Curse of the Lupine Moon

December 2nd, 1865 – Central Minnesota

Jeb was angry, which was good. The rage prevented the horror and sorrow from crippling him. It kept him moving toward the beast that had killed his wife, Tabitha, and taken his 8-year-old son, Caleb. He had little reason to believe that his son was still alive, but if there was even a glimmer of hope, he would never turn back.

His breath drifted into the night sky, illuminated by the full moon filtering through the dense, leafless trees. He was tracking a trail of blood and large wolf prints through the snow-covered forest.

He was getting closer. These drops of blood hadn’t frozen yet. Jeb rounded a bend in the trail opening onto a small clearing that he instantly recognized. Sutter’s Pond.

A memory surfaced through the ocean of rage. Three years ago, Tabitha insisted that Jeb and his brother, Cole, be baptized on this very spot before joining the war to preserve the Union. Tabitha’s brother, Simon, who happened to be the local Priest, performed the ceremony.

The memory was so strong that Jeb could hear Simon’s words echoing from the trees. “As you go to war, rest well knowing you have protected your soul,” Simon reached into his robe and pulled out two daggers. He said a silent prayer and handed them to Jeb and Cole. They were 6-inch silver blades, each with a cross and crucifix sculpted into the handle and hilt, “I also pray that in times of desperate need, these will help protect your body."

Jeb’s mind instantly snapped back, as a thin cloud briefly obscured the full moon, a long, baleful howl came from the trees on the other side of the frozen pond, followed by a brief and weak scream. Rather than tracking the bloody paw prints around the edge of the pond, Jeb ran straight across the snow-covered ice toward the trees on the other side.

Jeb’s mind reeled. He had felt this fear and rage before.

... ...

December 13th, 1864 – Ogeechee River, South of Savannah, GA

The war was brutal. Jeb and Cole had fought side-by-side in dozens of bloody battles since leaving Minnesota. They recently had been transferred into General Hazen’s division to aid in Seward’s March to the Sea.

Tonight, their orders were to attack the Confederate stronghold, Fort McAllister. The fort was on a riverbank near the mouth of the Ogeechee River, surrounded by marshes, swamps and ancient oak trees, draped with Spanish moss.

Jeb crouched behind one of the giant oaks waiting for the signal to charge. 15 feet to his left, Cole was doing the same. Jeb unsheathed his dagger and looked at the crucifix sculpted handle. He always said a short prayer before entering battle. Since leaving Minnesota the dagger had become a comforting talisman that connected him to his family, a bridge to a happier time and place.

Knowing the attack was imminent, Jeb held the blade, looking at the crucifix, whispering, “Our father…” he was interrupted by snapping branches, and a low, guttural growl coming from the undergrowth behind Cole. Fearing his younger brother was about to be ambushed by a swamp gator, Jeb sheathed the dagger, cocked his musket and swung towards the undergrowth.

Jeb stared into the dark shadows created by the full moon as it filtered through the trees and moss.

A distant bugle sounded and chaos erupted as 2000 men leapt from their positions charging the fort.

Jeb watched in horror as a gigantic, silver wolf erupted from the shadows and pounced on Cole, the attack consumed by the shouting, musket fire, and explosions of the surrounding charge. The wolf sank its teeth into Cole, shaking him like a dog with a rabbit.

Cole dropped his musket, screaming in pain as he was pulled onto his back. Jeb ran closer, trying to get a clean shot at the beast. It grabbed Cole’s leg, dragging him towards the undergrowth. Jeb took take aim at the wolf’s flank and fired, knocking it onto its side.

The beast thrashed as Jeb pulled his dagger and threw it at the wolf’s throat. The throw went high, grazing the wolf’s cheek and eyeball. Badly bleeding, the wolf retreated into the undergrowth.

“Medic! We need a medic here!”, Jeb shouted into the dark, scrambling to his brother, praying to be heard over the chaotic din of war. Cole was in shock, his eyes rolled back as Jeb put pressure on his bleeding wounds. Cole was trying to speak but could only gurgle as he choked on the blood filling his lungs. “Hang on Cole,” Jeb pleaded.

The gurgling and choking stopped.

It took only 15 minutes for the fort to fall, but Jeb sat under the old oak tree holding his dead brother for an hour. The moon had sunk lower into the Western sky below the moss-covered branches, bathing Jeb and Cole in its silvery reflected light. Jeb quietly prayed with tears slowly rolling down his dirty, blood smeared face. Suddenly, Cole jerked.

Jeb rolled him onto his side as Cole’s body convulsed and started coughing up blood.

“MEDIC! We need a MEDIC!”, this time Jeb’s cries were answered by a pair of young boys with a stretcher.

... ...

October 15th, 1865 – St. Paul, Minnesota

Jeb and his son, Caleb, were standing on the train platform in St. Paul, Minnesota waiting for the 2:15.

10 months had passed since Jeb last saw Cole that awful night. Cole had been taken to a triage tent where he was stitched, patched and transferred to a makeshift field hospital somewhere near Savannah. After Savannah surrendered, Cole was transferred to a nearby facility to convalesce.

“Here it comes”, said Caleb with excitement in his voice, pointing towards a plume of steam rising over the trees in the distance.

The train pulled into the station in a billow of steam and smoke, squealing to a stop. They watched as a restless throng exited the train. Eventually, Cole’s familiar form stepped through the wafting steam onto the platform.

