“Bloody moon!” he cried, gasping for breath as the terror deep in his chest surged. Heart pounding, he dodged the tall dark silhouettes of the oak forest. His legs felt full of lead and yet he knew he could not rest. Moonlight illuminating everything, the shadows were closing in on him. The survival of the village now rested solely on his discovery. Suddenly, the dark silhouettes were upon him. He turned to flee and saw yet another, hunched over, blocking in his path. A low growl came from behind his back, as the other beasts sniffed the air. He was completely surrounded. His last thought was of his son, David, as he shut his eyes and screamed while the teeth tore his life away. The silvery circle leaned tiredly above, and the residents of Pokrovsk awoke in fright to the howls of the beasts far off.

“You grow careless!” Marwood snarled at the arrival of the bleeding grey and brown striped wolf. “It is you who is weak! Cowering in the shadows and hiding from the humans!” barked the one with stripes through clenched teeth. Marwood’s anger surged as he leapt forward and took hold of Shadow by the neck, digging deep into his throat. Shadow cried out in anguish. Marwood lessened the grip of his jaws enough for Shadow to twist free and back away with his tail between his legs. “Any wolf who so challenges my authority again will not live to see the light of tomorrow! Is that clear?” shouted Marwood. Shadow whined softly while the rest of the pack bowed their heads in respect. From the back came a wolf with piercing sapphire eyes and fur like that of fresh snow. She walked up to Marwood sniffing at his whiskers and then softly nuzzled his neck. “Shadow is still young and he is bound to make mistakes, Mister” she whispered in his ear playfully. Marwood turned his head and licked her muzzle affectionately. “Very well, but I cannot allow him to continue questioning my motives or this pack will fall apart” he whispered into her ear. Marwood turned back to face his awaiting pack. “With winter setting in, food grows scarce. We must continue with the infiltration of the town. Shadow, you will accompany me for the initial phase until the pack has settled in. Viktor, find us means to secure fresh meat until we strike. The rest of you, head to the supply cache. Once there, shift, and prepare yourselves for entry.”

“Shadow, you take rear, I’ll cut around front.” The duo slipped around the perimeter of the home in the moonlight in coordinated silence. With a great crash, Marwood punched through the glass pane of the front door. He then reached inside with blood dripping from his knuckles and unlatched the lock. The door swung open and in stepped the six foot four man with ruffled dark hair that rested slightly below his shoulders. “Move and I will shoot!” commanded the domestic defender. Marwood turned to face the man. A click was heard as he cocked the pistol. “I am warning you!” he shouted once more. A glint flashed from the moonlit kitchen behind the man. Without hesitation, Marwood flashed a fanged grin, proudly showing off his lengthened canines. “My God” was all he could utter before Shadow ripped into his throat. “Take only currency from this man, as we cannot be traced to this kill.” Shadow knelt down and withdrew the paper from the man’s wallet. “Should be more than enough to live on while we are stuck in this place” Shadow muttered. Marwood paused mid step entrenched in deep thought. "Should the town's people discover human entry, they will suspect us as we will be strangers to their town. Damn it! I also expected you to stab him, not go for the throat." Shadow formed his eyes as slits in disapproval. "Drag the body into the woods while I smash the glass window on the door. We must not give them reason to suspect us!" Marwood watched as Shadow obediently dragged the corpse away before turning to commence the work.

When the sun hung low in the sky and the moon began to rise, Marwood fell upon furry hands as he arched his back. Thick black fur sprouted throughout his hide as a dark fluffy tail sprang free. Sharp black claws began to protrude out in place of his finger nails while his face painlessly elongated into a fuzzy snout. Marwood lurched forward once more as he felt his ears grow pointed as his canines lengthened into piercing fangs. The vitality of the grass burned into his nostrils as he swiveled his ears in the direction of that which rustled in the trees. How lively the world seemed through the eyes of a wolf. “How can humanity continue living in this dreary state of life they create?” wondered Marwood. In the distance through the dense forest came a beautifully clear howl. Far off joined another voice, and then another, as the pack joined in unison to sing the song of the wolf. Marwood closed his eyes, laid his head back, and sang to his heart’s content before bounding into the woods to greet his clan.

