Shadybrook was a quiet, little forest village with a high earthen wall around its border.  With a babbling brook dividing the center of town, it was very picturesque.  There was a church on a small hill, jail, school, tavern, and courthouse.  As the sun rose, daily life begun.

            The village gates opened for the traders, shepherds, and travelers; they would close at nightfall to protect the village from bandits.  An aging and wild looking man stood outside the gates, hesitant to enter.  He was a werewolf.  He breathed deeply and growled.  ‘This place stinks of death, yet I must do business,’ thought he.

            As he pulled his cart full of wild animal skins along, people casted dark glances at him but said nothing.  This werewolf made sure they had warm blankets and meat in the winter and their livestock not devoured by predators.  In return, the villagers did not hunt his pack.

            The market place bustled with people and animals.  At the butcher’s stall, a scarred, blonde young man who wore many charms and amulets was arguing with the seller of meats, who kept shaking his knife at him.

            “Listen, I don’t care if it’s for your beasties. I can’t afford to let you purchase twenty pounds of beef, Beast Tamer! That’ll put me out of stock for a week!”

            “I have more than enough money that’ll cover your expenses, so sell me the meat!”

From a distance, the werewolf could tell the boy had anger issues.  He moved on to the leather tanner, avoiding the two.

            The chapel’s bells range for morning church; everybody went except the werewolf, who left because he sold his furs.

The hymns were sung, so the young, bright- eyed Father Thomas began to preach.  Father Thomas had been sent straight from the Vatican so everyone was anxious to hear a sermon from him.  At the end of the service, he blessed his congregation.

            “Remember,” he said, “tonight is the full moon. So, be present at the Wolf’s Head Tavern. I do not want to lose one of my flock the Wolves. Have a blessed afternoon!”

            Many people thought that the most enforced rule of Shadybrook was to be in the gates by sundown.  Everyone agreed, though, it was a good rule, especially on the full moon.  They remembered one instance when a young couple was caught outside late one full moon; they heard screams, beastly noises, and then silence.  The next morning they found two bodies torn to shreds; however, due to the pact they had with the werewolves, they could not kill the Wolf responsible.  They would just have to have the satisfaction that the pack would dispense justice if it wasn’t a Loner, a werewolf that didn’t live with a pack.

            Night.  The full moon had risen, and the Wolf’s Head Tavern was packed with people.  Everyone was there.  Well, almost everyone.

            Tapping on his cup of tea, Father Thomas silenced everyone, asking, “Is everyone here?”

            People looked around.  It was John the bartender that spoke up.  “The Beast Tamer isn’t here, Father.”

            “Someone should go get him! Everyone should be here in the safety of the village,” said Father Thomas.

            A farmer named Tom with a fast white horse volunteered, knowing the dangers involved.  After having the priest give him Last Rites just in the case of death, Tom rode off to bring back the Beast Tamer.

            To describe the Beast Tamer, he was a young man of twenty years who could domesticate any animal.  He wore many amulets and charms for protection; people knew he came from a Gypsy descent because of this.  Yet, they all loved him.  For example, if a farmer had a troublesome fox raiding his chicken coop, the Beast Tamer could capture it- without killing it- and release it somewhere else; they would never see that fox again, either.  The whole village loved the Beast Tamer, and that is why they sent someone out to bring him to safety.

Tom made it to the Beast Tamer’s farm without seeing a single werewolf.  Usually, you could spot them because they were proud creatures and wore detailed paint on their bodies to symbolize status.  Also, they ran on two legs instead of four.

            He dismounted at the front of the small cottage and knocked on the door.  No answer.

            ‘How odd,’ thought Tom as he walked to the barn.  The Beast Tamer wasn’t there either.

“Tamer! It’s Tom Buckley, your neighbor!” he shouted through cupped hands.

               Nobody answered yet again.  As a result, Tom remounted his horse and began to slowly ride back to the village.  After going half a mile, he heard a deep growl.  Turning around, he saw a wolf that wasn’t a wolf! It had to be seven feet tall at the shoulder and had eyes burned red like fire.  In terror, he urged his horse into a fast paced gallop!

            Tom could hear the beast keeping pace with his horse!  With a swipe of its gigantic paw, Tom’s horse went down, but Tom got up quickly and took out a gun!  He fired once but nothing happened to the creature.  This had to be a new breed of werewolf!  Therefore, he did the only thing left to do.

            The townspeople heard a second shot.  Something was amiss!

            “Nobody go out there until morning!” declared Father Thomas.

            The morning came and the gates opened once again.  A crowd had formed around the shredded carcasses of Tom and his horse.  Suddenly, a wailing arose and everybody turned.  Tom’s wife rushed forward but was held back and began to weep hysterically.  Father Thomas came and escorted the widow away.

