 I was heading back into town with my buddy Joe after spending the weekend out on a frozen lake, ice fishing, and drinking beer. The fish were really biting too. Joe's SUV was stuffed to the gills with walleye and smallmouth bass. The northerly town was buried under a mountain of snow, the worst snowfall since the winter of 97. I've lived my entire life in Northern Ontario, so I've seen my fair share of snow, but nothing like this. You learn to expect the unexpected in Northern Ontario. We were heading over a steep incline, enjoying a generous backdrop of pine trees painted in freshly fallen snow when tragedy struck. We watched as two police helicopters landed on the small slice of highway, causing the trickles of traffic to grind to a halt. Not a good sign. This highway was the only road home. We later learned that a newlywed couple had collided with a transport truck, killing both the husband and wife. We were forced to turn around and head back over the hill, where we found ourselves driving through a modest sized hamlet consisting of one stop sign, a gas station motel restaurant, plus a smattering of wartime houses. Except, all you could see was the pointed rooftops. The houses were completely submerged in snow. It was an incredible sight. Something you only see this far up north, and even then, this was rare. Joe didn't want to stick around, waiting a good 12 hours for the road to clear. He had a wife and kids to get home to, so we pulled over, wondering what our next move should be. Joe had that look in his eye. The look he gets when he's about to do something dangerous or stupid. Or both. I know this look well. And tight. He said, and hold on. We turned onto a crude version of a road, the kind designated for snowmobiles, with stop signs standing a mere three feet tall. The road was extremely narrow. Snow banks as high as trees were towering over us, like large looming walls of white. If anything were to approach, we'd have nowhere to go. There wasn't enough room to turn around. I was becoming increasingly uneasy. This is how people get hurt. Or worse. You sure this is safe? I asked, hating the sound of my voice. Joe ignored me, or simply didn't hear me. He was busy white-knuckling the minivan through the snow tunnel trail, the glare of the setting sun blinding us the entire time. We drove for 15 minutes, knifing our way along the icy road, which was bumpier than a wooden roller coaster. It was obvious that we shouldn't be here. The impending darkness didn't improve my mood one bit either. I had a bad feeling about this. Joe stopped the van. What's up? I asked, not trusting the look on his face. Joe didn't answer. I could see his mind at work assessing the direness of our situation. I've got to turn this thing around somehow. He finally said. I couldn't see how this was possible, as we were sandwiched between two colossal snow banks. Something flickered inside Joe's dark eyes. What's that up ahead? He asked, flashing on the high beams. I think it's a road. It was. We edged a bit further, stopping at this makeshift road. There were no signs or road markings to be seen. Nothing. In fact, this road looked worse than the one we were on. Let's see where it goes. Joe said, cranking the wheel. As the minivan lumbered down the unmarked road, an ominous feeling swept over me. It was impossible to ignore. We were in trouble. There was no denying it. We were completely off the grid. Not even Google Maps could save us. There was only one way to go. Straight. The road was leading us into the dark of the forest. And when you're this far north, that's never a good idea. Especially at night. That's when the wolves come out. It was looking to be a moonless night, which didn't help us one bit. Joe's hands were quivering as he clenched the wheel, keeping us from skidding into the towering snow bank. He kept assuring me we'd be all right, but I've never heard that one before. Joe slammed on the brakes. You see that? He pointed over there. I squinted my eyes. Look, he said. Fire. Deep into the forest, I spotted a small flickering flame dancing blue and orange and yellow and wild, probably a campfire. Just then, a strange and disturbing sound crackled through the night like a howling wolf. You hear that? He asked. The animal cried out again. It was the loneliest yowl I'd ever heard. There it goes again. It sounded like a wolf, except it didn't sound like any wolf I'd heard before, then I've heard plenty. Whatever it was, it was dangerously close. I said nervously, but not believing it. As soon as those words left my mouth, a pair of glowing red eyes appeared out of nowhere. Joe stopped the car and killed the lights. Be still. He said, I did just that. I sat motionless beside him in the car, but my hands were shaking. Those laser red eyes were approaching at an impossible speed. Reach back and grab the gun. Joe whispered, I tried, but it was out of reach. They were on his side, closer to the back. Those glowing eyes flashed on and off, and for a moment everything was still. Then from out of nowhere, the beast lunged onto the hood of the van. We screamed in unison. The thing was huge, unlike any animal I'd ever seen. It looked like an overgrown German shepherd, except it was standing on its hind legs. Like a human. It was snarling in us, making ungodly noises, thrashing about. The creature was long and gangly, frothing at the mouth, clearly rabid. Dog man. Joe said, clearly astonished. I don't believe it. Joe gunned it, looking to run the thing over and speed away, but the wheels were caught on