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The man flicked his whip beside the horse’s right ear. The sound of the snap made by the leather lash urged the animal to run faster, although it was already exhausted from the journey. The wheels of the wooden cart harnessed to the poor animal bucked and jerked each time they crashed against a jagged rock or discarded branch in their path.
In the distance the man could see the dark red hues of the setting sun seeping into darkness as night began to take hold. He glanced over his shoulder, afraid of what he already knew would soon be there, hanging in the sky like some razor-sharp sphere tolling his fate.
He cursed his bad fortune as he cracked his whip once more, urging his faithful steed to move faster.
As he rode on, his mind reeled with the reminder of the events which had led to his present predicament. He had set off early enough that morning, allowing him ample time to make his various deliveries before reaching home before dark. What he had not anticipated was that old Simeon would forget that today was his wood delivery day, and that he would send his sons out to the next town to help with the building of a new barn for his brother. Old Simeon was too fragile to unload his order himself, and it would take too long to send word to the town to bring his boys back, so the man had no choice but to do it all himself. Old Simeon had been very grateful, it was true, but the extra time it had taken for the delivery had thrown the man’s carefully planned schedule completely off.
From then on it had been one disaster after another. His next customer, because he had spent so much time at old Simeon’s, had gone out by the time he arrived, so he had no choice but to wait until they returned to make his second delivery. But worst of all was when his horse threw a shoe en route to his next drop. He was almost three miles outside of town, and his horse was obviously in too much discomfort to continue dragging the cart, so the man was left with no option but to unhitch his wagon and walk his horse into town to have the blacksmith there fit a new shoe.
By the time the man was back on the road, he knew that he was desperately behind. Having made his final delivery, he considered taking lodging in the district for the night, for he knew that the journey home would doubtless take him longer than the remaining daylight allowed. But then he thought about his wife, Hanna, and their little girl, Katerina, alone in their cottage for the entire night, and tonight of all nights.
He decided that he would have to make it home, come hell or high water. The cart was now empty and so easier for his horse to pull, and the smithy had checked all its shoes to ensure that the nails were tight. He even considered leaving his wagon behind and just riding his horse so that he could make better time. But then he remembered that he would need his wagon first thing the next morning otherwise he would lose a day’s wages. Working for Silas, the town coffin-maker and wood merchant, he knew from experience meant that wages were only paid for actual work completed. There was to be a burial at 11 a.m. the next morning, an elder from one of the
wealthiest families in the district, and he had been contracted to transport the deceased’s coffin on the parade through the local villages on to the church.
So, left with no choice, the man had decided to race for home as quickly as his poor horse could carry them.
Now, with barely a mile left to go, he realised that he had been far too ambitious to think that he would reach home before dark.
The sky ahead slipped behind its cloak of night, and at that moment the man heard the first howl emanate from somewhere in the darkness. He could feel his body, drenched with perspiration from a combination of exertion and anxiety, start to shiver. For a moment he wondered if indeed his tremors were as a result of the cold night air, or fear.
More howls mingled in unison in response to the first, and the man held tightly onto the reins as he lashed out once more with his whip to urge his horse to make haste up the last hill before they entered the outskirts of his village. The horse galloped on, eager to fulfil its master’s wish, its flanks streaming with sweat as it breathed heavily through its flared nostrils.
As they raced down the other side of the hill, the man could at last see the shadowy hulks of the surrounding dwellings, which signified he was finally back in his village. Only a little farther to go, he assured himself. Usually, on a night such as this, there would be lanterns lit on the front porches, or at the very least, firelight from inside the dwellings seeping under the door frames or shafting through the open windows in the summer. But tonight, just as he had expected, all was in darkness. None of his neighbours wished to draw to their presence the attention of anyone, or anything, outside.
As he pulled back on the reins outside his cottage, his horse whinnied and snorted before coming to a complete halt. The man jumped down from his trap just as another loud howl crept through the darkness. Fighting the urge to leave his steed and race for the comfort and relative safety of his home, the man instead unhitched the wagon and led his horse into the small stable block beside his home.
There was straw and water already in situ for the horse to dine on, and the man made a
promise to venture out later to feed his mount something more substantial and palatable as a reward for the service it had rendered in reaching home so quickly.
Once he had secured the stable door, the man raced up the wooden stairs to his cottage door and hammered on the wood. From inside, he could hear the scrape of furniture against the bare floorboards as his wife shot out of her chair to let him in.
As she fumbled with the locks, the man could hear another awful howl springing forth from the darkness which surrounded him. This one was immediately joined by several more, until he could feel them closing in around him.
“Hanna, quickly, they’re coming closer!” He leaned against the door and whispered as loud as he dared in an attempt to urge his wife on. Through the door he could hear his poor wife straining and crying with frustration as she wrestled with the largest bolt. The man cursed himself for not having greased it as he had promised his wife he would before leaving on his journey that morning.
