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Therese's Diary entry, dated march 17, 2016

Today I'll search Cobbler's Dell for places where I can shoot interesting photos for the feature. Ian is off to_Coeur D'Alene_ to have someone examine a bagful of ore. He seems convinced it's worth something. I haven't had a drink since I got here and Ian insists that I was only seeing things - that I had a waking nightmare of shooting a man and his mutant wolf. All was caused by too much drinking. Ian's a doctor so he should know. Crap! Just writing about drink makes me thirsty.

I visited the school building next to the church, as #1 on the list. The building contains two main rooms: a classroom -still in good condition, and a smaller storage room. Here, the roof has collapsed. There are two wooden cabinets here that might look good if somebody took the effort to restore them, but they've taken damage from the fallen roof. The first cabinet contained moldy school books. The other was locked, but falling debris has busted the door open. Here I found nine old photos in a leather satchel. (Leather is too cracked to keep). I'd expected school photos of children but there's only one child among them; a beautiful girl with odd colored eyes. The rest of the photos show adult women and men. Each photo has the name_Emory Avila_ embossed in gold - the name of the photographer. Emory must have been one hell of a motivator, for all her models look happy. There is no writing on any of the pictures, only a number written on the back of each. The girl is number one, and a woman in her thirties is number nine. The woman carries a stethoscope around her neck. She's the only one who looks tired.

Building #2: Second visit to the little church. Tried to snap a picture of the bible but the front came off in my hand when I opened the book. It's moldy and worn, and one page has been torn right out. Maybe the preacher didn't like the illustration on that page?

Building #3: residential, poor condition but good lighting from a broken window.

Building #4: Local doctor's office. A faded license to practice still hangs in its frame on the wall, giving Dr. Teagan Vaughn the permission to practice medicine. Why didn't he or she take it with him when they left the town?

Therese's Diary entry, dated march 18, 2016

I think I've made a breakthrough.

There's a little journal in the GPs office with a list of her patients. It's a simple table, but the first name is Lillie Olsen. That's the name of the missing girl from the old newspaper. By the looks she was the first patient to come down with some unknown disease. It's a strange journal; there are three columns for each patient: the name and the date where each patient showed symptoms, and a third column lists the date of their "departure", just that - departure.

It doesn't say where they went, or even if they went to the same place. "Departed" may just be another word for "dead". Will check cemetery later today.

Location #18: Cemetery

None of the patients on the list are buried here, except someone named Hilda Porter. She's also listed as "Deceased", not departed. Maybe the rest were taken to the hospital in Coeur d'Alene.

Therese's Diary entry, dated March 19, 2016

Nine photos, nine people leaving town!

I went back to the GP's office and tore the list of patients right out of the journal (sorry, doc). Then back to the schoolhouse.

The first name on the list is Lillie Olsen - and the first photo is the pretty girl. I've found her! Now, if I can only find out what happened to her, then I'll have a story for Brock.

The other photos seem to match with the names on the list.

Emerson Stoke (man) He's in his late forties but looks older because of his_Abraham Lincoln_ beard. It's rare to come across a photo from that period where they smile. But this one looks like he just won the lottery. Maybe they've found a cure to his disease.

Walter (man). Also, the only Afro-American. God! He looks so sad. Not even Emory the photographer could make this one lighten up.

Hilda - no picture.

Cameron (woman) early twenties. She's in her work clothes and her face is black from working in the mine. The skin around her eyes is clean from where she wore protective goggles. She's got startling bright eyes that make a great contrast to the dirty face, and she looks straight into the camera with this fantastic impish grin on her face. I'm tempted to keep this photo. Better not - I've already bagged the one of Lillie Olsen. How could she work the mines when she was sick?

Ian is still in Coeur d'Alene. I'll call and ask him to check the Kootenai hospital while he's there. It's a long shot, but maybe they've kept records on the patients.

Loose notepaper, dated March 19, 2016

Tried calling Ian from the Bedouin cell phone I got from Brock, but I can't get any reception. This thing is useless out here.

