The White Wolf of Central Texas

And Answering Some Intrusive Thoughts

Photo by Nathan Franklin on Unsplash

The construction of the tech company’s new campus in Central Texas started bringing all kinds of wildlife out of the undeveloped land across the highway and into our suburban neighborhood. It was pretty cool at first for a guy like me who loves nature and spotting animals on his early morning walks. Families of deer, screech owls, and snakes all migrated from what used to be ranch land. We could see them in our greenbelt, the associated park, and sometimes crossing the street. Coyotes were out and about too. I heard rumors of a cougar as well, which was mildly alarming, but that just let me know I needed to be careful about where I walked alone, and to make sure I didn’t walk when it was too dark.

Overall, I embraced the presence of these visitors. Often, while sipping beer and smoking pot on my neighbor’s porch, we glimpsed something other than the usual squirrels, furry creatures of various shapes and sizes and temperaments wandering the neighborhood after dark. It wasn’t until one foggy morning in May when I started to worry more about what kinds of creatures were coming out of the previously uncharted wilderness and creeping through our more human-friendly space.

That morning, I got up at the usual time, as dawn crept its way from over the eastern horizon. I made a cup of coffee in the French press, put on my sneakers, and headed out the door. The sound of my feet and the twittering of birds in the trees were the only real sounds around this time. The early morning commuters were not as numerous as the ones who would be out around seven or eight, so the sounds of their engines weren’t as overwhelming.

I sipped my coffee and felt grateful for the hour of quiet afforded me before the kids and Jean got up for the day. I loved my family, but I’d always been sensitive to too much noise—an affliction that seemed to get far worse after becoming a parent, especially after the Covid years. Taking these quiet moments were crucial to me being an engaged and more patient father.

I took my usual route, which led me through the park and into the greenbelt. The other morning, I had seen three bucks grazing in one of the clearings, and I hoped to see them again. Maybe I could even get a closer look. Of course, I noted, that might be hard to do in the fog.

Fog had always made me think about other worlds and the vaporous nature of reality. See, I’m a horror writer and sometimes my imagination likes to drift.

I wasn’t imagining the sound of something big moving in the nearby cluster of trees, though. My first thought was that it was likely a deer, but my more vigilant side thought it could be the cougar, stalking me. I kept walking and looked toward the thick set of trees. The fog and lack of full sun made it difficult to see much between the trunks and leaves other than a few shadows. I faced forward again and quickened my pace.

The rustling and heavy footfalls followed me, but I dared not look back until I got to the greenbelt exit. That was when I saw it, standing in the middle of the composite gravel trail fifteen paces behind me. It was humanoid, standing on two legs, but it was covered head-to-toe in white scraggly fur. It had broad shoulders, and its hands were tipped with claws. Most alarming was the lupine snout, pointed ears, and the amber eyes that seemed to glow.

I thought maybe it was someone in a costume, even though it was much too early for Halloween, but the more I looked, the more realistic the creature’s appearance. It was undoubtedly an animal but no animal I’d ever seen, in a book or real life.

I turned and started walking toward home. I wanted to run, but my instincts said that if I did, I’d be chased, so I kept my pace to a brisk walk.

Every time I looked back, I saw that the creature had taken several more steps out of the greenbelt. It was following me, but thankfully not giving chase. Its legs were long and strong looking, and I was sure it could catch me if it ran.

Once I turned the corner onto the main drive that cut through our subdivision, I did run. It was a little busier with car traffic and better lit, so I was gambling on those two details deterring the creature from pursuing me further. By the time I reached my street, I stopped and looked back again. Confident that I wasn’t followed, I breathed a sigh of relief and walked the rest of the way home.

All morning through breakfast and my second cup of coffee, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. Once I got the kids off to school, I checked forums and local history websites for any mentions of something that sounded like the creature that had come out of the greenbelt. It took me several minutes before I stumbled on an article titled “The White Wolf of Central Texas.”