It must have been late afternoon. What time exactly, Marwood did not know. It felt right for his paws to be guided down the trail to where a large, sloped, but flat rock lay guarding the entrance to an inlet beside the lake. One by one, his paws carefully navigated down the incline past the golden grass swaying in the cool breeze and then across the face of the jagged rock until his nose met the choppy brown water’s brisk edge. A few of the wave-born bubbles floated by his whiskers as he hastily drank from the lake’s shore. He could hear the leaves lying on the ground behind him softly crunching under the weight of an approaching visitor. Marwood’s ears swiveled around to pinpoint the sounds before he turned his head to face she who approached. “Hello there” he murmured. It was Allison. “Having fun, I see” she whispered as she quietly sat down beside him. “The water is murky today and tastes disturbed.” Allison cocked her head to the right. “But the water is supposed to be clear” she answered. Marwood shook his head and looked out at the setting sun’s long shimmering reflection in the water. “Something has gone awry with this land, of that which is, I do not know” he spoke in a daze gazing far off. Allison knelt down and rested her chin on the backs of her paws while letting out a sigh. “Whatever it is, we will no doubt find and stop it.” Marwood turned to face her and gave her a playful lick on her snout. “Hey you!” she barked as she jumped up. Marwood grinned and ran off into the underbrush, with Allison in pursuit.

A slow heavy rapping echoed from the inn door. A sleepy-eyed man wearing a night camp slowly pulled ajar the knarred wooden door. “Yes?” he asked into the night. A hand presented a burlap satchel of coins as a cold wind whistled past the threshold. “Ah yes, come right this way, I have a room you should find quite up to par.” In stepped an unshaven man dressed in a thick coat with long dark hair tied behind his back. Marwood silently made his way up the staircase and into the room pointed to by the inn keeper. As Marwood undressed for the night, he eyed the white scar on his right shoulder in the shape of a cross. “I will avenge you, brother” was his last thought before Marwood closed his eyes and tumbled into a deep slumber.

Marwood awoke to the bright sunlight of dawn blaring in his eyes. He flipped over onto his stomach and tried to bury his face in to his feather pillow to finish his dream when frantic screams of an old woman in the street below caused his ears to prick up. Finally, after deliberating for several minutes whether or not to get out of bed, Marwood stood up and walked near the window, cautiously staying out of view from below. “The monsters have done this! Cursed demonic animals! My Thomas! Why? Why did this happen to you Thomas?” Marwood stepped farther back out of the light and turned to face his reflection above the dresser. “Old Samantha Briggs, always there to whine about everything that troubles your little head. This time it is your husband,” thought Marwood as he shaved his face with the cold metal blade, examining the cut on his cheek in the mirror. “My god fearing husband is gone! Won’t somebody avenge his death? Lord save the soul who makes the monsters that did this suffer for their crimes!” The pitiful widow, face streaming with hot tears, knelt down holding the torn shirt spattered with blood, with a strange message sliced into it. The town’s people passed her by, continuing on with their daily lives, doing their best to ignore the raving mad woman, and hoping that she would not spread her bad luck on to them. As she knelt, holding the rag with “FOOD” inscribed in blood, the general store clerk motioned to his assistant to come near. “See out those windows at Mrs. Briggs?” The assistant nodded. “I bet you whatever did that will be back again tonight! Lock your door old chap; I would hate to see you fall prey to whatever acted out the terrible deed.” The assistant replied, “Charles! It is your age and frailness I worry for. Why not leave this cursed village and enjoy the rest of you years safely by the ocean?” asked the assistant. “Bah! Michael, you and I both know this shop needs me and I have no intention of letting it fall to shambles.” “Mr. Carthage, Sir, I only wish to see you safe from harm,” the assistant, Michael Brown explained. Charles Carthage replied, “I know, friend, I know.”

