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Rearming the spring trap that seals shut the main access port to the haunted

tunnels is a bit of a chore.       Clearing the trash is the easy part, thanks to a combination wench/heavy net system I designed myself that does most of the work.

This was done with the simple press of a button over a week ago

when I relocated the wolfpups; it’s kind of like one big claw machine game.

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No, it’s getting the big metal freezer that rolls down

along the ramp to trigger the whole

chain reaction that’s the hard part. I’ve been holding off on

doing it until it’s cooler because it’s ungodly heavy

…it’ll slide when you least expect it and the last thing I need is a broken foot.

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In the old world, a broken foot might have meant a cast or a crutch.

Here, it is a guaranteed death sentence.

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The last few days have been sweltering and the heatwave doesn’t look like it’ll break

anytime soon though, so I figure I might as well get it done.

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I’ve got it about halfway up the ramp with the help of a metal pipe I’ve sawed slantwise

to give me some leverage when I witness a single droplet of sweat dripping from my forehead. It plinks perfectly between the web of my thumb and index, in grueling slow motion. It’s almost cliché, something from a cartoon, and this fact elicits an immediate yowl of laughter.

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What follows next is predictable—a perfect tsunami of dominoes.

There’s my left hand slipping. There’s me, rolling backwards like a human snowball.

There’s the monster of the freezer following after, and then me pitching myself down into the mouth of the haunted tunnels to avoid getting kamikaze crushed.

Finally, there’s me splayed out on the damp anteroom floor,

looking up at a ring of dusty daylight.

I’m pretty sure there’s a bone sticking out of my leg too, just above my kneecap.

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Once my heart is done thumping like a drum wound so tight it could burst, I’m sure

the pain will kick in.                   But then there is a vague sniffing behind me. Curious shuffling of fur just beyond the perceptible edges in the darkness.

Breath stinking as it rustles forth, poking its nose into the light.  

Ives?                  Good boy.

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Now the pain is presenting itself, and I can feel that my knee is wet with red.

Growing slicker by the second, warm with a steady, even gush.

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Ives can sense this too, his head fully exposed now along with fangs fully borne.

Mane marbled red just like his teeth.

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I know right away that he has found my treasure trove of corpses.

His eyes are singing now with disgust, and I dare not patronize him by attempting to

pacify him with a soothing tone. He is beyond all this, and I am proud of him for it.

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His transformation to alpha is complete.

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