I've found something strange in the easternmost house of town - its' the one with the living room/kitchen and two bedrooms. The bedroom is cramped with holy symbols and artefacts: bibles, rosaries, Virgin Mary figurines and crucifixes. Whoever lived here must have been super religious. A copy of the old and new testament were tied together with a length of silk string, but everything's falling to pieces and the silk string turned to dust between my fingers. The most disturbing thing was a folded sheet of paper, sandwiched in between the two books. It's a page that has been torn from another - and much larger bible, I think it's the one from the church. It's covered with the same words written in ink, over and over again, both in English and Latin:

SAVE ME!

---

While Therese Walker explored the long abandoned town of Cobbler's Dell, Ian Parks drove to Coeur d'Alene to have his ore sample tested. The analysis concluded that the ore was rich in a chemical form of silver sulfide, known as achantite (Ag2S) - a common source of silver. The sample further contained traces of lead, zinc, copper and 6g/t gold. A rough estimate calculated the existing ore in the abandoned carts to have a value of approximately $50,000 - enough to see Ian through med-school. Overjoyed by the news, he bought a bottle of "One Hope" Californian sparkling wine from "The Wine Cellar" shop on Sherman Ave. It seemed fitting, because the silver find gave him the one hope to get his degree. He spent another day in Coeur d'Alene to buy supplies before returning to Cobbler's Dell.

It never struck me that somebody might still be alive to lay claim to the mine, Ian told me during an interview.Not until later (laughs). Right then, I was just happy I could pay my studies.

| | |

When Ian returned to Cobbler's Dell, he popped open the wine to celebrate the good news with Therese. They drank from two aluminum mugs around a folding camping table covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth.Almost a candlelit dinner, joked Therese, and Ian placed a portable Trangia camping stove on the table between them. Therese complained that the light bothered her eyes, so Ian adjusted the burner down to a dim blue flame that barely illuminated the table. Ian knew Therese was undergoing treatment for high ocular pressure, so he thought little about her being sensitive to glare. But he almost choked on his wine when Therese picked up the bottle and read the small print on the label with no effort: "Tropical aromas, green apple, luscious pear...fruity notes of cedar and apricot ..." This wasn't photophobia, he realized. Therese had incredible night vision.

Every alcoholic will tell you that the most dangerous drink out of ten is not the last one - but the first. The occasional drinker will have a few drinks until he reaches a comfortable level of intoxication and then stop drinking. But for the alcoholic, that level is never reached. Once awakened, the thirst never lets go.

When Therese had the first sip of wine, it took most of her willpower not to down the contents of the aluminum mug in one ravenous gulp. It took even more not to reach out for the bottle and snatch it out of Ian's hand. While he was busy talking about the analysis of the ore and of the mineral composition, she had already drunk the remaining contents of the bottle three times over, in her mind. The half bottle of wine had rekindled an all too familiar sensation in her - the uncompromising thirst of an alcoholic.

Ian tried to muffle a yawn. "I think I'll hit the sack." It had been a long day, and the wine made him drowsy. He crawled into his sleeping bag that he'd placed on a fold-out camping bed, and thought about the future.Fifty thousand bucks! With that kind of money, he could quit his job measuring radon gas and devote himself to his studies.

"Me too," said Therese and stretched. "I'm knackered." She snuggled into her own sleeping bag and quietly waited for Ian to fall asleep. After a few minutes, she heard his breathing grow deep and regular.Now on to plan B. She'd drive the jeep to Coeur d'Alene and quench her thirst in whatever she could get her hands on, as long as it had an alcohol content above 10%. Ian had left the receipt from the Wine Cellar by the window, with the address 317, E. Shermann Ave written in bold_. Now there's an address for you,thought Therese and pocketed the receipt before sneaking out of the two story house, hoping_The Wine Cellar had a 24/7 service [*].

Ian had parked the jeep a short distance from the house, with the keys still in the ignition. Therese slid into the driver's seat, but when she flipped the headlight switch, a searing pain shot through her eyes. The lights illuminated the forest like a winter sun reflecting off snow; biting and blinding, and she quickly switched it off;

Holy shit! What kind of bulbs did he use?

Therese toggled the light off and started the engine.

Dammit! I'll drive with the lights off, she thought. But Ian had connected the headlights to the starter, and they lit up as soon as she turned the key. The light pierced her eyes again, like silvery daggers and left dark, jagged afterimages on her retinas that made her fumble around in blindness.

Shit! I can't even drive.

