Whilmhelm

      The wind was whipping about and off in the west dark clouds clung to the horizon. The cold was sharp and unforgiving. It was late January and weeks had already passed since Tolliver arrived at the cabin. The cabin was nestled against a sloping hill and only stone throw away from Lake Blackwood. Inside of the cabin, a warm glow and fanatic flicker of light from the fireplace and the oil lamp placed on the table, caused shadows to brilliantly dance. Scattered throughout the cabin were scraps of food, whiskey bottles with just partial swigs left, and books stacked up near the fireplace.

           Tolliver Whilmhelm was a man of few words and a deep desire to live in solitude. His most comforting moment was when he was immersed in nature and was, in some sense, a survivalist amongst all else. He had moved to the cabin near the end of the previous year in order to escape the constant bustle of city living. He had no family and no desire to play along in the fake song and dance of everyday civilities. He escaped to this cabin to be along with his books, with nature, and to avoid the gaze of judgment for his passion for whiskey consumption.

           It had been a few weeks since the first major snow set in and Tolliver had spent more time getting plastered and binge eating, than actually surviving. The snowdrifts had piled against the front of his cabin covering the windows. The sheer darkness made it increasingly difficult to judge whether it was night or day and the cabin, though sturdy in its foundation, would often creak and moan under the weight of the snow. However, Tolliver continued on, not realizing the issue of food and firewood until waking up to a painfully empty stomach, a hangover, and his breath is visible with each labored breath he gave while fighting off the dry heaves.

           His head was pounding now and he was desperate to get some fresh air. The cabin was cool and damp now, smelling of rotten food and stale alcohol. He went to the door and pushed but it did not budge. He was unable to open the door due to the weight of the snowdrifts that so lazily rested against his cabin. Desperate to get outside, not just for fresh air, but because food and firewood were also running low, he decided to open up the window and dig is way around. Upon opening the window, a heavy blanket of snow came pouring into the cabin, and with it came a debilitating cold air that stole the breath from his lungs and instantly replaced any warmth left in his cabin. He was now freezing, hungry, and the room was spinning. He quickly rushed to the bathroom, expelling what little contents in his stomach he had.

           He rested his head on the cold porcelain rim of the toilet, muttering to himself quickly and under labored breath, a plea to the Gods to make the spinning stop. His chills turned to sweats, his thirst turned to dehydration, and a gut-wrenching pain from the dry throat and stomach pains radiated through him like a hot knife. He begrudgingly got to his feet and headed for the gaping window. He took scoops of snow out and began to eat some, soothing the pain in his throat. He wrapped his large fur coat over his shoulders and threw on his gloves, attacking the snow quickly. He scooped large chunks of it off to the side, getting closer to the open window. A dim light trickled through and dawn was already upon him.

           About fifteen minutes in and he was breathing heavy, each breath brought with it a pain in his chest and stomach. Sweat had begun to bead up around his brow, collecting just under his fur-lined hat. He was able to get out of the window and stand, overlooking the landscape, desolate of life, but shimmering as the snow was calm and settled in. There was little wind now, and the cold that once bit at him was steady and manageable. He stepped toward the front door, sinking to his mid-thigh each time, moving snow to the side and dragging his legs as far as he could to break it up. With about an hour passed, the sun was lingering on the horizon, a brilliant orang cast upon the wilderness. His door was free and he was safe to return to the cabin. He trudged back the way he came, entering through the window and once through, slamming it shut. He was soaked through and freezing.

           He opened the front door and pushed his kitchen table outside, propping it against the side. This would allow him to get out tomorrow despite the drifts. Just as he was retreating back into the cabin, he heard a single howl, distant, loud, and it seemed to bear a message. Only seconds later, a battalion of howls reverberated through the woods, reaching Tolliver just as he shut his door. He was left sitting on a chair next to the pathetic coals that no longer gave off heat. He lit the oil lamp and leaned in as close as he could to it, desperate to get warm. Soon he covered his self with blankets, coats, clothes, and anything else he could use to stay warm and crawled into his lumpy, broken-down bed. On the nightstand sat a bottle of whiskey, not enough to get him drunk, but enough to ease the pain and provide him with superficial warmth.

           Tolliver sat, propped and covered tightly, his stomach rumbling and a wave of exhaustion overcoming him. He took the last swig of whiskey, shaking it to get every last drop, and placed it on the ledge close to weak, glowing embers. His eyes closed and he let the thought of tomorrow, the wind, and slow creaks of the shifting cabin lull him to sleep. The room was steady and the cold crept in, slow and uncomfortable. Tolliver stirred about throughout the night, sore and frustrated from the poor conditions in which he tried to sleep.  

           Just as sleep became deep and potentially restful, he was jolted quickly from it as the window next to the door shattered. Snow started pouring into his cabin and the cold wind ripped through his coverage, freezing him straight to the bone. His body was nearly convulsing from the shaking in order to keep him warm. His eyes were cold and his breath was freezing, creating ice chunks in his beard and on his lashes. He let out a few loud and frustrated curse words and rose slowly to his feet, still groggy from being ripped from a deep sleep. He stumbled over to the corner and grabbed his axe, dragging it over to the front door.

