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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A werewolf curse and a frightened village. Ten murders in ten months, in a time of betrayal and pain. One thing the villagers know is to fear the night time

Submitted: November 25, 2011

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Submitted: November 25, 2011




 The bell rung heavy and loud but barely stirred the man that limped towards the bridge. The man stood at the foot, watching agitated yet expectant. For the man to be there, at that time, at that very moment was extremely unusual. He stood at the foot and leant precariously against it, he lit a cigarette with a gloved and shaking hand then placed it in his mouth. Without sound or warning- a chilling temperature enveloped the man with an insidious nature and a callous speed; the man growled once- pulling the shabby cloak tighter around his small form.  ??

The cold had grabbed the man by his shirt collar and shoved him onto the cobbled floor with a velocity that one could only determine as inhuman. He struggled to get up, the man was fighting fate- it was losing fight and the man was dying. The man curled up like a baby, the wind and winter his only companion and lost his self, immersed himself in the foreboding yet familiar pain of ice and cold and change that curled itself round the very strands of DNA in him. With a shaky hand, he cupped a hand over the heat of the cigarette, the pain subsided a little but he bit his lip as a frail cold breeze swamped the darkness and felt his tarnished blood coated his mouth.

Then he let go. An animalistic howl escaped and it bounded towards the woods leaving a trail of his clothing behind. ??


Harry caught his dog by the collar and unsuccessfully hauled him towards him. The zealous Labrador sprinted off into the darkness of the trees, his panting the only sound that could be heard. It had just struck twelve and for Harry to be in the woods at this time was extremely unusual.  He wandered after his dog, shining a flashlight to illuminate the crooked branches and swaying trees. "Bruno!" He heard a whining sound.

He blindly turned in a swift circle, as the sound grew louder and higher pitched. Running as fast as he could Harry felt the winter air strangely grow colder and he felt his legs shake and the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. His foot hit a tree root and he fell onto the mossy floor with a thud, on the floor he stretched his neck- looking and listening- the whining had stopped. He got up and fumbled beneath him for the flashlight, the broken glass sliced his finger. Instinctively he sucked the cut, he swore under his breath before taking out his mobile phone, which dully lit the night- enough for Harry to carry on his run forward. That's when Harry saw it.

Its broad, prominent back was covered in coarse black hair, it shook visibly as it made a low purring sound, his phones light allowed him to decipher long pointed ears and a large build- a build that had been sketched by witnesses who'd seen what Harry was looking at, the witnesses- the lucky ones, the ones that had escaped. ??Harry dropped his phone. It made a thud, making the creature hurl itself towards him. In the blackness, he could barely see its face. But he could smell it. Blood- new and fresh, the musky aromas of soil and foliage. Harry smelt it all. ??The last thing Harry heard was the creature, he was laying on the wood floor. Far away he could hear leaves rustling and a dog crying. But close to him, as he closed his eyes and felt his breathing slow down and his heart throbbing- the creature made an odd gurgling sound, as though he was crying. "I'm Sorry,” It cried.

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