Jeb was astonished. Other than a slight limp and a new cane, Cole looked completely healed.

“Thank God you’re home!”, said Jeb, stepping up to embrace his younger brother.

A chill hung in the air when Cole didn’t return Jeb’s embrace, “You are acknowledging the wrong deity.”

Jeb stepped back and met Cole’s icy stare. “You’re tired and hungry. Let’s get you home and fed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Caleb grabbed Cole’s bag and they walked towards the wagon for the long journey home.

Despite Caleb’s barrage of questions, it was a quiet and chilly ride.

... ...

December 2nd, 1865 – Central Minnesota

Since Cole’s return six weeks ago, Jeb had only seen him twice.

“You need to talk to me!”, Jeb was banging on the door of the Cole’s small cabin. After arriving at the family homestead, Cole had refused to stay with Jeb and Tabitha. Instead, he moved into an abandoned cabin on the far end of their land.

“Go away and leave me alone”, was Cole’s reply.

Every evening Tabitha prepared a meal and Jeb delivered it. Cole never opened the door. From inside the cabin, he insisted Jeb set the basket on the porch and leave.

“Cole, I’m worried about you. I struggle too. I have terrible nightmares. I wake up screaming almost every night. I see the faces of those who died around me, or worse, I see those I killed. I think we may be haunted by them for the rest of our lives.” Jeb paused, “We faced down those horrors in life together, now let’s face down the ghosts... together.”

There was a strange rustle in the cabin, it sounded like dragging chains, then a crash, like a chair had been thrown across the room. Cole screamed, “Go AWAY!” NOW!”

Jeb stepped off the porch. “Tomorrow then,” he said as he walked towards the wagon, watching the full moon creep over the Eastern trees.

… …

The rhythmic clop of the sauntering horse’s hooves on the dark, snow-covered road soothed Jeb’s troubled mind. Suddenly, a low, black shadow flashed past in the trees.

The horse reared up, breaking free of its harness and bolted into the woods in a blind panic. The cart rolled onto its side, throwing Jeb to the road.

Cursing, Jeb stood, brushed off the snow and followed the hoofprints into the woods. He was looking for the horse’s trail near a creek when a distant gunshot echoed from the direction of his cabin.

He ran headlong through the dark trees till he arrived at the cabin. Jeb burst through the open door and froze in horror.

The grizzly scene appeared to bounce and swim in the flickering firelight. The interior of the cabin was destroyed. Tabitha was lying in a pool of blood, her clothes and skin ripped to shreds, her throat torn from her neck.

Jeb’s mind was locked in a haze of shock and disbelief, until a scream from deep in the woods jarred him to action. Caleb.

Stepping around the pool of blood, trying not to look at the contorted, silent scream frozen on his dead wife’s face, Jeb carefully retrieved his musket from under Tabitha’s bloody hand. He reloaded it as he retraced his steps to the door.

… …

There it was. Jeb had silently climbed to the top of a small mound of craggy rocks overlooking a meadow surrounded by tall trees. Caleb’s lifeless body was laying in the dark shadows of the trees across the clearing, the snarling wolf circling him.

Looking down the barrel of his musket, centering his sight on the wolf’s head, Jeb slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger. The musket powder exploded with a cloud of smoke and sparks.

The wolf dropped to the ground.

Jeb dropped the musket, scrambled down the pile of rocks and sprinted across the meadow to his son. He scooped up Caleb’s lifeless body. Jeb held his head to Caleb’s chest, listening for any sign of life.

Silence.

Crushed by loss, Jeb began weeping uncontrollably, holding his son’s body tightly.

There was a low, guttural growl.

Jeb slowly laid Caleb in the snow and turned around. Standing in the moonlight, just beyond the shadow of the trees stood the wolf, bloody and angry. The snarling wolf stared directly into Jeb’s soul, then lunged.

Without thinking, Jeb pulled the silver dagger from his belt, and plunged the blade deep into the wolf’s chest. The beast howled in pain, as Jeb pushed it to the side, its teeth snapping wildly at the air. He watched it kick and twitch as the death spasms slowly subsided.

Jeb sank to his knees over Caleb’s lifeless body and prayed, “Our father, who…” suddenly a loud crack, and several sickening, wet pops came from the wolf.

The wolf began writhing in the snow. Its legs lengthened and swelled, its muzzle shrank into its face, and its fur began to retreat into the wolf’s skin. Jeb watched in shock as the wolf roiled and melted into a human form and fell still. Jeb cautiously rolled the body onto its back, revealing the dagger buried in its chest. He again dropped to his knees. It was Cole.

Cole’s eyes focused on Jeb’s face and with his final breath whispered, “Thank you.”

Broken by grief and confusion, Jeb curled into a fetal position and sobbed into the snow. His soul was broken.

He laid there, physically and spiritually numb, watching the full moon sink low enough to cast its reflected light into the shadow of the trees. The forest was completely silent… except for a faint, thready wheeze. Jeb sat up and looked at Caleb, who was now bathed in a pool of moonlight. The wheeze got steadily louder until Caleb shuddered, then jerked and started coughing up blood.

Thank God he survived! Jeb picked up his beloved son and started running through the shadowy forest.

Caleb needed warmth and a doctor.