           I lifted the large plank that secured his door and propped it against the ledge of the fireplace. Using what little strength he had, he began to break the plank down. Impatient and clearly pissed, he tossed the chunks toward the window, rummaged through the drawers in the chest up against the wall in the hallway. He pulled out a handful of nails and using the back end of his axe, began to tack up the boards. Though it was not completely covered, the wind was cut down and Tolliver began to warm up under his coat. Tolliver felt broken and slumped against the wall, pounding his fist into the ground. He was desperate for sleep and with little effort, succumbing to the heaviness of exhaustion and drifted off.

           The reality of cold was starting to set in now that the excitement was over. The dropping temperature grew scary and was dangerous now. He struggled to rest, and out of desperation, crawled over to the ledge, pouring the kerosene from his lamp onto the now black coals.

           Tolliver was woken by a thin strip of light that forced its way through the planks, landing directly in his eyes. Begrudgingly he woke up, coughing from the cold, now less intense. His stomach was painfully empty and his mouth was bone dry. He got to his feet and scooped up some of the snow now a fixture in his home. Groaning and moving around slowly he grabbed his gloves, hat and fur coat. He cinched his tarp tight, tossing it on his back and grabbed his axe and shotgun. Putting a shoulder into the door, he opened it up as far as possible, before it met the table that was holding back the snowdrifts. He climbed up over the snow and sat, slightly sinking in, starting the frustrating process of tying on his snowshoes.

           Soon he was off, headed toward the tree line only about a quarter-mile out, shotgun in hand. He was hungry, and that hunger was driving his will to hunt. After only a few feet, he came across tracks from the wolves who appeared to have been circling the cabin last night. He knew it was more important now than ever to complete his hunt and collect firewood. His need to hunker down in the cabin was a very strong realization now. On high alert and nervous, he continued toward the tree line.

           He moved toward the tree line looking for anything that could give away the whereabouts of animals. He sat against a large oak tree, facing an open field. The tree line here was a hotspot for deer and rabbit. He opened up the knapsack next to him and pulled out a few calls. The sound of shrill deer calls echoed through the field, dampened by the snow. Off in the west, the sky was growing dark and a snow was quickly approaching. He could feel the presence of animals around and sounded the deer call once more. His call was answered with a loud howl from the wolves and Tolliver knew he needed to get going. No food for him today.

           He gathered his stuff and began to head back to the cabin. Before taking off, he undid his tarp and cut down large branches that were low hanging from the tree. As he drug the large branches behind him in the snow, he stopped to gather as much wood from large branches and small twigs as he possibly could. As he did so the weight began to take a toll on him and his breathing was getting very heavy. He stopped to rest with gun in hand, still nervous about the wolves and the quickly approaching dark clouds. As he sat, he saw a darting figure in the brush. He propped his gun up, focused, and breathed slowly as he rested his finger on the trigger, waiting, nervous.

           His focus was intense and soon a deer popped its head up. His nervousness resided as his excitement grew. He drew in a deep breath and steadied his aim. The sound of his shot reverberated through the woods and intense rustling began to overtake the following silence. He rose to his feet and sprinted toward the deer, following the trail of blood only a few feet before coming upon his trophy. He quickly checked to ensure the deer was indeed dead, drove an axe into it and hurried back for his tarp. He loaded the deer up and began to quickly head back to the cabin. His excitement was overtaking him and he was shaking from excitement. It grew to a point that he could not contain his excitement and he yelled out a deep victory call, tears bursting from his eyes as he sobbed. The tears froze on his lashes and cheeks, but still the adrenaline was coursing through him. It was not until his victory yell was met with an answer that his excitement turned to panic and his pace doubled.

           He arrived at his cabin and deposited the deer right outside of his door. He drug the firewood into the cabin and immediately began to prep the fire. After he got it burning he rushed back outside, fighting to finish dressing the deer before nightfall. When he opened the door, he heard howls all around his cabin. He began to cut the deer, steam rolling out and the intense smell of copper flooded his senses. Working quickly he began to skin the deer and cut up the meat. A low growl began just a few feet away and panic set in for Tolliver. He tossed the pelt up onto the packed snow, took an axe to the neck and hooves and threw them as far as he could on to the snowbanks. He drug in the empty carcass and shut the door behind him, sliding a little piece of the original plank in the hook the keep the door secure.

           A few minutes into carving the deer he heard a deep bark directly in front of his door. The sun was soon to set but the light that did come in through the cracks in the recently patched window kept shifting, signifying the wolves were walking around. The fire was ablaze now and the cabin was quickly heating up. Tolliver grabbed a spick and jammed large chunks of meat into it, placing it over the fire. He was starving and exhausted, the smell of cooking meat flooded his cabin and he soon settled in on his chair. The second he sat down, something slammed against his door and a large howl decimated the silence. A second slam came immediately after and the wood lock began to splinter. Tolliver rushed toward the door and grabbed his gun. He knelt behind his chair, aimed at the door and waited. It was quiet for some time and Tolliver grew comfortable. He removed the meat from the fire and sat on the floor, picking at it and remove some of the burnt chunks.

