Far away from here, in the northernmost part of the province, where the forest gives way to tundra, there still exists an old village where nobody lives anymore, nor has for many, many years. Scarcely any human has set foot in this village since what happened all that time ago. The houses and other buildings still stand, some of them, left to rot in that borderland. They have stood empty for all the decades since the events culminating in the mass exodus that left this village abandoned, and they will likely stand a few decades more, for they stand as a reminder. Though it may not be readily apparent to any ill-advised visitors to the deserted village, this place is no longer safe for human habitation: this village now belongs to the wolves.
The village was initially formed around the trading post, later hosting a weather station (they also served as advance warning in case the Russians tried sneaking over the top during the Cold War). Prior to European settlement, this land was home to the wandering tribes that were indigenous to the area; many of those who lived in the village were only a generation away from using spears to hunt. But among them were also white men of modern society: scientists, soldiers, merchants, labourers and etc. The Germans, among them, nicknamed this place Wolfsheim after a place back in the old country. For it was a fact that sometimes wolves would come into town and attack residents if they were alone and on foot, and especially after dark. Living so far north and away from the rest of civilization this was a real possibility. One had to be alert when going outside.
Few people survived a wolf attack, and those who did were badly injured. If they were dragged off, however, and out beyond the village limits, then they were thought as good as dead. No one went after them if a wolf dragged someone away, because you knew more were out there waiting for you. A couple of years ago, this happened: a little boy was taken, and his father got a posse rounded up, and they went out to rescue him … and they did not return. A few days later, the whole crew was found mauled to pieces, frozen into the snow, already pecked over by the ravens. That surely was not the work of any mere and simple animals.
So people told their children to be careful and hoped for the best. It came to pass that at least once a year, someone went missing, often a child, as it was they who were subject to the most risk. This happened for many years, longer than anyone then living in the village could remember, and it came to be the expected ratio. In the depths of winter, when the night peaked and became virtually eternal, day was a scarce glimmer, things were still run according to the hours of the clock. Parents escorted their children to school with flashlights before work. An hourly patrol was made by the RCMP to scare out any strays that might be lurking in the shadows. A sort of stasis was achieved and sustained during that time.
Then it started getting out of hand. Once a month, someone was being taken. The wolves were taking children from the streets in broad daylight. They lost all regard for the consequences of human action. Timber wolves are much larger than any of their brethren, including the cougar/puma, and nearly impervious to most firearms, so one hesitated to approach them. Anyone who tried was invariably attacked. People were frightened. More and more deigned to stay at home. Kids were pulled from class, their parents called in sick; no one went anywhere, not daring to risk leaving their domestic sanctuaries, except rarely to stock up on provisions. A curfew was instated, and the RCMP’s fruitless patrol occurred with increased frequency, but to all intents and purposes, the village was shut down.
With the people off the streets, the wolves began to investigate the houses more closely. It would not be long before they found ways into those houses. And it seemed there were becoming more wolves, and these ones were bigger, bolder, and hungrier. It seemed they would stop at nothing. They appeared to all be members of one large pack, yet each seemed to operate independently of the others, albeit motivated by a common imperative. And the village was their feeding ground.
Within a few years, the wolves had utterly decimated the village’s population. After a certain point, the bloodletting began in earnest. A whole generation of children was gone by the following summer. Many left the village that autumn, while there was still time to escape before winter set in again. A number of others stayed behind, deigning to wait it out. Adults, having lived as long as they had, managed to last a little longer, but man, woman, and child alike all eventually fell prey to the wolves, every single one.
There were some, especially those who were born here, who stalwartly refused to leave, preferring to die here rather than live elsewhere in the world. They stocked up with as much food and ammunition as was available and bunkered down, intending to wait it out. It came down to the wolves waiting outside people’s houses while the people inside slowly starved or else were immediately attacked upon emerging. Sometimes the wolves were able to get into those homes, and then it was a massacre. The wolves ruled the streets, roaming all parts of the town uncontested. In the end, nobody survived – there is no one left. The wolves won, and they retain their claim to this territory. Even to this day, they are sighted in the town. People rarely venture out there anymore, nor should they. For there is no reason for anyone to visit this deserted village, way out there on the edge of the tundra.
No one who would wish to return, that is.