It was a four hour walk to Coeur d'Alene from here. A long journey to be sure, but the reward was so tempting she could not even understand what had held her back since she arrived. Just a four hour stroll, then buy their whole goddamn stock of bourbon and suck every drop right out of the bottle. Then walk back, happy drunk and crash out in the sleeping bag for a day or two.

Screw Brock and his story, Screw the Jeep. I'm outta here.

After a few minutes of blinking, the after-images faded from her eyes, and everything cleared up.

One step takes the next, she thought and walked onwards, satisfied with her decision to buy proper hiking boots. The tall monolith that grew out of the old meteor crater stuck out like a large dark nail against the night sky, as if a Godly fist had hammered it into the rocky soil to make repairs to a world about to come apart. Therese stopped and studied the monolith from a distance. It was aglow with a warm ember shining softly from within.

Radiation, perhaps?

Ian had measured the area with a Geiger counter and warned her about the radiation level, but she still slept next to it while passed out. Apart from having vivid dreams about Christmas trees and dancing shapes, she had felt no adverse effects - in fact, she felt great.

Onwards! The city was still a few hours away.

She walked toward the city, with the monolith's soft illumination to the right. Then she sensed motion out of the corner of her eye. Several dark shadows passed in front of the monolith, blocking out the glow for a moment, before moving on.

Campers? Prospectors? Maybe someone from Coeur d'Alene had overheard Ian talk about the ore, and decided to claim it for themselves.

I should go back and warn him, she thought and inched herself closer to the monolith. Moving figures continued to pass by, and now she recognized them by their shape. A pack of wolves silently circled the monolith. Their furs shone white in the moonlight, and apart from the gentle padding of paws on rubble, they made no sound.

Therese crawled to the edge of the crater and lay down to view the strange procession. Less than thirty feet away, sixteen silvery white wolves walked in circles around the monolith. She knew they could smell her from this distance, yet they were undisturbed by her presence.

My God, they're beautiful creatures.

The wolves accompanied a sole human figure, a man in his early thirties. When the monolith shone upon his face, Therese gasped. It was Jordan Hodges; the man she had fired two slugs of 30 ought six into, only days before. She had watched him die, and scuttled over his still warm corpse to get away. But now he was alive and walking -at least partially upright. He was nude and staggered along, as if his legs were no longer meant to carry his weight. Now and again he lost his footing, and reached out to support himself against a large wolf that trotted next to him.Could this animal really be Michael, the wolf she had shot at in panic, and now back to full health? Jordan staggered towards the glowing monolith and slumped down next to it. The wolves moved closer to him and their circle grew smaller and tighter. Jordan keeled over and curled up in fetal position, then he closed his eyes.

That's what happened to me the other night, Therese realized. The feverish visions about strangers dancing around a Christmas tree had not been a dream. Like Jordan, she had passed out by the monolith and the wolves had come out.

The wolves danced; they ALL danced!

Cobbler's Dell February 16, 1908

When Walter Krause opened his eyes, the only thing he could think of was the numbing cold.

I'm naked?

He struggled to rise from the wooden floorboards, and found himself in a cage. It was fifteen feet long and six feet wide. The side was open, but a series of vertical metal bars extended from the roof through the floorboards, making escape impossible. He was naked and exposed to the freezing wind that blew down from the mountains and carried crystalline snowflakes that bit into his skin.

I _'__ m in a jail-wagon_, he realized. The same jail wagon they'd used when they captured Big Dave Updyke and his gang last year.

"Will you look at that," a familiar voice cut through the blizzard.

"Sheriff Bauman?" Stuttered Krause when he recognized the solitary figure coming towards him through the snow. He held on to the bars with both hands, but let go seconds later when the skin of his palms stuck to the frozen metal.

Bauman spat out a wad of chaw and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove.

"You catch a wolf one night, and next thing you know, it turns into a Negro."

---

Walter Krause was eleven when he moved to Idaho in 1899 with his parents. His father Amos served in the 24th infantry, when they were called in from Utah to secure peace during a legal dispute between miners in Coeur D'Alene. While in Idaho, Walter made an income running errands in the rowdy mining towns around the Silver Valley. Here he met a fellow black miner by the name of George Augustus Smith, and together they made plans to prospect for new mining areas northeast of Coeur D'Alene. Plans were cut short when George met the twenty two year old Jennie Smith. She had recently graduated from the State University as the first Afro-American to get a degree in Idaho. George was enamored by the witty girl with the pretty, doll-like face, and the couple settled down in Wardner.