Finally, he heard the bolt shoot free. The man pushed against the door, almost knocking his poor wife over in his haste to gain entry. Once inside, he slammed the door and slotted each of the bolts firmly into their sheaths before turning around and falling back against the wood, breathing heavily.
His young wife ran into his embrace, and the two of them stayed in that position until the man had recovered his composure.
The only light inside the cottage came from the fireplace and a single candle placed in the middle of the table. The man looked around the room to ensure that his wife had secured all the shutters so that no light could escape and be seen from outside. Once he was satisfied, he released one last long sigh before he held his wife’s tear-stained face in his hands and wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. They kissed passionately and then hugged each other in a tight embrace.
“I was starting to think you were not going to make it,” the woman spoke with her face nestled in her husband’s chest.
“It was touch and go for a while, but how could I leave you and Katerina alone on such a night?”
“Silas’s wife called round an hour before dark; they were worried that you would not make it back in time and offered us to go and stay with them tonight.”
“You should have gone, at least then you and our daughter would have been safe, warm and fed.”
Hanna leaned away from
her husband and gazed up into his face. “How could I sleep not knowing if you had made it home safely?”
In the glow from the firelight, the man caught sight of a pair of emerald green eyes, framed by a mass of wavy dark-brown hair. “And speaking of the imp,” he announced.
His wife looked puzzled for a moment before following his gaze and seeing their six-year-old daughter peering around the door of her bedroom.
“Katerina!” her mother scolded. “You should be asleep by now.”
The man crouched down and held out his arms. His daughter, taking the cue, ran to him, and he lifted her up, kissing her all over her little face.
The child squealed with a combination of joy and revulsion in a desperate attempt to wipe away her father’s sloppy kisses before he could plant any more. Once the battle was over, the man clasped his daughter close to him, and she reciprocated, placing her head on his broad shoulder, letting her flowing locks cover her face.
Her mother moved forward and gently uncovered her daughter’s face. The little girl smiled back at her, compelling the woman to soften the expression of reprimand she was trying to impose. Hanna knew that their daughter could wind her father around her little finger whenever she wanted. There had even been times when Hanna had had to insist that Katerina be punished for pushing things too far, when her husband had still been willing to turn a blind eye.
Hanna ruffled her daughter’s hair playfully. “Bed, young lady,” she commanded.
“Papa, carry me,” the little girl urged cheekily, keeping her face buried in the folds of his jacket.
“Come on then, little one.” The man carried his daughter back into her bedroom, while his wife began to serve up their dinner.
He stayed with his daughter for a while, watching her angelic face in the dim light as her eyes grew heavy with sleep. Once he was satisfied that she was drifting off, he bent down and kissed her forehead before leaving the room, securing the door behind him.
The little girl opened her eyes. She had heard something, but she did not know what. She
listened intently in the darkness. She had no way of knowing how long she had been asleep, but it seemed like ages. She lay in her bed, holding her breath, waiting for the sound to come again.
Then she heard it!
A howl, somewhere out in the woods that surrounded the village.
She had overheard talk from some of the elders in the village about the werewolves that came when the full moon was bright, but she had no inkling as to what they were discussing. When she had asked her mother, she was told that the werewolves were merely folklore, stories made up by the elders to keep the villagers in line.
But Katerina knew instinctively that there was more to the story. She had seen the concern in the eyes of those who discussed the situation whenever another full moon was on the cusp. Whenever her father had his friends over, they would stay up late into the night after her mother had retired, drinking and discussing what they could do to rid their village of this terrible situation.
The little girl had mastered the art of pretending to be asleep when her mother would come in and check on her before going to bed. Katerina knew that if her father had men over to talk, that talk would invariably turn to the topic of the werewolves, and she was eager to learn more about them than either of her parents was willing to divulge in her presence.
Now, as she strained to listen to the sounds of the night outside her window, she knew immediately that those strange howls were not being made by any old mountain wolves. She had heard their cries on several occasions in the past. The ones she was now listening to were far deeper, more guttural, and distinctly more sinister.
A child’s fearless inquisitiveness can often outweigh their dread of reprimand, and such was the case with Katerina. She knew that if she dared to try and venture out to take a look at what all the fuss was about, she would be in serious trouble with her parents.
There was no way that she would be able to undo the bolts on their front door by herself, and even if she could, the racket she would create would be more than enough to stir her parents from their sleep. So that idea was a non-starter.
However, she was aware of the trap door in the floor of her wardrobe which led to the crawl space under the cottage. Her father had shown it to her once when he was measuring it for a new trap door, after the old one had worn through. Having removed the old wood, he had placed
a temporary board over the hole, but Katerina knew that he had not had the time to make the replacement as yet.
