Camping
My name is Kurt Frasier. I'm a mouse.
I guess it was a little late in the year to go on a camping trip, but I just couldn't fit any time off into the schedule for the summer. Besides, it was an unseasonably beautiful weekend -- it's not every year that it gets up to the 70's this late in October. I figured it had to be a sign. So I put myself down for a four-day weekend, got my gear together, and took the bus out of town.
I should have called first I guess. Silly me, I thought The Whispering Pines would be open year 'round.
"You need to be packed up and out by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning," the bear behind the counter explained to me upon my arrival. "No exceptions."
I stood on the counter and stared up to him with wilted ears, crestfallen. "But I just got here!" I pleaded. "I took off Monday and Tuesday for this trip!"
I could tell he was annoyed with me, but he held his voice firm and steady. "I'm sorry, but that's coming from the main ranger's office. We stayed open a little longer this year because of the weather, but there's a cold front coming in tomorrow afternoon, so that's going to be it for the year."
Well. I guess I had to be grateful that I could stay at all, but it was still a bit of a drag. And it didn't help that things just kept going sour from there.
First, there were the roads from the ranger station to my assigned campsite. Just covered with pine needles. I brought my car on the bus so that I could get around the campground, but when you're the size of a mouse, that makes for a pretty bumpy ride. And some jackass came up from behind me -- clearly in violation of the 10 MPH speed limit posted -- and nearly ran me over.
The next pleasant surprise was the bathrooms. Apparently, the campground was enjoying an extended open season, but that didn't apply to the one structure with electricity and running water in the entire park. Not that I don't enjoy roughing it, you understand, but it pretty much rendered my air compressor and, by extension, my air mattress useless.
It had been some time since I'd tried to put a tent together. In fact, I don't think I'd ever made the attempt all by myself before. Forty-five minutes and three aborted starts later, and my nerves were completely shot. It was already dusk by the time I finally had my shelter erected, complete with the ice cold, rock-hard floor where I was going to sleep. I was grinding my teeth and seething. I came on this damned trip to relax, and so far it had just been one thing after the other. I should have got back in my car and drove back to the bus station.
But no. I was determined that this trip wasn't going to beat me. There was no way that I would go down without a fight. I gathered up some twigs and splinters and put together a little fire to see by. Then I pulled out the propane stove and warmed up a can of ravioli. I sat in my little folding chair and ate by the fire, and after a while, I started to feel a little better. The temperature was dropping sharply now that the sun was down, so I bundled up in my sweatsuit.
It was actually kind of cozy, sitting out there under the trees as the wind rushed through the branches. The sky was perfectly cloudless as the stars began to come out, millions of dazzling little specks. I put my nose in the air, closed my eyes, and breathed deep. This. This is what I had come out here for. This feeling. I was in a wholly different world now, far from the interstate trucking permits and my idiot boss always on my case about his idiot clients. This was --
A sudden crushing, shuffling noise. My ears perked up, and I froze up, eyes wide open, darting around. I didn't even see it coming. A huge shadow suddenly trotted into view, and then it was on top of me, snorting and snuffling. My chest tightened up. Every muscle in my body tensed. I took several quick, shallow breaths. Nothing was happening.
I guess I knew. I really, really wanted to be wrong. A part of me figured I must be. They don't let feral animals in these woods, I told myself. Yeah, they were open a little later in the year, but they wouldn't let me camp here if it was dangerous, right? I must be wrong. I had to be wrong. I'd shine a light on it, and I'd see how wrong I was, and then I'd have a good laugh at myself. Nothing to be scared of. Nothing to be scared of. I pulled the flashlight out of my pocket. I pulled the flashlight out of my pocket and pointed it up at --
"AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"
IT WAS A WOLF! HOLY FUCK IT WAS A FUCKING FERAL WOLF!
My life flashed before my eyes. God what a waste it had been. Grade school, high school, college, and then this stupid, worthless job. What had I ever really done? What had I accomplished? I never fell in love. I hadn't kept in touch with my family. Who was even going to care if I had ever existed?
I started panting. And that's when I realized that nothing had happened. The wolf just stared right back at me, nostrils flared, lips curled. And I just felt... the strangest feeling of inevitability. I was staring my destiny in the face, and it looked hungry.
And then he yawned.
My flashlight lit up this huge, ugly chasm. Everywhere, yellow teeth, big blobs of slobber, ugly mottled black and pink flesh that stretched and contorted in all sorts of weird, sick ways, a pale pink tongue that oozed out and curled at the tip, his throat stretching out wide to expose the horrible, alien landscape of his glottis. His breath washed over me, hot and moist and reeking like an outhouse.
And then?
