratoma and letting them find it.

When she was fifteen, an exam showed the teratoma had grown, but the doctor declared it too small to worry about. Jada wrote, I felt It squeeze tight during the appointment and spread out afterwards.

One gynecologist scanned the teratoma. Jada estimated at the time, it was approximately apple-sized, but the gynecologist compared it to a plum. It didn’t show yet, so we didn’t know It was so big, Jada wrote. Dissatisfied with the blurriness, Jada’s mother wanted another scan, but the doctor said the first was sufficient. I said that a teratoma grows 1.8 mm a year, so It should be smaller. She told me not to trust online health advice. The gynecologist diagnosed her with endometriosis and treated it medically.

Lifestyle changes, alternative medicine, and psychiatry somewhat improved her physical and mental health, and they prevented complications and side-effects. I don’t want to get sick from something else, Jada wrote (hence never injecting illegal drugs).

Nobody thoroughly followed-up on the teratoma.

Jada argued that by removing It, the doctor could exclude it from potential causes of her health problems. She specifically told doctors It mentally distressed her—beyond stress or discomfort arising from being sick. The teratoma Itself bothered her.

I feel It like It is an instinct and a lump. Its moving isn’t a hallucination, and I’ve had them. It twists and untwists my ovary and presses on internal organs. Behavior reinforcement didn’t work and trying to hold it like potty training or Pilates didn’t work.

When her physical health improved, It became more active, which worsened her health. Physical stress aggravated Its behavior and slowed Its growth. Also, Its growth accelerated when she reached maturity.

One psychiatrist thought Jada expressed herself through the teratoma, while another recommended surgery. I’d still have issues, but I’d have peace of mind about It, Jada wrote. The second psychiatrist continued to care for her.

Doctors increasingly dismissed Jada’s symptoms and concerns; she admitted that her later drug use and mental health contributed to their decisions. Her inability to pay prompted some doctors to refuse treatment. Emergency rooms provided little care, waving her off as an addict, placing her under psychiatric treatment, or examining her, treating her pain, and referring her to a doctor.

Jada lost weight to make it more palpable and give doctors one less reason to ignore her concerns. It stays in my middle like It hangs on to something, so it doesn’t show much. It gets hungry when I’m not.

Planned Parenthood maybe would’ve found It and done something. My pregnancy test was negative, so they didn’t examine me. She took over-the-counter abortion pills, which had no effect, as expected.

Jada resorted to addictive substances. I keep It calm with drugs, but It gets mad when I’m clean. Since the first dose, she acknowledged it was a terrible, stupid decision.

Finally, she attempted killing It, while recognizing the idea’s extreme wrongness. Jada inflicted life-threatening physical stress on herself to no avail. I kept track because maybe I’d get too sick and couldn’t help myself recover. Someone always found out.

Between her self-stress techniques and the drug use, sometimes, the slightest effort overwrought her. I’m pretty broken down, she wrote. I don’t think I can get through a bus ride home.

She considered a service dog early in her drastic measures, and quickly adopted Ping-Pong, a golden Labrador. I really need Ping-Pong. She knows when It is acting up, but she isn't trained for the teratoma. She found It by herself.

When Jada threatened to stab herself in a Level 1 Trauma Center’s emergency room, security restrained her. The doctor briefly examined her, then transferred her to a mental health institution. She explained, It looked like normal fat and I looked mentally ill with a crisis.

Dr. Smith slammed the notebook on the desk and snapped at an intern to find references to the teratoma and also each blood test from her medical history—the document box with dozens of copied medical documents. Then Dr. Smith apologized for snapping.

One biopsy of her teratoma was inconclusive. Some blood tests indicated the teratoma better than others; several results could be attributed to other conditions.

The blood test Dr. Smith ordered easily identified the teratoma. The CT scan showed a perforated intestine beyond the knife’s reach. Altogether, the multiple blurry images showed a fetus-like mass, approximately the size of a pineapple, in Jada’s pelvis and abdomen. Dr. Smith resisted the urge to punch his clipboard.

Jada's notebook and medical documents corresponded to Dr. Smith’s examination and tests and her answers to his questions.

Gently, Dr. Smith told sweating, trembling, goosebumpy Jada there was a mass in her abdomen. “And it shouldn’t be there, and it shouldn’t have been for years,” he said.

“You read my journal?”

“The first few pages and the summarized medical history, and it and the medical records were very useful.”

“Was my mamma right about Dr. Ripley?” she asked.

“I’ll look for signs of previous surgery, but the mass might disguise them.”

“Could he have?”

“I don’t have enough evidence to form an opinion.”