Several days later, a carriage drove quickly into the town. David Briggs stood watching the oncoming caravan with his back to the warmth of the sun as he anxiously waiting for the tin bucket to fill from the fountain in the cool morning air. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” The voice was clearly his mother’s. His attention, still focused on the mail carrier, held steady. “Whoa!” barked the driver at the two mounted horses. The carriage ground to a halt. The door opened and out stepped a man dressed in servant attire. He stood beside the cart and helped a gentleman who, from the look of his fine clothing was rather well to do, down from the transport. At that moment, David’s mother wrapped her arms around him and said “I don’t like the look of that man, you had best go back home.” David turned to protest but his mother, keen on his tricks, knew better and sent him on his way. “This village is perfect! “Driver, return with news to my father that Pokrovsk is where I shall build my estate!” he ordered. “Yes Sir!” was the driver’s reply and thus the village had its very first nobleman.

The people of Pokrovsk spent the next few weeks going about with their casual lives except for the nightly cries of the wolves far off in the forest and the daily deliveries of more building materials. Workers from all over the countryside, from blacksmiths to stone workers, arrived. They were all drawn together for a single purpose; to build the nobleman his new home. “Oi! Yeh see that? We gots us anuther rich guy!” spoke one of the farmers, watching the procession. Still in mourning over her late husband, Samantha Briggs could be seen daily, trying to rally men into searching the woods for whatever was strong enough to shred her husband and smart enough to write “FOOD” in blood on the back of his shirt, and leave it by the front door for his wife to find. The accusations, the begging and the complaining never changed, some days the names of those she would accuse or the words she would use to describe them would change, but it was always the same message: “Go out there; find what did this and kill it or this will happen to all of us shortly.” Some days Marwood would gingerly step into the market square where Samantha Briggs would be preaching and entertain himself, seeing the anguish from how much she was ignored. The people we’re not going to interrupt their daily lives for an old crone’s lost cause. After hearing his fill of her testimony, he would stroll over to the butcher’s shop and order as much meat as he could carry. On his way, he noticed an estate being built. It resembled something from a century before, an ornate mansion. Most of the villagers had ignored the new construction but Marwood felt a yearning deep inside from something of his distant past. It was something he knew he must allow himself to become again.

“There! That’s the last of it! Thank you,” commended the store clerk to his assistant who had just brought in the last of the packages that had been delivered. Michael Brown, the assistant, let out a sigh of relief, and collapsed into an armchair behind him. “With any luck, we’ll make a small fortune from all of this” the old clerk gloated. “I certainly would hope so” assured his counterpart. “Look now, it’s getting dark and I say we’re finished here. Go on home Michael, I’ll lock her up.” “You have my gratitude, Mr. Carthage. Goodnight!” bid Michael Brown to the clerk. Charles finished counting the money and the closed the shop door. Down stepped Charles Carthage from the stoop. He peered down the dark alley and then there came a strange noise from the street. With darkness covering Charles Carthage’s eyes, he blindly stumbled down the passageway, nearing the street. Suddenly he heard a growl. Thinking it to be a stray dog, he walked on. Out of nowhere burst an ear splitting howl. He turned to run back to the shop door but it was too late.

The villagers found some of the grisly remains floating in the fountain the next morning. “Who could have done this?” shrieked a hysterical woman. “What could have done this you mean?” cried Mrs. Briggs. “Do you see what have I been trying to tell everyone? My words are true and it’s going to strike again!” Mrs. Briggs repeated. That night there came a loud clatter as trashcans toppled over, carts were overturned, animals howled and the silver moon turned blood red. Several were found the next morning, dragged from their beds. Animals… intelligent animals, had ravaged the town. The few who had been spared packed their belongings and left. That night the wolves howled more than usual in the forest that surrounded the ghost town. Had Thomas Briggs made it back to Pokrovsk, the people may have had time to prepare for the attack. Only one man stayed behind, his name – Marwood. He was long forgotten and believed to have been taken the following night by the wolf beasts, but in truth, he was one of them. The only light in the entire town that night could be seen from the windows of the nobleman’s mansion. Relaxing near the hearth, Marwood and several of his pack reclined back, enjoying the assortment of vodka they had discovered in the nobleman’s cabinet. Marwood held up his glass, “Tonight we celebrate, comrades!” “Huzzah!” shouted back his pack in unison as they all rejoiced. Several weeks passed, until the little village of North Stock slowly began to notice missing cattle.