As quickly as it had started, it all snapped shut again. He shook himself out lazily. And then he gave me the most... unimpressed look I'd ever seen. Like I wasn't worth his attention at the moment. And then he walked past me. It was the most thoroughly humbling experience of my life. I can't even describe what it was like to watch this massive beast just saunter overhead like I was nothing. A broad, lean gut. A massive sheath, wide as my head. Two huge nuts bouncing gently.
And one big hindpaw to smash my tent into splinters.
And then he was gone.
I spent the night in the nearest motel.
Yeah. Turns out I decided to go camping during the time of year when the feral wolves start moving back into that part of the forest. Definitely should have made that phone call first.
I stayed in my apartment for the rest of my vacation. Didn't go out for anything. Didn't even watch TV. Hardly ate. Spent most of my time curled up on the couch. I just felt... numb. Shocked. I saw how vulnerable and mortal I really was. I guess it shook me pretty bad.
Wednesday came around, and I mustered the nerve to show up for work. Luckily, October's a busy time of year, so I just buried myself in mileage spreadsheets until five o'clock. I was feeling pretty numb. I really didn't want to talk to anyone about it.
I guess, in the end, I never really told anybody.
It was worse when I got home. When I didn't have anything to occupy my mind with, the memory would resurface. That vision haunted me. That moment when two huge eyes stared straight into me, and that beast knew...
He knew...
Why did he spare me? That's what I kept wondering. I guess I should have been grateful to be alive, but there was a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach, like it had gone all wrong, like I was meant to die there that night, like...
Like that was what I'd always wanted.
God what a weird thought! But it made a strange amount of sense. After all, a mouse's natural place in the world is near the bottom of the food chain. Maybe it was just blind rodent nature. Maybe when it came right down to it, we were hard-wired to be food animals. Maybe there was just something ticking in our heads that just wouldn't feel fulfilled until a giant sexy beast's stomach had its way with us.
Sexy? Yeah. That's what it really came down to. I had a crush on a wild wolf that had stumbled into my campsite. I was infatuated.
It was hard to concentrate on work. I made more mistakes, but it was hard to care, even when my boss pulled me into his office for a ten minute closed-door meeting. Why had I been put on this earth? To stare at a computer monitor eight hours a day? To fight an unending war against the bureaucracy of the International Fuel Tax Administration? No.
No, there's only one reason why mice are put on this earth.
It was a cold gray day in the middle of November when I made the trip back. There was a blockade in front of the road that lead into the campground, but luckily it wasn't low enough to prevent a mouse-sized car from entering. I guess it never occurred to them that someone as small as me would want to drive into the woods when there were wild wolves prowling around.
I found the exact same campsite, and I parked my car at the end of the path that led in. Stripped out of my clothes and left them on the ground. It was chilly all right. The sensible wild mice had already gone into hibernation. I had planned on just wandering into the woods until something found me, but I didn't get halfway across the campsite before the cold was too much to bear. I snuggled up under a pile of pine needles to get out of the wind. It helped a little. Balling myself up helped to keep the heat in. And I waited.
I didn't have to wait long.
The snuffling came from the end of the path. I turned, shocked, ears up and eyes open. He'd found my car. And now he was padding slowly, methodically into the campsite, his nose low to the ground, picking up little mousey footsteps on the pine needles, slowly, methodically making his way to the little pile of pine needles where I lay concealed. My pulse was pumping so hard that I could hear it. Maybe he could too. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins. Fight or flight time. But I didn't do either.
Trembling in cold and fear, I crawled out from under my shelter to wait for him.
He noticed immediately and stood watching, his head low to the ground. He crossed the remaining space with three slow, ponderous footsteps. I waited for him to strike, but he didn't.
"You came back."
The voice was low and growly. My heart skipped a beat, and I nearly screamed. My mouth was dry, my chest was heaving, and my jaw was stiff from the cold, but I did finally manage to mumble a reply. "You can talk."
He leaned in a bit closer. His nose was maybe five steps away. "So can you."
"Well I..." I cringed, embarrassed. "I didn't think feral wolves could talk."
"Most of them don't," the wolf agreed. "Or don't have anyone worth talking to. I was born in the city. I moved out here several years ago."
I blinked. "Why?"
His eyes focused on me with unsettling intensity. "To hunt."
Oh dear. I felt like I'd been hit in the gut. I guess meeting an animal you can hold a conversation with can give you a false sense of security.
His head tipped to the side slightly. "And why did you return?"
My knees had gone weak. I felt like such an idiot. And yet, it was strangely calming. This was how it should go. I could feel it. "I had to," I choked out at last. "I came back for you."
Shlop. The thick wet sound of a wolf's tongue slapping against his nose. I cringed as he advanced again. He was so close that his breath was like a radiator. He was so close that I could touch his nose. But I stood my ground.
