The Grey Wolf: A short story

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Hello! I'm a fan of the game who likes writing. I am, however, kinda bad at drawing or painting, so I decided to write a very short non-canon story for the lols. If you liked it feel free to write some feedback about it!

The story is about Jeremiah long after Will left Mystery Lake. I am quite ignorant when it comes to specific lore about the characters so I made some parts up to build a narrative.

Also, forgive my clumsy writing, English isn't my main language.



The Grey Wolf


The ruthless scratch of the wind lifted a loose wooden plank, barely hanging from two rusty nails. It wasn’t the first blizzard it had survived, but would be the last.

The windows, covered in frost accumulated on it’s wooden frames, watched on a peculiar scene. Their looks, lost in the grey abyss, but always attentive. Perhaps, this could have been a day like any other, the door would open, a rough voice would murmur into the void and it’s glass panes would be colored a warm orange until dawn. But they could only hope. Just as any other day.

A gloved hand with wide fingers laid itself against the door. The old man looked back and saw the trail of small crimson spots fading into the storm. With a grunt and a very little force with too much effort, he pulled the door open. The squeak of a pair of hinges that hadn’t been oiled since Who Knows When welcomed him to his cabin. He leaned forward, attempting to walk up to a wall in front of him. His arm laid his .303 against a shelf cloaked in the dark. Even in total darkness, he knew exactly where everything was. The only thing he liked about that cabin.

He waved his hand around until he reached a table he used for reparations and cleaning his gun, and promptly sat on it. He took off his gloves and guided his hands towards his stomach to verify it was still there. And it was. It still was. It was very much real. His fingertips felt the soft caress of the blood, followed by an incomprehensible pain he had never felt before.

He did not even need to look for the medkit. He knew he had run out of medical supplies three weeks ago, and his “Caribou” bottle had gone dry for even longer, though he couldn’t remember when.


The bastard was gigantic. He was standing next to a fallen tree trunk and doubled it in width, mauling on the remains of what used to be venison. For days he had found ripped carcasses around the area. Rabbit, deer, and even wolves alike weren’t spared. For a moment he could have sworn it was a whole pack of animals who had given themselves to senselessness, or poachers in a hurry in the need of a knife. In the many years he spent in the wilderness, he had never seen anything like that. Every single day after the lights went out could be summed up in that single phrase.

But so it was. A Black Bear. It had a fresh scar on its right shoulder blade, possibly caused by an antler. So fresh it was bleeding. That was good. If it could bleed, it could be killed.

As the freezing wind slithered through his braided beard, he remembered his encounter with the Old Bear. Or at least its legend. But, what would legends be for if there only was a Mainlander and a crazy old man there to tell them? He considered writing them, but for whom?

Very slowly he laid his belly on the snow, feeling the penetrating cold of the snow through his jacket made of the pelt of a Grey Wolf. He took a deep breath, rested his cheek on the wooden stock of his gun, and he aimed.


-        If you saw how I left the other guy, I would have gotten in trouble – An eight-year old him said in a defying tone to a pair of upset parents. Was he eight? Or nine? It didn’t matter.

He noticed the wind outside his cabin slowly giving up the fight.

-        Good – He thought out loud – A storm less

It was a storm more.

He heard nothing, he saw nothing. All he could feel was the blood dripping up to his knuckles and the disgusting smell of sulfur rising up from the barrel of his gun. But it all was more than enough.


-        You know what? you are an interesting guy – he was told by some girl in some bar in some city whose name he couldn’t remember – You just don’t like it when they tell you that.

He didn’t like to be told many things. Her name was Bonnie. Or was it Holly? Or Molly? Or Dolly? Women in the cities were all named the same, just like the men. All William, Killian, Liam, Dylan, who would walk around with their chins up in the air and their chests full of pride for prowesses they had never done and the wit to hide those actions they did do.  People in the city were all named the same, with the same expressionless looks on their faces. In the forest? It was completely different. The Trapper was his own judge, the cattails his jury, and the green lichen his witnesses. But now it didn’t matter.


All these years he had lived off the creatures of the land, and he had felt free. However, he noticed in that moment how he never once stopped to appreciate the beauty of the eternal machinations that he was a part of. If he really had ever been a part of anything. He had an Idea.

He had always found Funerals to be absurd. He never had the need to say goodbye. With what gesture of superstition would he bid farewell to this world? How would he greet The Long Dark?

-        Nature is Wise, and she gives back as much as she takes. We must be strong, but not foolish, as breaking the cycle can call upon her wrath – he had once heard from an old Inuit woman.

He had never given her his name, but names didn’t matter now. At some other moment in his life he would have laughed, but now he knew she was right. He simply wanted some fresh air.  He walked up to the door and opened it.


He witnessed the stars, and felt the wind on his face, and admired the ever wonderful glisten of the full moon. The deep blue of the night, it’s amazing veil of mystery, and the blood dripping from his fingers. He had never gone stargazing before. Actually, he had. He was laying next to a girl of his same age on the roof of a barn. He was feeling a lot of things in that moment, and he didn’t like it. He barely remembered that they kissed that night, but he couldn’t remember her face, or her name, or the farm’s. It didn’t matter.

Was it all worth it? Absolutely. He came to this world to be a Grey Wolf, and that he was.

He remembered that time his car got stuck in a heavy snowfall and had to take shelter in a nearby gas station. He played poker the whole night with a young boy and his father. They were very friendly, and dangerously sharp with the cards. The smell of wet tobacco stentched the small metal room as the radio blasted a song that was popular at the time in the background. He still couldn’t remember their names. Still, two memorable nights.

A tear trickled down his eye, and burned his cheeks as it ran down his face. The cold was still merciless. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, but he promptly remembered why he didn’t anymore.

The snow crunched under his boots, his eyes still on the sky. There was darkness, and then he looked at the moon. And there was light.

He had given everything in his reach to find peace. And that he did. There was peace. And there was wind. And there was silence, very brief, because it would be cut by more wind. And there was quiet.

His hand didn’t feel the blood anymore, even if there was blood, and a lot of it, and it stained his Grey Wolf coat. Because there also was a Grey Wolf.

He felt the blood again, and there was warmth despite the cold. And there was snow.

And there was a City, and there was a girl, and there were two upset parents, and there was a wise old Inuit woman, and there was a cabin, and there were cards, and there was a farm, and there was a bottle, and there was a gas station, and there was a Mainlander

And Love, fear, night, darkness, lights in the sky, a bear, a rifle, a train, a lake, a valley, and a harbor, and wind

And cold

And Frost

And a Forest

And Blood

And Snow


And a Storm


And a Grey Wolf



And nothing.

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17 hours ago, Wintermute_TLD said:

Love the ending! Amazing writing. :)

Thank you! I might write some more when I have the time. Although I noticed some slight details were lost in translation I'm glad the redaction was decent enough. I'm still experimenting with different narration styles and formats, since I'm not very educated in literature.

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6 hours ago, JohnLongLeggins said:

Thank you! I might write some more when I have the time. Although I noticed some slight details were lost in translation I'm glad the redaction was decent enough. I'm still experimenting with different narration styles and formats, since I'm not very educated in literature.

still, looking forward to any future posts of yours :)

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8 hours ago, JohnLongLeggins said:

Thank you! I might write some more when I have the time. Although I noticed some slight details were lost in translation I'm glad the redaction was decent enough. I'm still experimenting with different narration styles and formats, since I'm not very educated in literature.

This is really good stuff- keep writing, keep experimenting and please keep posting!

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