Clifford Simak - Out of Their Minds

Standing there, seeing the wolf trot out of the darkness, I felt this instant chill, this raising of the hackles.

The wolf moved self-assuredly. About him there was no slinking and no furtiveness. He was going about his business and would brook no foolishness. He was big and black, or at least he looked black hi the light, but gaunt and he had a hungry look about him.

I stepped out from the building and as I stepped out, I cast a quick look about me for something that might serve as a weapon, and there, lying on the bench where the bartender had tossed it, was the baseball bat. I reached down and took hold of the bat and lifted it. It had a nice heft and a good balance to it

When I looked back at the street, there was not one wolf, but three, spread out one behind the other, all three of them trotting with an irritating self-assurance.

I stood still on the sidewalk, with the bat gripped in my hand, and when the first wolf reached a point opposite me it stopped and wheeled around to face me.

I suppose I could have shouted and aroused the town; I could have called for help. But the thought of shouting never once occurred to me. This was a matter between myself and these three wolves—no, not three, for there were more of them now, trotting out of the darkness and coming down the street.

I knew they weren't wolves, not real wolves, not honest wolves born and raised on this honest earth. No more real wolves than the sea serpent had been a real sea serpent

These were the things I knew, that Linda Bailey had told me about; perhaps the very ones that I had heard the night before when I had stepped out for a breath of air. Linda Bailey had said dogs, but they weren't dogs. They were an ancient fear that stretched clear back to the primal days of mankind, a fear that had bayed its way through uncounted centuries, made whole and sound and material by those very centuries of fear.

As if, for all the world, they were performing a well-rehearsed drill maneuver, the wolves came trotting in, aligning themselves with the first of them, swinging around to face me. When they all were there, they sat down as if someone had barked an order, sitting in a row, in identical position, sitting straight, but easy, with their front legs well under them and very neatly placed. They sat there facing me and they let their tongues hang out the sides of their mouths as they panted more demurely. They all were looking at me and looking nowhere else.

I counted them and there were an even dozen.

I shifted the bat to get a better grip upon it, but I knew there wasn't much hope if they tried to rush me. If they rushed me, I knew, they'd do it all together, as they'd done everything else together. A baseball bat, well swung, is a deadly weapon and I knew I'd get a few of them, but I couldn't get them all. I could, just possibly, make a leap for the metal bracket from which the beer sign hung, but I had grave doubt that it would hold my weight. It already was canted at a sagging angle and quite possibly the screws, or bolts, that held it would rip from the rotten wood at the slightest strain.

There was only one thing to do, I told myself—stand fast and face it out.

I had taken my eyes off the wolves for an instant to glance up at the sign and when I looked back again the little monstrosity with the pointed head was standing in front of the wolves.

"I should let them have you," he piped, ferociously. "Out there on the river you hadn't ought to belted me with that paddle."

"If you don't shut your trap," I told him, "I'll belt you with this ball bat."

He bounced up and down in rage. "Such ingratitude!" he screeched. "If it weren't for the rules…"

"What rules?" I asked.

"You should know," he piped in wrath. "It is you humans who have made them."

And then it struck me. "You mean that business about three times is a charm?"

"Unfortunately," he shrilled, "that is what I mean."

"After you jokers have failed three times in a row, I am off the hook?"

"That is it," he said.

I looked at the wolves. They were sitting there, with their tongues hanging out, grinning at me. They didn't care, I sensed. It was all one to them if they took me or if they went trotting off.

"But there is further," said the thing with the pointed head.

"You mean there is a catch to it."

"Oh, not at all," it said. "There is the matter of honest chivalry."

I wondered what chivalry might have to do with it, but I didn't ask. I knew that he would tell me. He wanted me to ask; he was still stinging from that paddle blow and he was all set to do a good job baiting me.

He glared at me from beneath the hanging fringe of hair and waited. I took a good grip on the ball bat and waited in my turn. The wolves were enjoying it immensely. They sat in silent laughter.

Finally he could stand it no longer.

"You have," he said, "your three-times charm. But there is another one who hasn't."

He had me cold and he knew he had me cold and it was a lucky thing for him that he was beyond the ball bats reach.

"You mean Miss Adams," I said, as coolly as I could. — "You catch on quick," he said. "Will you, as a chivalrous gentleman, take her peril upon your shoulders? Had it not been for you, she'd not be vulnerable. I think you owe it to her."

"So do I," I said.

"You mean that?" the critter cried in glee.

"Indeed I do," I told him.

"You take upon your shoulders.."

I interrupted him. "Cut out the oratory. I have said I would."

Maybe I could have stretched it out, but if I did I sensed I would lose face and had a hunch that face might count for something in the situation.

The wolves came to their feet and they quit their panting and there was now no laughter in them.

My mind spun in a frantic whirl to snare some course of action that might give me a chance to fight my way out of this dilemma. But it was empty whirling. I got not the least idea.

The wolves paced slowly forward, purposeful and businesslike. They had a job to do and they intended doing it and getting it over with. I backed away. With my back against the building, I might have a better chance. I swished the bat at them and they halted momentarily, then came on again. My back against the building, I stopped and waited for them.

A fan of light caught the building opposite and swiveled swiftly to point down the street toward us. Two blinding headlights loomed out of the darkness. An engine howled its protest at swift acceleration and through the howl came the scream of tortured tires.

The wolves whirled, crouching, held for an instant, pinpointed on the beam of light, then moved, but some of them too slowly as the car came plowing into them. There was the sickening sound of impact as metal crunched into flesh and bone. Then the wolves were gone, blinking out as the thing with the pointed head had blinked out above the water when I'd smacked it with the paddle.

The car was slowing and I ran after it, as fast as I could go. Not that there was any danger now, but I knew that I'd feel safer once I got inside that car.

It came to a halt and I made it to the door and climbed into the seat and slammed the door and locked it.

"One down and two to go," I said.

Kathy's voice was shaky. "One down?" she asked. "What do you mean by that?" She was trying to be casual, but not succeeding very well.

I reached out in the darkness and touched her and I could feel that she was trembling. God knows, she had the right to.

I pulled her close and held her and she clung to me and all around us the darkness was vibrating with an ancient fear and mystery.

"What were those things?" she asked in a quavery voice. "They had you backed up against the wall and they looked like wolves."

"They were, indeed," I said. "Very special wolves."