The Time of Wolves 2

Interlude: Campfire Story

The hour was late deep in the Alaskan wilderness. Nome's mail team had been running to their destination to the town of White Mountain since before noon. The run was long and hard, but at least now they a chance to rest after making such a good distance with Kodi as their lead dog. It was enough for the owner of the sled dogs, Mr. Simpson, to give his dogs a break as he set up camp.

With the tent and fire all set up, Mr. Simpson cooked some jerky for his dogs before making something for himself. The dog's, still in their harnesses, were lying about enjoying the tasty treats their master has given them. As their human went to his tent to sleep, the dogs gathered around the remnants of the fire to joke around and tell stories.

It was a merry old time all around. As the night grew even later, the dogs were more interested in telling scary stories around the dying fire. Luckily for them, one member of their team had just the story to put a chill down their spines.

"I have a story," said a husky named Marion. This old dog had been on the mail team longer than most of the other dogs. It wouldn't be long from now before he would have to retire, "And I can assure you all that it's a hundred percent true."

"Oh, this ought to be good." said one of Kodi's other teammates, a broadly shaped husky who was the team's former lead dog before Kodi, Kirby.

Another one of Kodi's teammates, a pudgy malamute by the name of Ralph, said, "this isn't one of those I heard from a friend of a friend's brother's roommate kind of stories, right?" the whole laughed alongside Ralph as a result.

"No, it happened to our musher," the laughing stopped dead then and there, "Or, more accurately, it happened to his father."

The sled team went from playful teasing to intrigued in a matter of an instant. None of them had ever known much about Mr. Simpson's father, for he died before most of them were pups. All they knew was that their musher inherited the delivery business before his passing.

Marion cleared his throat before he told the story, "Now, the story I'm about to say is one that has been passed down from the very sled dogs who were once there. Some of you may not know, Mr. Simpson Sr. was an Irish immigrant who moved to this country for work and opportunity. When arriving in Alaska, Sr. met an Inuit woman of which he came to fall in love and soon marry. Through her, Simpson Sr. was able to learn the lay of the land and how to survive in the wild. Mrs. Simpson would even join him during his deliveries.

One day, however, Mrs. Simpson fell horribly ill as they were making a return trip to Nome. Sr. was determined to get the love of his life into a doctor's care as quickly as possible. He knew of a shortcut along the north where a mountain lay. The path around the mountain help a steep slope that would accelerate their speed, but Mrs. Simpson abject to the idea. She said that the mountain to the north was a sacred place that man dares venture through, and made him promise to never take her anywhere near that place. Sr. relented only not realizing that in his argument with his wife, he had forgotten to stoke the fire for her before resting that night. By the next night, it as already too late. Mrs. Simpson passed away as she rode on the sled. She was buried as soon as they returned to Nome, but Sr. never did forgive himself for not saving in time.

Another year went by, and Sr. still in struck with grief, wanted to prove something to his late wife. That if he did go through the mountain in the north, he could've easily saved her. Sr. rode to the mountain path one day after his delivery in the afternoon to test his theory. He made it to the mountain and saw the slope that would have helped him so long ago, but by the time he reached it, it was already dark, and he needed to make camp. He was lucky that a cave appeared to him at the base of the mountain. After tying the dogs down, Sr. went in to see if it were safe to rest in.

To his surprise, the cave was huge. Deep enough to possibly go through the very mountain itself. To top it off, there had been no signs of any animal ever had lived there. He was ready to go back out to get the dogs before he heard a voice in the darkness.

"It's still cold. Why haven't you started the fire?"

Turning around, Sr. could not believe his eyes. Standing before him was none other than Mrs. Simpson. The very same that he buried that died in his care was somehow with him in that mountain. She looked as if she had pulled herself out of the grave. Her body was shriveled, and the skin was hanging off the bones. Sr. did not wait to ask. He ran out, unhooked the dogs, and rode like hell through the night. When he got back, Sr. locked himself into his house and didn't come out for a week. He spent several nights without sleep peeking out the window, with his shotgun in hand, seeing if his undead would follow him home and haunt him some more.

Years later, after handing his job to his son, he told our musher everything that happened. Now, believe whatever you wish, but he must've been persuasive because Mr. Simpson stayed clear of going anywhere near the mountain to the north. He would even give a hard tug if any sled dog tried to lead them near there.

There is something in that mountain. Something wicked, something evil. I only pity the poor fool who would ever travel up there."

End of interlude

A/N: With that, I hope you all enjoy this little detour from the main plot. I was hoping this could tease as to what's to come as to celebrate the season. Now that I poured three chapters in a row, I get back after I wish an update with another fic I've been neglecting. So, enjoy, leave a review, and happy Halloween.