           As he began to eat, in an almost ravenous measure, stuffing his mouth with meat and taking swigs out of an old whiskey bottled that was filled with snow for water, his entire focus was on that moment. His success, and luck, was well worth the emotion and discomfort. The wind was picking up outside as the storm had reached him. He threw more twigs on the fire and propped up some of the larger chunks of wood against the ledge, drying them for future use. He began to shed clothing, stripping down to his sweat-soaked shirt. He pulled off his wool socks and draped them over the drying wood. He finished the last bit of meat and sat for just a minute. He was preparing himself for the next task at hand, butchering and salting the deer the lay in his entryway. Still bleeding, filling his cabin with an intense copper smell.

           All of a sudden a massive wolf crashed through the patched window, rolling into the dresser a few feet away. Glasses and empty whiskey shattered all over the floor and the wolf let out a whimper. It quickly got to its feet and began to snarl at Tolliver. He pulled the trigger but nothing happened. His gun was soaked from the snow and the powder was too wet to function, panicked he threw the gun at the wolf but it quickly moved to the side. Blood was pouring from the wolf's paws as it stood on the shattered glass. Clearly angry, it let out an ear-piercing howl and jumped toward Tolliver. He kicked the chair toward the wolf, knocking it off to the side. On hands and knees now, he tried to retreat toward the corner, planning on hiding behind his bed. Just as turned is back, the wolf dug its teeth into the back of his leg, pulling him in. Tolliver reached for anything, finding first an empty whiskey bottles and shattered it on the wolf's head. This seemed to strengthen the grip of the wolf though.

           Tolliver, in desperation, grabbed the fire poker from the now blazing fire and burning his hands. He let out a yell that convinced the wolf the stop for just a split a second before it leveled its eyes back onto Tolliver and shook its head, tearing up his leg even worse. Tolliver griped the fire poker, ignoring the heat and plunged into the wolf's eye. It let out a yelp and retreated to the back of the room, near the open window. Tolliver dipped the poker back into the fire and then began to crawl to the wolf. It back off, snarling and bearing its teeth, blood running down its face now. The wolf lunged forward again, but Tolliver was ready and shoved the poker into the side of the face. The wolf lost balance and was falling over, whimpering. Tolliver swung the poker again and again, each time landing a blow on the top of its head. After finding its bearings, it escaped through the open window, blooding pouring out.

           Tolliver, already having an emotional day, sat propped against the wall, weeping uncontrollably. Intense pain surged through him as the adrenaline wore off. He was bloody, cold, and soaked in sweat and tears. His vision was hazy and the room began to spin. Exhaustion was lying heavy on him and despite the misery and pain that befell him, he was quickly succumbing to the sleep that danced around him and his every thought. His head bobbed, rattling coughs plagued his waking moments, and soon, darkness and peace. A weak howl, ushering in a crescendo of wolves, rang through the night air.  

           Days had passed and Tolliver was still heavily sleeping, slumped against the wall. The fire was gone now and a blistering cold was the only presence in his cabin. Freezing once more, he jolted out of his sleep, shaking profusely now as the sweat froze on his shirt and in his hair. He got up, putting pressure on his damaged leg and falling immediately from the excruciating pain. As it pulsated through him, he hunched over, expelling his stomach onto the floor. He crawled over to the window where the wolf broke in and grab chunks of the wood. He sandwiched his leg, wrapping it tightly with his undershirt and wincing from the pain of the pressure, he rose to his feet and began to limp toward the door. Tolliver was realizing quickly that he needed to journey into the nearest town, find medical help and get materials for repairs. He drug down the sled and loaded it up with heavily salted venison and ten whiskey bottles full of snow.

           It was very early morning and the skies were clear. He knew that if he could make a decent pace, he could reach the small village that was about fifteen miles out, only a couple hours after sunset. Bundled up, the sled tied to his waist, he set out. Only ten minutes into his walk and the familiar sound of howling filled the air. Panic-stricken and frustrated, Tolliver drew his rifle and continued on. Slower than normal and constantly looking about. Not too long after the howl, his eyes met the glistening golden eyes of his foe deep in the tree line. Stopping, calm, and filled with dread, Tolliver drew his gun and aimed. Upon the raising of his shotgun, ten more sets of eyes appeared. He knew this was going to be the end of him.

           He sat, nervous, but ready. Calculating how many shots he could get off from the tree line to him if they are at a full sprint. He feels he can take out four. The axe would have to do the rest. The alpha walked out slowly, head low, and stood at the edge of the trees. After what seemed to be an eternity of a staredown, it lifted its head and let out a deep howl. Silence fell over the fields and trees and soon the eyes disappeared one by one. The alpha last, a subtle bow, and slow saunter off. It was, as Tolliver understood, a truce between the two. Man versus nature was now a mutual respect. Calmness fell on him, and he continued his journey back to town. Though he was in terrible shape, he moved with pride and with confidence. It was for the first time in Tolliver’s life that he seemed to live with a purpose, a place in the world that is solely his.