ice. Without warning, the beast leapt off the hood and started scratching at my door. Its claws, like daggers, tearing the door from its hinges. It smashed through the windshield, shattering it into a million pieces. With its dog-like face twisted in rage, the thing took a swipe at me. Its long, toothy claws just inches from ripping my eyeballs from their sockets. The SUV shook, spilling the cooler of dead fish. The smell was atrocious. The dog man disagreed. Before it could rip apart my throat with its curvy claws, the creature turned from me and trampled to the back of the van, where it devoured the fish in seconds flat. Its muzzle turned blood red. Watching it lick the fish guts from its paws was sickening. This isn't how I wanted to die. The dog man's razor sharp teeth were on full display. The insidious brute seemed hell-bent on killing us both. We were, in fact, the main course. It took a tentative step towards us, licking its filthy face. I gave Joe a look that said, Nice knowin', you pal? When out of nowhere came an ear-ringing blast striking the creature in the shoulder. The thing screamed in protest. Then came another shot, hitting the beast square in the chest. Blood and gore spilled like wine across the interior of the SUV. Three more shots rang out. The creature snarled, wiped the fleshy cartilage from its bloodied face, then attacked. There was another shot. It went wide, but it was enough to send the beast scurrying back into the woods. Holy hell, Joe said. Without a second thought, he pulled his seat back as far as it could go, then shimmied his way into the back of the van and grabbed the gun. We're gonna need this. All of a sudden, it was freezing. With the vehicle off and the windshield busted in, it was like an igloo inside the van. It's, uh, getting cold in here, eh? I said, shaking uncontrollably. A large plume of steam escaped from my face as I spoke. I was in shock. I had no idea what that thing was, but it damn near killed me. The scene inside of the minivan was that out of a horror movie. The smell was even worse. I tried opening the door, but it wouldn't budge. Joe tried his door with the same results. We were stuck. I had sliced myself to shreds before I got halfway through the windshield. Joe's door had a bullet hole where the handle should be. We'd have to escape through the back, blood and guts and fish bones and all. It was gruesome, but we did it. Once outside, I scanned the area, searching for that dog creature that almost killed me, but it had vanished. Joe's shotgun was aimed at a speck of light approaching from straight ahead. A car. Within minutes, we were greeted by a Volkswagen microbus. It stopped directly in front of us. The driver got out and ran towards us, carrying a sniper rifle, wearing a belt of ammunition. He spoke fast and with purpose, checking his surrounding while doing so. You saw it. You did, didn't you? Excellent. Which way to go, by the way? This guy made Clint Eastwood look like a Boy Scout. I honestly thought he was going to kill us. He frowned as he surveyed the scene, and then he shrugged. I suppose you'll be needing my help. He ran to the bus and opened up the hatch, exposing an array of military-style weapons to the likeside-only scene in the movies. Holy hell! Joe said, clearly impressed. I remained quiet, unsure what to make of this heavily armored, red-headed stranger who literally just appeared out of nowhere to save our lives. But there seemed to be no other choice. Whoever he was, he drove us back to his cottage, regaling us with the history of this dog-man preacher. He told us some pretty tall tales. His name was Patrick. Apparently, he's a dog-man hunter. He says he's never captured one, but claims to have seen four or five, wounding two of them. Pesky bastards. He says, hard to kill. He'd been hunting the one that attacked us for weeks. Apparently, it's been mutilating deer in coyotes, as well as regular cats and dogs all winter long. Leaving remains scattered along the signs of the road and in people's backyards. The locals were starting to panic. Joe and I texted home, then we stayed up all night talking about dog-man. I was having a hard time coming to grips with all of this, seeing as how I'd almost died at the hands of one of them. Joe, on the other hand, was enthralled. The next day, we drove back to the SUV to inspect the damage. When we arrived, the van was completely dismantled and destroyed. It lay in ruins. Everything inside it had been ravaged and plundered. This isn't right, Patrick said. There must be an explanation. We scanned the surrounding area for over an hour and came up empty-handed. A fresh blanket of snow had fallen overnight, making track finding next to impossible. The disappointment on Patrick's face was palpable. Reluctantly, we hopped into his microbus and he drove us home with our tails between our legs, where we arrived a day late and short one SUV. We stayed in touch with Patrick going forward. Joe, coming from a long lineage of seasoned hunters, was intrigued by this dog-man creature. Naturally, I was skeptical. I'm fairly certain that beast meant to eat me. The last thing I wanted to do was volunteer to go searching for it. Yet, unbeknownst to me, this was the making of a team of hunters, dog-man hunters. Still, amidst all the excitement, a feeling of trepidation had stolen over me. There was a lesson to be learned from all of this. A lesson lost on my gun-toting counterparts. Some roads are best untraveled, especially in Northern Ontario, where anything can happen, and usually does.