Dr. Smith told her that the mass was probably a fetiform ovarian teratoma, which resembled a fetus. Its movement mystified him, but closer examination or later tests could explain it. Waiting years for surgery had probably unnecessarily increased her risks, and the operation would probably resolve some of her symptoms.

“The mass needs to be examined and treated thoroughly. I can examine the knife wound laparoscopically, repair it, and refer you to a doctor for the mass. Alternatively, I can examine the knife wound and the mass laparoscopically, repair the knife wound, and attempt removing the mass. Do you need some time to think about it?”

“Not switching doctors,” Jada said. “Get rid of It. Get rid of Its ovary. Get rid of whatever It adheres to.”

“I will remove the mass,” Dr. Smith said.

“I need to see It, though.”

“You can. If you are concerned about Dr. Ripley’s treatment, I advise preserving the mass and other tissue as evidence. I can arrange the preservation and storage.”

“Yes,” Jada said, nodding.

Anesthesia stilled It.

Blood partially obscured the underlined word “STOP” written on the blade in black Sharpie. The knife punctured Jada’s abdominal wall and pierced the brown mass, leaving other organs intact. Scars and scrapes, healing or fresh, showed the teeth and bones’ range of motion. The teratoma’s bony protuberance had easily reached the perforated intestine.

It stretched from Jada’s ovary to her back and right side. Held to her abdominal wall by adhesions, It wove between her internal organs. The teratoma adhered to her uterus and a few other nearby spots, but, generally, It grew into her abdominal walls. Among the cysts, a different tissue pulsed; two of many blood vessels led to it. A nerve cluster connected Jada’s ovary and the mass’s brain-like tissue.

Dr. Smith aggressively excised the teratoma, including Its adhesions. He repaired Jada’s perforated intestine and double-checked the ones which the teratoma attacked.

The teratoma’s pulsing ceased by the end of surgery.

Due to sheer disgust, Dr. Smith longed to personally throw It, the ovary, the scraps of internal organs in the incinerator and light it. On principle, however, he wanted the oblivious doctors themselves to require Its surgical removal.

Dr. Smith entered the recovery room for the second time—the first time, anesthesia made Jada loopy—, and like the first time, her vitals monitor beeped steadily, healthily. Jada set her greenish-blue cup of Sprite on the table.

“Is It gone?” Jada winced, easing herself upright, though already propped her up in bed.

“Yes, It was successfully removed,” he said. He thought she babbled the same question the first time.

Her black eyes crinkled as she smiled, her second, almost identical reaction to the outcome. “I knew It was gone. I can’t feel It.”

Dr. Smith explained the surgery.

“I could not determine why It was moving,” he said.

“I want to see It.” Jada held out her hand, with long, green, sparkly nails.

“You can see It. It has an eye, and some people may think that is creepy.”

“Did you?” Jada asked.

“No.” The teratoma revolted Dr. Smith, particularly the eye.

This is where you stabbed it.”

It thunked as she turned the specimen bottle. The moist teratoma had a pupilless eye with a cloudy brown iris and a tuft of black hair.

“Because It scratched your ovary, I couldn’t tell definitively if Dr. Ripley removed the first tumor. If you are concerned, I recommend contacting a forensic medical examiner. I strongly recommend that.”

“Was It alive?” Jada asked.

“In the sense that anything able to make cells is alive, the ovarian teratoma was alive. Your blood flow supplied it with oxygen, and cell death began when the teratoma was removed from your blood supply.”

“I knew the treatments didn’t work. I don’t think mine worked, either. Can a teratoma grow on the other one?”

“Possibly. I checked, but you don’t show any signs of another ovarian teratoma, or a teratoma anywhere in your reproductive organs. If another teratoma grows, a doctor should pay attention to your medical history, and probably catch it early.”

“I didn’t want to stab myself.”

“You were very desperate when you came here. You will need to switch doctors, and I can’t guarantee another doctor in the Mayo Clinic will treat you.”

Jada nodded. “I need drug rehab, too. Will you put me in another psychiatric hold?”

“No, unless you feel you need one. We have a psychiatrist, or we can contact yours. You know your state of mind better than I do and the doctors and nurses here will listen to you."

“No. Are you sure?”

“I was monitoring you for a crisis before the surgery, but I’m not inclined to think you are in a mental health crisis.”

“Why?”

“You took precautions that limited complications. You brought documentation that would have allowed me to treat you whether or not you could speak. You wanted to survive. I have adequate proof the monster in your body was real, not a hallucination. Your psychiatric history concerns me, but I do not have immediate concerns about your mental health.”

“So I can tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“If you hadn’t gotten It, I would’ve tried to cut It out.”