That evening, the courthouse’s bells rang, signaling a meeting.

            “What’s this about?” cried several people in the crowd.

            Others cried, “Yeah! We want to know what killed Tom Buckley!”

            Father Thomas, who was the leader of this village, raised his hands for silence.

            “Tonight,” he declared, “is a rare blue moon, a second full moon in the same month. So everybody must remain in the Wolf’s Head Tavern. I have had a meeting with the werewolves and they were all accounted for; there were no Loners, so this is an unknown Beast.”  His word became law; therefore,  everybody went to the pub that night.  

            A mist had settled over Shadybrook.  It was an eerie mist, one that made a man think that some horrible monster was out there lurking in the shadows.  However, despite the town folk being a superstitious lot, most people tonight- the full moon- were in the Wolf’s Head.  A warm fire and a hearty brew was partly what drew the people out of their homes. 

            The Beast Tamer was on edge.  He was pacing back and forth, rubbing his arms, and glancing to and fro like a wild animal.

“Why so twitchy, Tamer?” joked the greying bartender, John, a smile playing on his face. 

“I don’t know. I need to get out of here,” was his reply. 

Everyone in the tavern immediately began to object and shout no at him.  “I’ll be ok. I have protection against the Wolf.”  The Beast Tamer had a look of worry and uneasiness on his face.  With that said, the Beast Tamer went out the door and into the night.

            Silence.  After a few minutes of quite, a long, mournful wolf’s howl echoed throughout the Monk’s Bane Valley.  “Where did the Tamer even come from?” asked a man sitting with a group of card playing friends.  The town’s priest, a young, bright eyed Father Thomas, replied, “Ah, now that is an interesting story, yet a mystery. Let the storytelling commence.”

Father Thomas began to speak.  “I’ll never forget the first time I met the Tamer.  He was a young man, probably around eighteen years old, who was banging on the chapel’s doors claiming sanctuary during a dark, rainy night just as I was saying prayers before I went to bed. So, of course, I had to give it to him, as it was the Church’s law.”

            The townsfolk began to imagine a stormy night with thunder and lightning.  While the storm raged on, a young man was slipping and sliding up the path to the clergyman’s chapel.  He made it to the door and proceeded to bang on it until Father Thomas answered and escorted him inside.

            The priest continued, “After he was inside, a group of men on the darkest horses- darker than any storm clouds- rode up and demanded I hand him over. I told the men, ‘He has claimed sanctuary in the House of God. What business do you have with him?’” Another howl pierced the night.

“Well, the men weren’t too happy about him claiming sanctuary; therefore, the leader- whose face was covered-, replied, ‘If he leaves this town, he’s ours, the Black Hand.’  I never asked in all these years what the Black Hand was but could only figure out that they were slave traders because only slave traders would go after a strongly built lad. I also never pried into the business of where he came from, either.”

            The priest sighed and said before taking a sip of tea, “I wish he would open up to us.”

            The door slammed open.  The Tamer stumbled in, scars covering his chest and bleeding heavily.  “Help me,” he muttered before collapsing on the floor.  The village’s doctor was called in immediately and began to stitch him up with thread that had been doused in wolf’s bane and with a needle made from a wolf’s bone.  This was a Gypsy cure to prevent someone from turning into a werewolf.

            The tavern was frantic now.  If the Tamer was not safe, what could they do? They were sitting ducks! 

The most experienced- and most scarred- hunter, Daniel Argent (an English- Frenchman), cocked his rifle.  The firelight shined across his pure silver rifle barrel.  “Lads,” he said decisively, “it’s time to go on a Wolf hunt to free us from this terror.”  With a group of five men, with Daniel Argent as the leader, they took their best hounds and went into the dark, misty forest.

“Hey, Peter!” called Bartender John to a young man with curly hair and a goatee who was sitting in a corner, smoking a pipe.  The lad looked up sullenly, almost grumpily.   “Entertain us while the hunters go get us that Wolf.” 

The boy stood up and walked to the center of the room.  With every step, you could hear the clopping of hooves.  Stripping off the kilt and thin shoes he wore, Peter revealed that from the waist down he was half goat; Peter was a satyr- the only magical creature everyone put up with because of his talents: dancing, music, and sheep herding. 

            Taking out a set of Pan Pipes, Peter the Satyr began to play a slow tune.  Then, all of a sudden, it picked up speed, and he began to dance.  His hooves clipped and clopped on the stone floor as he jigged.  Finally, with a fancy move that could only be described as a flip, he ended his dance to the sound of applause.

