When the cry vibrated through the walls again, he stood up with effort and felt a certain wetness under his jacket. He slowly raised up the left flab, and saw a red stain a few inches down his armpit, he cursed. Reaching into his closet again, he searched, from memory, for one of his father’s regular gifts for him since when he clocked sixteen and retrieved his hand holding an embellished Colt 1849 revolver. He recalled there were about ten different makes of the very expensive revolvers stacked in the same corner with custom-made and equally emblemized pocket knives. He quickly checked if the gun was still loaded and nodded to himself when he saw it was. Tucking it in the band of his denim trousers, he left his room, feeling the pain in his ribcage increase. The entire house seemed eerily quiet. He thought perhaps the area had wolves now. But then that cry sounded as if it came from inside the building not outside. He recalled his father started acquiring animals of strange species
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