Chapter 68
68 – Into His Basement
Madeline:
I asked the driver to drop me off at the address.
And I began to realize it was much farther from the usual pack houses, all the way near the border of the pack.
There stood a lonely house surrounded by dying trees and overgrown grass.
Even as I stepped onto the front porch, the floorboards creaked beneath my feet.
I knocked gently on the door, then looked around in confusion, growing impatient.
“Come in,” came a voice from inside.
It was old and shaky, yet it sounded as if he already knew I was coming, because he didn’t ask who I was, he simply invited me in.
As I was about to step inside, the voice continued, “Do you see the groceries outside? Bring them in when you come p>
My hand was on the doorknob when the request came.
I looked around for the groceries and, sure enough, found several bags piled near a large vase.
I picked them up, turned the doorknob, and stepped into the small, vintage–style house.
Right at the entrance, a staircase led to the upper floor, and beneath it was a door to the basement.
On the right was the kitchen, and on the left, a living room, where an old man sat in a wheelchair, gazing out the window.
“Hi,” I greeted, walking into the living room and awkwardly placing the groceries on the table.
“Don’t put them there. Could you please keep them in the kitchen?” he instructed without turning around.
I noticed his wheelchair and figured he must have a nurse who came by to help him.
“By the way, I’m the woman who wanted to know about the diary,” I explained, in case he thought I was the
nurse.
He chuckled softly and turned toward me.
He looked kind old man with big glasses, overgrown hair, and a white beard.
“I know. Actually, I don’t know when she’ll come, and I didn’t want the groceries to go bad,” he said.
Smiling, I walked toward the right side of the house, where the kitchen was.
Inside, everything was clean and neatly arranged.
I began unloading the groceries, putting food in the refrigerator and cleaning supplies in the storeroom.
It only took about ten minutes.
When I returned, the old man was smiling, holding an old diary in his hands.
“Have a seat, please,” he invited.
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I sat across from him.
“The other day I was in the library and read about wolves, but I noticed that one particular wolf type had missing pages,” I mentioned with an awkward smile.
“ I know you,” he said.
My smile faded slightly.
“I’m sorry, we’ve never met, ” I murmured quickly.
“Oh no, I’ve seen you on TV. You’re the human researcher, the savior, right?” he added.
I laughed awkwardly.
“Yeah, I’m just trying,” I replied. “So, do you have the pages about the grey wolf?” I asked, bringing the conversation back to the topic.
“The Grey Wolf, a mystery in itself,” the old man began, almost zoning out. “You know, I have spent most of my life curious about wolves. I would go from pack to pack, place to place, meeting those said to be unique and different p>
He paused, reminiscing about his adventurous years.
“But there was one wolf I could never figure out. Every time someone told me about a Grey Wolf, I went there, and it was gone by the time I arrived p>
He flipped through the pages of the diary.
“Look, these packs all once claimed to have a Grey Wolf. I never came across one myself. I only heard stories p>
He stopped and glanced at me, noticing my puzzled expression.
“So
you
don’t have any information on the Grey Wolf? Then what did you write in the book?” I asked, watching him nod with appreciation, as if he was glad I cared about his work.
“I did write about it,” he continued, “but only what I heard from the witnesses. Later this year, I realized I wasn’t satisfied. I needed to see one for myself, to finally write about it, to know how the wolf would respond to stress, pain, anger, joy, sorrow, all of it p>
The old man looked heartbroken, as if his life‘
biggest mystery had slipped away.
Behind him, I noticed awards covering the wall and shelves.
“All these, I won during my research on wolves. They are my pride,” he said proudly. “ I never got married, never had children, never even had a girlfriend, never found my mate. This was my passion, the only thing I cared about p>
He spoke with pride, and his achievements were truly impressive, but I couldn’t understand how someone could be so devoted to his work that he gave up everything else.
Still, I supposed everyone had their own choices.
“Wow, you must have been very popular back then,” I commented.
He nodded happily.
“Yeah, kids these days aren’t so interested in learning about their origins. But I was a curious child. And look at
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this empty box p>
He pointed toward the box.
“The council told me that if I could find information about the Grey Wolf, they would give me a lifetime medal and call me the Father of Werewolves, the one who knows everything about them p>
He sighed.
“I guess the council was joking, because they knew I’d never solve it. But I took it seriously. That was years ago. Then I grew old, and now I’ll die with that one wish unfulfilled p>
He placed a trembling hand on his chest. I felt bad for him.
“So does that mean there’s no information?” I asked, returning to the topic.
“Those torn pages, maybe they’ll help you. I have an entire library in the basement, filled with diaries from my years of research. When I tore the pages out myself, I stored them down there. You can check them, but please tell me before taking any book p>
He handed me a small key.
I took it quickly, stood up in excitement, thanked him with a small bow, and hurried toward the door.
I knew he hadn’t personally seen the Grey Wolf, but I could still use the accounts others had given him, like he said, recorded in his diaries.
I rushed to the basement door and unlocked it with the key.
The moment I opened the door, a sharp, rotting smell rose from the basement, mostly from the decaying books.
I started down the steps, surrounded by darkness.
I turned on my phone’s flashlight and began to look around.
The staircase was long, each step echoing under my feet.
Then I felt a presence behind me, though no one was supposed to be there.
I turned, and the old man stood on the stairs, holding a large needle filled with a green liquid.
“No!” I shouted, recognizing it to be wolfsbane.
It all happened within seconds.
Before I knew it, he had plunged the needle into my neck and kicked me down the stairs.
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