Alone and penniless, the now nineteen year old Walter set out with three older prospectors and headed north. The area was rich in silver, zinc and lead deposits that attracted prospectors, fortune hunters and hopeless fantasts from all over the country. After a few weeks of prospecting, Walter and his friends made a discovery of silver ore in the river. They traced the source to the mountains, and tried to stake a claim to the area in 1905. But they were broke, and soon bankers, investors and attorneys moved in to support their claim. In a flurry of signatures and dubious contracts that Walter and his partners couldn't comprehend, they soon found themselves with disproportionally small shares in the new mine's actual worth. Wooden houses soon shot up around the mine and the new town of_Cobbler's Dell_ took its name from a nearby meteor crater with an oddly shaped rock formation in the center.

Walter's friends soon realized they had been hustled by the bankers, and they sold their shares before leaving_Cobbler's Dell_in search of other opportunities. Walter who was still considered a minor at the time, received the smallest share, but he still decided to stay. He had arrived with nothing, but now he owned part of a mine, which was a big step up. Now, a handsome twenty-year old, he had also found love in Hilda Porter, a pretty nineteen year old seamstress with a Scots/Irish background. With less than two hundred fifty Afro-Americans in the entire Idaho, Walter and Hilda were the only interracial couple in the state. Hilda's parents were unhappy with the constellation, but Walter's share in the mine gave him a small, respectable income.

---

Sheriff Bauman was speechless when he looked at the naked man before him. Last night, he and two professional hunters had chased two wolves, and caught one of them in a net. The hide of an ordinary timber wolf brought in five to fifteen dollars, depending on the color and condition. But these two weren't any ordinary timber wolves. They were much larger and their pelts were silvery white. A rare color that would pull in good money from the fur trader. After a night of chasing the wolves, they had finally cornered one of them and left it in the old jail wagon for the night.

Now his prize possession had turned into one naked citizen of Cobbler's Dell.

"Listen son," said Bauman. "I dunno what kind of Negro voodoo you fellas use, an how you changed yerself into a wolf, but I say you owe me for that pelt."

"Please Sheriff," pleaded Walter. "I never hurt nobody. I just run around."

"You done running all right," said Bauman. "Me an my boys spent all night chasin' you two. I want my money worth, and coon hide ain't worth jack."

Sheriff Bauman propped himself up against a boulder, pulled his thick coat around him and rolled himself a cigarette,

"Guess I'll just wait right here until you get mighty cold an' change back into that wolf." Then he cocked his hunting rifle.

---

SALVE ME, PIE IESU DOMINE. Hilda Porter had written the short prayer so many times on the same torn page, that the illustration of King Nebuchadnezzar was no longer recognizable. She wiped tears from her eyes and took an ivory crucifix from her bedroom wall.

"Forgive me, for I know that I have sinned in your sight." She held the crucifix to her lips. Ever since she moved to Cobbler's Dell, five years ago, she had been the most fervent church goer of the town. She went to the Thursday sermon every week, and twice on Sundays, but still the Lord was upset with her; this much she knew. Why else would he change her into the shape of an animal with every full moon? She couldn't understand why the Lord had cast this curse upon her. The illustrated bible showed the wild-eyed Nebuchadnezzar foraging for food on clawed hands and feet. He dragged a long beard behind him and he bared his teeth in a vicious snarl. Hilda knew the image by heart, even though it was almost covered by desperate scribblings of_SALVE ME_.

Am I forever doomed to run with the beasts, like the mad king of Babylon? The Lord punished the king for being too proud, to do things that were against His will.

Was this God's punishment for allowing herself to fall in love with a man of different color?

Forgive me, for I cannot stop loving Jordan, she cried. Is my loving a sin?

Or, maybe The Lord was putting her through some terrifying trial to test her faith, like the stalwart Job before her.

Are you testing me? You know I'm unshakable in my faith. Yet I have failed you.

Hilda had turned into a wolf with every full moon for months, but that was not the worst.

She had enjoyed each of those night -nay, longed for them.