"You don't need to do this," he assured me, his voice rumbling like looming thunder. "You can turn around right now and go back to your safe little city where all of the cute little furry things have long, happy, normal lives, and you can forget this ever happened." One huge forepaw settled to the ground beside me. Digits spread out. Claws gripping the earth. "Or you can stay here. And I'll have you for lunch."
I swallowed hard.
"I've spared your life once," he reminded me. "I won't do it again. I'm giving you one last chance." His head tipped up slightly. I could see straight into his parted lips as he formed his last three words. "One. Last. Chance."
I did think about it. I really didn't have such a bad job, after all. I had a nice home. I wasn't rich, but I wasn't poor either. I had my favorite TV shows. My favorite walks in the park in the autumn. My favorite pizza place. Friends at work. I had a good life. It's not that I wanted to die. I don't think I was even really ready.
But I think we both knew. This was my place in life. This was where I belonged. And I'd just have to deal with that.
He never said another word to me. One big paw squashed me to the ground, and a thick, broad tongue curled out from between his lips, probing me, teasing me, exploring me up and down, every joint, every nook, every orifice, studying me, measuring me, rolling me this way and that. It was sloppy and warm and so, so very lewd. I closed my eyes and groaned helplessly. Was this for his benefit or mine? I writhed and twisted and clawed at the ground, driven by a mad instinctive urge to escape the sensory overload.
I was rolled onto my stomach when I felt the teeth clamp around my ankles, the thick black lips sealed tight around my knees. And then he just munched me down. I screamed out, clawing for anything I could catch my paws on, but nothing could stop his tongue from dragging me back, his front teeth from clamping against me with a steady biting rhythm, and in a split second, my last glimpse of daylight was quenched by the rubber wringers of his teeth as my head slipped straight through.
And then I was adrift. I was lost in the dark, swirling in a thick, wet sea of live, liquid canine tongue. I was squeezed and rolled like a Jolly Rancher. It stank to high heaven of dog. And it felt... it felt gorgeous. A full-body... something or other. Like I was swimming in velvet. I was blushing up hotter than I ever had in my life. At one point, I just broke down crying. It wasn't so much that I was sad or scared or hurt, just... overwhelmed.
All at once, the ride came to a stop -- the wolf squashed me hard between his molars. I was still in one piece -- despite all of the chewing, I don't think I'd broken any bones, but I was taking shallow breaths now that my rib cage was squeezed so tight. I started feeling a little dizzy. There were splotches of color before my eyes, even though I knew I was in complete darkness. And I felt a strange... motion, like I was bobbing up and down. I thought I must have been imagining it, but then I realized the truth.
The wolf was walking away.
As far as he was concerned, the encounter was over. He was already off to do something else.
I was a meatball. That was the thought that kept going through my head as he held me in his cheek and sucked on me like a jawbreaker. I was a meatball. It wasn't good or bad, just... strange.
It was very warm in the wolf's mouth. Very warm and soft and sloppy, especially as his tongue poked at me out of boredom. Maybe it was the physical nature of my confines, or maybe it was the terrible knowledge that this beast had me for his own that tickled something deep in my nature. But it finally gave me the hardest, most bone-shaking climax of my life. I screamed and scrabbled my arms and legs wailed in despair as it hit me. And then I fell limp, panting.
Maybe the wolf had been waiting for that. Or maybe it was just dumb luck. But once I was numb and limp, the teeth released me, and I just slid downward. I didn't even realize I'd been flushed down his throat until I felt the hard, bony structure of his larynx squeeze against me. Ratcheting me down.
I sank down into the wolf's body surprisingly slowly. Pumped and squeezed deep into his rib cage, tucked under inches and inches of tough, powerful wolf flesh. Too deep to ever get out even if I could find my way.
Down to his stomach.
The wolf's hunger greeted me like an old friend, folding me into the rancid stew in the bottom of his stomach. I groped around blindly and felt... something. Warm, fuzzy flesh. Long dead. I wasn't the first thing he'd caught that morning. I guess it takes a lot of little mice to make a good, satisfying mouse soup.
I was gasping for breath as his stomach slowly squeezed up and down, rocking back and forth slightly as the wolf kept his steady pace in the forest. It stank like hell, but it was very warm. Very comfortable. Not a bad place to die.
I don't know how long I lasted; I was pretty delirious toward the end. I didn't melt or burn up or get pulverized or any of a million horrors that I might have imagined. I just... stopped. And then he unmade my tiny little body. Like a ripe tomato that boils to pieces in a stew.
My name was Kurt Frasier. I was a mouse. Don't bother looking me up -- these days, I'm just wolf shit.
There's no point feeling sorry for me. It was bound to happen sooner or later. In the end, it was just a matter of who got there first.