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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “The Hive” Down in the Dirt (v137) (the June 2016 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book A Stormy Beginning the Down in the Dirt Jan. - June 2016 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2016 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

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The Wolf

Stephan Deemer

    If you find this note, it means I am no longer alive. I have little time and even less space, so I will try and recall what I can about the circumstances that led me to this small, secluded cabin in Wyoming.
    The first time the call came; I thought it was a prank call. I mean, who wouldn’t? You get a phone call at 9:00 am and a deep voice at the other end of the line breathes for a few seconds, says, “I know what you did,” then hangs up? It has to be a prank call.
    That was over a year ago.
    Since that first call 423 days ago, I have received a phone call every single morning at 9:00 am. And every single call is the same voice. It’s deep and breathy, menacing. If wolves could speak, I imagine their voices would sound like the man who calls me daily.
    It doesn’t matter where I am, the caller will find me. If I’m out, he will call my cell phone. Multiple times I was sitting in my cubicle getting an early start to my work, and the call came to my work phone. Once I was out for breakfast with my friends, and the call came to the restaurant! Fear filled me as I went to the host stand and picked up the phone. And there he was, waiting for me.
    I have tried everything to get rid of him. I’ve changed my numbers; he calls the new number the next day. I’ve blocked the number he calls from, but the next morning he just calls from a new one. I moved to a new city, and he still followed me! Does he know what I’ve lost? Of course he does. He knows everything about me I suspect.
    I tried to get the police involved, but they told me as long as he wasn’t threatening me, they were powerless to help. I even went and hired a private detective, but he could not find a thing. He said it was the first case that he had ever returned completely empty handed on. Seeing my pale face and sunken eyes, he decided not to charge me.
    Before moving again to Wyoming, I tried to figure out exactly what it is I did. Why this man keeps calling me? I pored over my memories like a researcher poring over microfilm. I called friends and family, asked them to try and point me in the right direction. Nothing.
    I wonder if it was something insignificant like I forgot to hold the door open for him on my way into a building. Or maybe I cut him off on the freeway. Maybe that’s all it takes to set a mad man off.
    Sometimes I have nightmares about him. In my dreams he’s tall and ghostly thin, with long gray hair, sharp teeth, and piercing red eyes. But just as in real life, he never comes after me. He just stands there, staring, and licking his lips.
    I came to this cabin with nothing but clothes, food, and basic supplies. No electronics. I also brought a gun. I thought if there were ever a place for him to attack me, this secluded cabin would be it.
    My first morning in the cabin I awoke to ringing. He had left a cell phone on the dining table. I smashed it to pieces but the next morning another one appeared in the bathroom.
    I don’t sleep much anymore. I try and stay up all night to catch him in the act. But when I stay up all night watching the dining area, the phone turns up on the front porch. When I stay up all night watching the front porch, the phone appears in the bathroom. They have popped up everywhere. Once I fell asleep standing watch and woke up to a new phone ringing in my lap.
    This morning I woke up to find a new phone ringing on my nightstand. Instead of smashing it like all the rest, I answered and begged him to stop. He listened to my crying, just breathing into the phone and listening. And then he hung up.
    And for some reason that was my breaking point.
    Not the friends I’ve lost, or the family I’ve deserted, or the fact that he has driven me to this piece of shit cabin so far away from everything I loved. No, my breaking point was his total lack of compassion this morning. I know for sure what I have always suspected: he will not stop.
    To whoever finds this, please deliver this note to the police.
    And if you find this: you won.

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