Inspired by this knowledge, she slid from under her covers and crept stealthily over to her wardrobe. She edged the door open gently, as she knew that the hinge creaked if you yanked it. In the darkness the little girl fumbled to find the edge of the board, shifting all her toys and shoes over to the other side to make it easier for her to move it.
Katerina shifted the board just far enough to create an opening to allow her to pass through. Before venturing through it, she retrieved her boots from the mass of jumble she had created and pulled them on so that she would not cut her feet on the stones and splinters of wood in the crawlspace.
As she lowered herself into the hole, she heard the howling once more. It appeared much closer than before, but she surmised that it was probably because she was now being exposed to the elements.
She crept along the dirt floor on her hands and knees until she reached the end of the porch, beside the steps which led to her front door. She stayed there for a moment and looked out at the surrounding area.
The night sky was filled with stars, the clarity of which she had never seen before. She gazed at them twinkling in unison as if to put on a special show just for her. The moon was bigger and brighter than it had ever been in her experience, which, granted, was somewhat limited as it was only on rare occasions that her parents had allowed her to join them on their porch so late at night, and never when the moon was full.
As she watched the stars perform their mystical dance, Katerina was so mesmerised by the display that she did not realise that she had emerged from under the protection of the crawlspace and was now out in the open, in front of her dwelling. The autumn air was crisp and carried the aroma of wood smoke from the surrounding chimneys.
As her eager little eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Katerina could just make out shadows moving through the woodland surrounding the village. The cold night air did little to hinder her sense of excitement and wonder, as she started to make her way towards the woods and those enticing shadows.
As she passed by the last cottage which marked the boundary for the village, Katerina heard
a cacophony of howls from the woods. But to her eager little ears, they sounded like the sweetest music that had ever been composed.
She walked on, determined in her quest to leave the sanctuary of her home far behind and to venture forth to face whatever fate awaited her in the darkness.
The moment she crossed the threshold and entered the copse, the fleeting shadows, which she had gazed at so fondly when she first ventured outside, began to emerge from their cover behind the trees and slink slowly towards her.
Katerina was not afraid. Any grown man in the village in her position would have been far too afraid to venture out on a night when the full moon brought forth these creatures of folklore, whose stories had been passed down from generation to generation as a warning of foreboding and terror. What’s more, they would not have been ashamed to admit to their fear. But the little girl sensed from within herself that these beasts were a part of her ancestry, and to try and deny her kin would be tantamount to denying the reason behind her very existence.
As the werewolves drew closer, Katerina held out her little arms towards them in an offer of embrace. Her face beamed as a broad smile spread across it, and her emerald eyes sparkled in the moonlight.
The leader of the pack advanced upon her until its snout was within inches of her face. It sniffed at her for a moment before nuzzling her neck. Katerina closed her arms around its mighty head, which was, in itself, almost as big as her tiny body.
After a moment, the lead werewolf turned back to the rest of the pack and lifted its head before howling a message which only they, and Katerina, could understand.
As the pack advanced to surround the little girl, she reached out to stroke each one in turn, ruffling them behind the ears as if they were no more threat to her than tiny puppies.
She did not even flinch when the leader opened its massive jaws and sank them into her neck!
Gerald Cross, PhD, professor of anthropology at West Central university in London, crouched down to utilise the protection afforded him by the overgrown thicket hedges which banked the far end of the field. He carefully removed his camera equipment, including the night-vision scope lens, from its purpose-built case and laid it all out on the picnic blanket to ensure that everything was in situ.
As dusk began to settle, he wanted to make sure that he had all he needed close at hand to ensure he would not have to fumble around in the darkness and waste valuable time trying to locate a particular object.
The digital recording equipment that he had borrowed from one of his colleagues at the university, was already set up in place, with the remote microphones strategically placed around the enclosure. He had tested the receiver and was satisfied that each of the recorders was functioning properly.
Tonight had to be the night!
His passion for studying ancient rituals and customs had taken him throughout central Europe on several fruitless escapades, investigating one theory after another, until finally, he had found himself in his own backyard on what he hoped would be the verge of the greatest scientific discovery in decades.
If his research was correct, he was within hours of witnessing a life-changing phenomenon which would quite literally challenge the hitherto scepticism of many of his colleagues around the world.
Indeed, he had suffered years of derision and mockery at the hands of the scientific world for his research into the ancient myths and rites of cults and religious orders. But such was his conviction, he was more than willing to put his reputation on the line in his quest for the truth. His fellow scientists often boasted of their open-mindedness, but in reality, he had come to believe that the majority were not prepared to go out on a proverbial limb if they believed that in any way it might leave them open to ridicule by their peers.
Gerald, on the other hand, had grown an extremely thick skin over time, and the sniggers and nudges which would pass between those who attended his seminars and private lectures he had given for the Royal Society had long since ceased to annoy him. He possessed an enviable courage of conviction, and that was something he was extremely proud of, and no one could take that away from him.
