“Damn wolves!” he cried, dropping the flashlight and squeezing off two rounds from his shotgun.

There were two brilliant flashes from the muzzle and, for an instant, the entire forest seemed ablaze with light. But despite the momentary illumination, there was no longer a sign of a wolf anywhere in the forest.

Ernie took a deep breath and picked up his flashlight. He shone the light, first at the forest, then slowly panned its beam toward the stable. The door had been bashed in and was hanging askew on just one of its hinges. In front, tufts of downy fur floated gently on the air like snowflakes.

“That’s not a good sign,” Ernie said.

He rushed over to the stable, slowing as he neared the front door in case one or more of the wolves were still inside. Then, standing to the side of the door, he shone the light inside.

All of the rabbit cages appeared to be intact, except for one. That cage had been ripped apart, and the rabbits that had been inside were gone. There was no mystery to that, since Ernie had seen a wolf running away with one of the rabbits in its mouth. But the question remained: What kind of wolf had the strength and ability to tear open a heavy steel cage as if it were made of Christmas wrap and ribbon?

He directed his light deeper into the stable and saw Sir Brian Hewlitt backed into a corner. The horse’s body pressed against the far wall, still cowering from whatever it was that had been in the stable. And its eyes…its eyes were open wide in terror, looking like a pair of full moons in the darkness.

“It’s okay, Sir Brian,” Ernie said. “Everything’s okay. It’s gone now…” Then, under his breath, “Whatever it was.”

Obviously these were no ordinary wolves, if that’s, in fact, what they were. But no matter how smart or strong they could be, Ernie took comfort in knowing that they wouldn’t be able to outrun a round of buckshot. The thought reminded him that he’d taken shots at one of the wolves as it ran away. If he was lucky, he’d hit it and he’d find it lying somewhere in the snow, either dead or dying—he didn’t care which.

He pumped another round into the chamber of his shotgun and headed toward the area of the forest where he’d last seen the wolves. As the beam from his flashlight swept over the snow, he noticed that the wolves had left behind plenty of tracks for him to follow.

And blood.