Apparently, in the 1950s, reports of lethal attacks on livestock coincided with local sightings of a white wolf that stood on its hind legs. Witnesses threw around words like “Skinwalker” and “werewolf.” According to the article, these attacks and sightings lessened as the area got more developed. I supposed whatever these folks saw back in the day had been confined to the wilderness and mostly forgotten as strip malls and neighborhoods like ours went up. It, or its descendants, didn’t wander out of the wilderness because it didn’t need to, at least not until the tech company started building on its hunting grounds.

I don’t know what I saw that morning or if it’s dangerous. What I do know is that the world is still not devoid of mystery, and that there is a lot of things most of us seldom see, let alone understand.

I no longer go into the greenbelt before the sun is out.

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Although the above story is written as if it’s true, it is not. I’ve been listening to a podcast called Unexplained Encounters. You can probably imagine the content based on the title alone: personal accounts of brushes with cryptids and other paranormal creatures. I’m somewhat addicted, usually listening to it when I’m drifting off to sleep or on a long drive. I wanted to see if I could write something in that style.

Anyway, Killer Con’s in two weeks. Will I see you there? I’ll be tabling with talented up-and-comer Sarah DeRosa and selling signed books. Can’t make it to Austin in two weeks? That’s okay, you can find signed books at the button below.

If you follow me on Facebook or if you’re a longtime reader of this Substack, you know that my mental health has not been great these past few months. While I can directly attribute it to very tangible things, I decided to bite the bullet and increase my meds. I didn’t arrive at this decision lightly, as I always worry about blunting my emotions or losing my creativity (or my sex drive, God forbid!), but something had to change. I’m running twice a week, eating right, staying sober-ish, and consistently getting a good night’s sleep, and I still feel like dogshit, so yeah, psych meds it is.

While in this tumultuous state, I’ve been thinking a lot about horror, my place in it, and what it means to someone on the path of self-improvement. Here are some thoughts I’ve had:

1. Why should I read/watch/write horror when I’m trying to become someone who doesn’t need it?

2. Do I really need to put more darkness into myself and/or the world?

3. Horror is shadow work, and shadow work is never done.

4. I’m too extreme for people who enjoy mainstream horror but not extreme enough for the hardcore horror crowd.

5. I’m tired.

When playing my own therapist, I find it helpful to provide counterpoints to my intrusive thoughts. I don’t always remember to do this when such thoughts present themselves, but I can and will do that now.

1. I loved horror long before I needed it. As a child who knew little of suffering beyond stubbed toes and upsetting my parents, I latched onto the imagery of death. Mummies, vampires, werewolves, and ghosts were like friends, albeit dangerous ones that perhaps needed healthy boundaries. The old Universal Monsters collection got re-released on VHS when I was eight or nine, and I devoured them all. I read Goosebumps and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark with glee, drew skeletons on copy paper, and fantasized about houses full of creepy clowns. No matter how mentally or emotionally well I am, I suspect I will always enjoy horror, and I’m done feeling like I need to justify why it appeals to me.

2. But that’s not what I’m doing, is it? Interestingly, I think this intrusive thought is answered by the one that follows it.

3. “Horror is shadow work, and shadow work is never done.” Great thought. 10/10. No notes. I could elaborate, but I feel as though that’s better suited for its own essay. I may even ask some of my more mystically minded colleagues to weigh in on this idea.

4. There’s some truth to this particular thought, but this position has its advantages. My work is great as entry-level extreme horror, perfect for a reader who isn’t quite ready to read Playground or The Bug Collector but is perhaps weary of books where the horror is suggested rather than frankly stated. It’s also great for people who have reached their limits in terms of extreme sex and violence and no longer feel the need to go there (but aren’t about to start sipping tea and exclusively reading cozy horror either).

5. Bro, I should be tired. It’s okay to be tired. I’ve done some of my best work while tired, and that’s not about to change.

Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed this trip inside my brain. Lots of new subscribers these past couple of weeks, so welcome, and I hope you don’t mind getting tossed in the deep end. Seriously, though, every single person who takes the time to read my work is a treasure to me, and I’ll never not be grateful for you.

Speaking of grateful, summer’s almost gone, and in Texas, that’s worth celebrating.

Currently reading: Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero

Currently watching: Nemesis (1992, Directed by Albert Pyun)

Currently hearing: Unexplained Encounters