            Meanwhile, in the forest, the hunters were having a hard time trying to capture the Wolf.  “No sign of prints, Daniel. How are we supposed to track this beast? Not even a trace of hair.”  This came from the hunter in charge of the hounds, which were as confused as the humans themselves. 

“That only leaves one solution: we ask the Gypsies to help us track this werewolf. They know more about werewolves than we do.”   Despite all the protests (the Gypsies were not a well-liked group because they had reputations as thieves), Daniel Argent led his group to the local Gypsy encampment.

            As the hunters approached the camp, Daniel noticed something was not right.  The main fire had been put out and all shutters and doors were locked.  On the doors, there was Wolfs Bane, mistletoe (another deterrent of werewolves), and silver crucifixes.  Daniel called out into the darkness, “Hello? Can someone help us?”  No response but the eerie howling of wind through the trees.  Daniel called again.  This time, however, they were acknowledged.

            “Who dares approach our camp?” echoed an elderly female voice from all around.  The five hunters who accompanied Daniel started to feel uneasy.  Daniel replied, puffing out his chest with confidence, “It is I, Daniel Argent, the supreme hunter of these woods.”

            “Conversing with gypsies, hunting werewolves… we are going to Hell,” murmured one hunter.

            “Hush!” hissed the leader.

            Out of one of the wagons, one painted purple and gold, ambled slowly- with the help of a wooden cane- an old, bent over woman; she had to be at least seventy-five years of age.  Her face and hands (the only visible parts of her body) were wizened, giving her a much older look.  Besides having donned a violet dress- hemmed in gold-, she was wearing many scarves and gold jewelry that jingled when she walked.  Her eyes would tell one of all the sights she had seen over her many years of life during her travels in the gypsy caravan.

            “My name is Madame Faye Lune, and you…” she pointed at Daniel Argent with a crooked finger before continuing, “are Daniel Argent, the man who seeks to rid these woods of the most unholy of beasts.  Only you and I shall discuss the Wolf in my wagon.”

            She motioned for Daniel to follow her before walking to the group of painted wagons, leaving behind the group of hunters, who had their guns at the ready in preparation for an attack.

            Meanwhile, in the tavern, the Beast Tamer had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.

“Doctor Zachary!” cried the barmaid, who was watching over the Tamer.  Dr. Zachary rushed over and found the young man having convulsion fits, growling, and foaming at the mouth.  This definitely had the physician worried.

‘Rabies,’ thought the man of learning to himself.  Aloud, he announced, “The Beast Tamer’s body is reacting to the scratches. I need four strong men to help me carry him to the jail so I may help him!”  Immediately, because the lad was well liked throughout Shadybrook, four men volunteered.

            After they had donned leather gloves that went past the elbows, the men helped carry the boy to the jail and placed him in a cell.  The men left, and the physician said to the Tamer, “May your suffering not be long.”

            The hunter and gypsy were in the middle of their discussion.  The gypsy woman brought out a crystal ball and images began to play across its smooth surface.  One was that of a woman turning into a gigantic, red- eyed wolf with dripping fangs.  Another was that of a man turning into a violet eyed wolf- smaller than the woman- who ran off with the female.

  “The Wolf you seek happens to be a gypsy; yet, she is not one of us. Usually, She-wolves are bigger than the males because they have to eat more because of what you hunters would call the rut- mating season; where there’s a She-wolf, there is always a male close by… the Alpha of the pack or pack- to- be.”

            A wolf howled, and it sounded like it was coming from the village.

            “Tell me,” said Madame Faye Lune, “is one of your villagers a blond- haired young man?”  This shocked Daniel Argent into saying, “Yes, a young lad called the Beast Tamer, who claimed sanctuary.”

            The old woman nodded.  “We know him very well; he trades furs with us. That is the Alpha male. It is not uncommon for a male to seek a safe haven for his mate, cubs, and pack- especially if they are wanted by the Black Hand.”

            Another image displayed itself on the ball.  This one was that of men on the blackest horses chasing men, women, and children, who were trying to flee into a forest.

“You people were unsuspecting of a needy person who was being chased by evil looking men; therefore, you did not question him about anything as long as he was not a threat.”

A scene of holiday cheer appeared next on the ball’s surface.  Everyone was festive and happy, dancing to the music and having a good time.

            “We were ignorant, I know, but what is the Black Hand?”  The old woman looked at him seriously, “Werewolf hunters of the most vile nature. I will not speak of what they do. Yes, they do shoot them.  Let’s say it is better if you end these pour souls’ curse.”  She crossed herself and escorted Daniel out of her wagon.

            After leaving Madame Faye Lune’s wagon, Daniel Argent filled in what the old gypsy woman told him.

            “So we were being fooled?!” shouted the hound handler in outrage.