She loved running with her mate through the cold, clear nights. They met other wolves who greeted the newcomers. They made Hilda and Jordan feel welcome and accepted for what they were, and soon their howls joined with the others.

I have failed you on both terms, she cried. I don 't deserve to live.

---

Walter returned to the house a few hours later. He was naked, except for a ragged blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

"I signed over my stake in the mines," he sighed. "Bauman knows."

"Then we have NOTHING!" cried Hilda.

Water shrugged and put the kettle on the stove."I had nothing when I came here, and I leave with nothing."

"But I've still got you," He caressed Hilda's belly where a bulge was plainly visible, "and the little one."

"But you don't understand," cried Hilda. "I can't even give you that." She turned on her heel and rushed out of the door to the staircase.

Walter heard her jump the stairs two steps at a time, as he began to dress himself.

Moments later, she returned with a flask of carbolic acid in her hand.

"I'm doing this for you, for me and for God," she cried. Then she drank the contents of the flask in one terrifying gulp.

Seconds later, she dropped to the floor and began to retch, as the acid burned her throat. Walter ran to her aid, but when blood poured from her mouth, he darted out of the door to get the doctor, bellowing for help all the while.

When Dr. Teagan Vaughn arrived minutes later, the once pretty face of Hilda Porter was covered, almost dissolved by chemical burns.

Teagan took the now empty flask of carbolic acid from the floor where Hilda had dropped it. A few drops of sticky liquid drew fatty streaks down the bottle walls. She had ingested more than enough to kill six adult lumber workers.

"What happened?"

Hilda opened her eyes slowly, and wet her blistered lips with the tip of her tongue.

"I... did it for my sake, for his sake - and for God's sake," she rasped.

Teagan helped Hilda sit up in the bed and offered her water from a pewter cup. Hilda grabbed the doctor's coat and whispered into her ear.

"I...turned into a wolf."

Dr. Vaughn measured Hilda's blood pressure to a low 70/50. She had seen phenol poisoning before and knew the signs. The chemical burns were painless, but hypotension, coma and respiratory failure set in within an hour. Hilda had fifteen, maybe thirty minutes left.

"You're not the first one," she said quietly.

"You mean... there are others like us... here?"

Teagan Vaughn nodded. "At least one other. Maybe two."

"Please, tell me," begged the dying woman.

Teagan drew a deep breath. She had always taken the_Hippocratic Oath_ of confidentiality very serious, but this dying girl wasn't going to pass it on to anyone. "Emerson," she said finally.

"Emerson...Stokes?" It was difficult to imagine the neatly dressed and always proper administrator, Emerson Stokes turning into a wolf. "

"I thought he left town."

"I don't think he traveled too far," said Teagan.

Emerson had come to her clinic when he noticed his eyes changing color from blue to yellow.

"I'm not going blind, am I doctor?" he pleaded. "How shall I balance the books if I can't read?"

Teagan put him through every test she knew, but apart from the unusual change of eye color, the administrator was in fine health. Even better than before, actually; a slight limp he had developed after falling down a mineshaft was suddenly gone. Teagan had Emory Avila take his photo for later reference, but to her surprise, Emory had already shot a similar photo of a local girl. The eight year old Lillie Olsen had experienced a similar change of eye color only weeks earlier.

Now the girl had disappeared.

"Why do you keep carbolic acid in your house anyway?"

"Antiseptic," gasped Hilda and rubbed her belly with a limp hand. "Before the baby arrives."

Dr. Vaughn stroked the young woman's hair. She was fading fast.

"You should have come to me," she said. "We need to learn more about your condition. Today Cobbler's Dell has lost an innocent life."

"No Doctor, Two lives were lost today - but only one was innocent. The baby is not Walter's.

I was...attacked and violated."

Teagan almost banged her head on the hanging lamp, as she rose to her feet with a jolt.

"A rapist... here in Cobbler's Dell? Who?"

But Hilda had stopped breathing, and her final answer was silent.

That night, the cries of a lone wolf echoed through the hills surrounding cobblers dell; a long mournful howl that made the citizens of Cobbler's Dell shiver and cuddle up, inside by the safety of their fires.

• CONTINUES -

[* Author's note: The Wine Cellar closes at 21PM.]