I saw a wolf tonight.

My apartment teeters, balanced precariously on top of the old house; when the wind blows, I can feel it sway. I was up at the dark of night, writing a letter to my aunt Charlice by candlelight (as I am wont to do), when I looked out the window and saw by the light of the moon a wolf stalking through the flower gardens, ragged and grizzly – like a ragged grizzly bear! …only, I suppose, not so bear-like.

Its footsteps prattled, then teetered and waned. It walked sideways and then backwards down the moonlit path. My jaw hung slack and I felt myself held – mesmerized – by its movements. I remember feeling compelled, as if an urgency had taken hold of me, and found myself racing down through the old house and across the back porch, forgetting entirely about my safety and wanting nothing more than to see it up close.

Allow me to pause here to clarify: I do not have a death wish, nor do I have a morbid fascination with those unknown realms of the afterlife. I consider myself a sensible man with sensible proclivities. But the sight of the creature bathed in moonlight had me so captivated that night that it was as if my rational mind had abandoned the rest of me and left my whimsy and fervor to fend for themselves.

I rounded a corner and found it to be still there in the garden, illuminated by the moon’s eerie light, waiting – almost as if it had called for me in some secret, silent voice and then had stood watch for my arrival. It was then that my senses returned. My knees wobbled and collapsed. I fell to the ground and bruised myself in the landing.

I remember it approaching. I remember its hot and humid breath upon my face, juxtaposing the cool autumn air. My brain froze in terror. I tried to calm myself, to see the underlying math in it’s face, it’s eyes. It’s teeth. But the numbers wouldn’t come to me. All I could see was the horrifying biology of which the beast was composed.

And then it was gone, bounding off into the night.

It wasn’t the only thing that disappeared into the darkness that night. When I had composed myself enough to return to my rooms, the letter I had been writing to my aunt had disappeared as well.

Sometimes I fear that darkness might swallow everything.