After tonight, he hoped that he would finally have the recorded proof that would show his alleged peers once and for all that he had been right all along. Where would their scoffing and sanctimonious postulating be then?
With his equipment prepared, he sat back and waited. A chill wind crept through the foliage, sending a shiver through his upper body. It was a warm night, so the sudden blast of cold air took him by surprise. He zipped up his jacket as high as the buckle would go. Even the sound of the teeth interlocking seemed to make too much noise, and he checked himself for allowing his paranoia to seep through.
He waited in silence. The anticipation he was feeling reminded him of Christmas
mornings as a child, waiting patiently in his room for his parents to call up that it was time for him to go downstairs and see what Santa had brought him.
Gerald gazed towards the western sky and noticed that the last of the daylight had disappeared. He turned around and could just make out the first signs of stars dotting the night sky. The moon was beginning its ascent, and already he could tell that it was going to be even bigger than the meteorologists had anticipated.
As time passed, Gerald could feel himself starting to fidget, and so he made a conscious effort to try and remain still. Even when something small and furry scampered across his leg, Gerald did not move for fear of drawing attention to his position.
Although he knew that his quarry would doubtless not be arriving for several hours, he was apprehensive as he suspected that they would send scouts on ahead to ensure that the area was clear. Plus, he was in no doubt that should he be discovered, those same scouts would think nothing of disposing of him, rather than risk the wrath of their leader by suggesting that they call a halt to the night’s festivities.
Finally, after what seemed to him an eternity, the scouting party arrived.
Gerald heard the distant rumble of their vehicle a good twenty minutes or so before he could make out the first signs of them walking across the field. He counted five in all, judging by their torchlights.
He reached down and started the digital camera as he did not want to miss a moment of what was about to unfold.
In the shadowy moonlight, Gerald watched as the five converged in the middle of the open expanse of ground, doubtless to receive their orders from their commander.
Sure enough, within a few minutes they split up and started to search the surrounding area. Gerald could feel himself subconsciously trying to shrink back into his shelter as one of the party inspected the area a few feet in front of him. The beam from their torch inched ever closer to his vantage point, and for a split-second Gerald steeled himself, awaiting discovery.
He held his breath.
Just then, something scuttled out from the bushes to Gerald’s left and disappeared into the blackness. The searcher reacted swiftly and spun around as if in anticipation of coming face-to-face with an intruder.
Once he realised that there was no real threat, he eventually moved on, allowing Gerald to let out the breath he had been holding in.
The search continued for the best part of an hour. During that time the group covered the entire area before finally converging back in the middle of the open field.
Cautiously, Gerald removed an earpiece from his coat pocket and placed it securely inside his left ear. Reaching down, he switched on the receiver and was delighted when he managed to pick up, albeit faintly, what the men were saying.
“They will be arriving soon, so start gathering the wood for the fire, and I’ll wait back at the turning to make sure no one else tries to enter the path.”
Gerald could just make out a combination of mumblings of agreement from the others, and he watched as they split up once more to set about their tasks. He continued to watch as the remaining men started piling logs on top of one another in the field. They appeared to be working in silence with only the occasional grunt or mumble slipping past their lips.
Gerald angled his camera into position so that he could start recording the activity. In time, he could hear the rumble of more vehicles converging on the area, and soon after a group of about fifty people entered the scene.
Through his infrared scope, Gerald tried to focus in on the group as they drifted towards the hill of stacked wood, but even with his colleague’s state-of-the-art equipment, the light was too poor for him to make out specific features.
All those entering the fray seemed to be dressed in some form of ceremonial robe, which reminded Gerald of a masonic function he once attended when he was considering — the advice of an extremely insistent colleague — joining the order. But as he had expected, the ritual and ceremony were not to his taste, so he had to decline his friend’s offer, much to the man’s chagrin.
Gerald noticed that some of the group were carrying bags, and once the pyre had been lit, they produced from them several bottles of what appeared from this distance to be wine. As the bottles were passed from person to person, each member of the assembly took a large swallow. The bottles were passed back and forth several times until Gerald
presumed the contents had all been drained.
As the flames from the fire lapped up the sides of the wooden structure, one of the party walked up to it and stood barely inches away. When this individual discarded their robe, Gerald could see through his lens that she was a stunning dark-haired woman. Even from this distance, the contours of her figure were easily defined in the firelight. As she allowed her robe to slide down her body and fall behind her, she raised her arms out to the side and, almost in unison, the rest of the gathering also disrobed.
Now Gerald could see that there appeared to be as many women in the field as men. They all stood unashamed in their nakedness, illuminated by the fire’s flickering light.
The woman raised her arms out to her sides, and each member of the crowd turned to face her, waiting for their leader to speak.
“Come together and be one!” the woman commanded, ...
