shotguns and wolfs in Iceland

It was a hard night...

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I spent it in a small house up in Iceland... or at least I think it was Iceland. It wasn't winter yet. The ground was beautiful, colorful and covered with frost every morning. I lived alone.
I don't know why I was there... I kept the doors locked at all times. I had to.

I was cooking in the little kitchen when I heard howling and banging at the door. A crazed dog was trying to get in. I knew it was crazy, I knew it was a killer dog and I knew that I should just stay quiet and wait it out...

The dog left. It was a wild dog. I don't understand why the wolves (from the hills) hadn't killed it yet. Maybe it was too big. All I know is that it had belonged to the old man who used to live here... but he went crazy. He killed his whole family with a shotgun and disappeared in to the hills. People say that he got killed by the wolves.

I still have his shotgun. I keep it by the door.
I should get a rifle.

There was a knock at the door and a woman shouted: "Open up! First aid!"
I opened the door.
A lady from the Red cross came in. She was there just to check that I was alive and that my first aid pack was up to date. She left after 5 minutes. I ran after her and asked if she knew about the wolves in the hills... she said that the wolves only come out at night and that I should move to the city. I told her that I had a weasel living under my house and that it would help me with the dog and wolves. She laughed.



my little helper:

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