            “Yes, but he had good intentions for the trickery,” replied Daniel.

            “It doesn’t matter,” replied another hunter.  “He’s still a werewolf, and he has a mate out there ready to kill us all!”

            What that hunter didn’t know was that the She- wolf was stalking them as they made their way back to the village, knowing that they would lead her to her mate.  This She- wolf was at least seven feet tall, nine feet long, and had eyes that burned like the fires of Hell.  This was a new breed of Wolf, seen by neither man nor beast- only the Devil himself.  The reason there were no paw prints was because her mate, the Beast Tamer (whose real name was James Thorson), had been sweeping them away with a spell.

            Snap! “What was that?” exclaimed the hunters.  They began to look around like nervous deer.  “Guns out!” commanded Daniel Argent.

            Seconds passed.  Finally, out of the bushes came… Doctor Zachary?  Well, this surprised the hunters into lowering their guns.  The good doctor was out of breath and was sweating profusely like he was running for his life.

            Running over to the physician, Daniel exclaimed, “Good Lord, man! What happened?”  “The W-W-Wolf.”  The doctor passed out, falling into the lead hunter’s arms, limp as a ragdoll.

When the good doctor came round, Daniel, the hunters, and the hunters were centered around a fire, waiting for him to regain consciousness.  Doctor Zachary groaned, which gained everyone’s attention. 

“Doctor, are you alright? What happened?” asked many of the hunters.  The buzz of chatter made the healer put his hands to his head and groan.

Daniel Argent held up his hand, signaling for silence.  All fell quiet.

“Tell us what happened. We know that there are two Wolves, and the Alpha male just happens to be our Beast Tamer.”  Daniel stared intently at the healer, waiting for a reply.

“I thought it was just a case of rabies and the Beast Tamer would die, but it wasn’t! He began howling a bloodcurdling howl and began turning into a Wolf we haven’t seen before! This beast had four toes on the back and five on the front, violet eyes, and golden fur! The teeth were at least five inches long! This was truly the Devil’s Hound!”

The man began sweating again.  Daniel motioned for water.  After taking a long drink of the cool liquid, the doctor began again.

“I ran out of the jail, yelling at the top of my voice, trying to get the rest of the men to load their guns.  Yet, the beast had torn down the jail cell’s wall and went straight for the Wolf’s Head Tavern. I heard screams, howls, and then silence! Oh, how I wish the Devil’s Hound could have just killed me!”

The doctor began to break down in tears over the loss of the whole village.  His shoulders shook with sobs, but then suddenly stopped.

“It’s here!” he exclaimed in a whisper.

Doctor Zachary ran off into the bushes.  Nobody held him back; they- including Daniel- saw that he had lost all sanity, and it would be dangerous to protect him if they had to fight the Wolves.

Suddenly, they heard him issue a scream!  The Wolves had killed their next victim.  The hounds began going berserk with barking and pulling at their tied tethers.

“Guns at the ready!” yelled Daniel.

The two Wolves came out of the bushes and began circling the hunters, calculating their next move.  Before Daniel Argent could give any commands, the larger brown- colored wolf (which had to be the She- wolf) attacked first and began shredding the hounds and hound master apart.

Daniel shouted encouraging words such as “Be brave, men!” and “Silver is salvation!”

The Doctor was right: these weren’t ordinary werewolves.  The beasts made quick work of Daniel’s men- working as a quick and efficient team- and, soon, it was only the two Wolves and Daniel Argent.  He began loading his gun with two silver bullets, one for each Wolf.

Daniel Argent, who knew he probably wouldn’t survive, began to pray while walking backwards to the forest’s depths, “Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one, for yours is the kingdom and power and the glory. Amen.”  He crossed himself and ran into the forest, knowing the evil beasts would follow instinctively.

The Wolves took long strides as they chased down their prey.  These creatures would not give up prey so easily, especially one that was so tough to get.  However, this prey was a hunter itself and knew the mind of a predator; it had a plan.

It was by divine intervention that they hadn’t caught him yet.  Daniel was leading the beasts to the rock quarry where he would sacrifice himself in order to save the neighboring villages from the evil that killed the people of Shadybrook.  It came all too quickly.  The edge of the rock quarry came into view.

“Lord, let me into Thy Kingdom for what I am about to do,” he prayed.

Soon, he heard the snarling of the Wolves and Daniel turned around.  Their jaws were dripping with a mixture of saliva, blood, and foam.  He fired once, missing on purpose to make them angry enough to follow.  It worked!  He jumped off the cliff and they followed to their deaths!

The sun rose above the rock quarry, and its rays lit up the bodies of- not one man and two werewolves- but one man  and a couple in a tender embrace.  The night had ended and so had the terror of the werewolves.