“Fear the lone wolf, for he is not a wolf at all but a monster.”
A howl rang through the night, somewhere on the edge of the forest.
“Fear him, for he hungers not for our flesh to fill his belly but for carnage and death.”
Animal screams of terror started up in response to the howl, livestock driven into blind panic.
“Fear this beast born of devilry and witchcraft, and when his howls sound forth bar the doors and block the windows, and pray for your souls.”
“Hush now Lothar, you’re scaring her,” Agatha said, holding their daughter close.
A solitary candle burned on the table, the small flame casting phantom shapes on the wood.
“She should be frightened,” he said, leaning forward so the light swept away the shroud of darkness over his face, revealing a man once considered handsome, but now marred by the scars where three deep gashes had been carved into the flesh of his cheek by the claws of some terrible beast. The skin puckered around the edges where it met the shiny pinkness of the scar tissue, giving him the grizzled look of an old warrior. A wood axe lay on the table by his right hand, his fingers caressing the handle every so often as if seeking reassurance.
“Are we going to die, father?” Ella asked.
Lothar didn’t answer, but the howl came again, closer now. He extinguished the candle, gripped his axe and stood, ready to fight for his life should the beast come scratching at their door. It would be a long night, shivering in the darkness of their simple log cabin, not one of them able to rest while the monster prowled through their village. Then the human screams came, and though their hearts were heavy with the knowledge of what the morning would bring, there was also relief that the creature hadn’t picked their house that night.
***
Sunlight swept across the small village of Bedburg but still darkness lingered. On the edge of the forest where woodland gave way to open fields lay the gruesome remains of the wolf’s latest victim. The grass where she lay was damp with more than morning dew, blood staining the surrounding vegetation and seeping into the soil, a gruesome signal to the unwholesome things that dwelled within the earth. Sightless eyes, so bright and full of life and happiness only hours ago, remained unblinking as flies crawled over the orbs, dim and glassy in death. Flesh, raw and red where the skin had been torn open, appeared bright and lurid in the morning light, muscle wet and glistening. A face so young and innocent in life had been stripped of its childish smiles and laughter, reduced to bloody jawbones grinning morbidly where cheeks and lips had been ripped away.
The torn flesh of her neck hung raggedly around the gaping hole where her throat had been ripped out as if by an animal. The ribcage lay bare and broken down the middle as if it had been pulled apart, and yet what wolf could use its paws in such a way? This was surely the bloody work of human hands. But the organs had been pulled out and unmistakeably fed upon, some strewn around and seemingly bitten in two and half eaten, others missing completely. And what man would take pleasure in such a foul feast?
All this Lothar took in when the villagers deemed it safe to venture from their homes, even if the others remained blind to the evidence of the true nature of this wolf.
“Adette?” a woman called, pushing her way through the onlookers before anyone could stop her. She screamed the name of her child again and rushed to the bloody remains. The villagers turned away, leaving the family to say their last goodbyes. Lothar had tried to distance himself from the horror of the scene, but the pain was all too real as he walked back into the village with the others, to the sounds of a mother’s grief stricken cries.
***
Later that day they buried the young girl’s body. Once the vicar had intoned the burial rites, moved by a need to offer some form of comfort he said “We have all heard the wolf at our doors. We must trust in God now and have faith that He will deliver us from this great evil; that He will drive off this beast.”
Lothar also felt the need to speak out while they were gathered together. “This is no ordinary wolf. We all know it to be true, for how else could a simple animal lure a child from her home in the dead of night? A werewolf walks among us, and it will take more than faith to drive off this monster.”
As he spoke, he scanned the faces of his fellow villagers. Disbelief met his statement, disbelief in the eyes of all but one. There was something else in the eyes of Peter Stubbe, not merely a lack of sheer disbelief that the killer could be one of them, but something cold, something predatory perhaps. And in that instant Lothar knew the werewolf was indeed amongst them, as he briefly locked eyes with the beast within. Peter looked boldly on with no hint of remorse or guilt for his crimes, until Lothar was forced to look away.
“I will have no talk of devilry in my parish, Lothar. Until there is such proof that the supernatural is at work here, we will not speak of such things.”
Lothar wanted to say more, to convince them all of the danger they were in before the monster could claim any more victims, but he knew it was not the time. He bowed his head in a gesture of reluctant sub ordinance, and stalked off.
***
Only a day after they’d buried Adette’s small body did the werewolf strike again. This time an expectant mother was the unfortunate victim, and though she should have known better to venture into the woods alone, she had faith in God’s protection just as the vicar had said.
The werewolf watched her hungrily from between the trees as she entered his domain. He waited until she was deep enough in the forest to be too far from the help of the other villagers. By the time they ran towards her screams he would have slaked his bloodlust and returned to his human form, free from suspicion once more.
The woman sang as she walked, her voice high and beautiful. She stopped when she heard the deep growl rumbling in the throat of the beast that plagued them. Her singing turned to screams as the werewolf bounded towards her. The monster knocked her to the ground, that beautiful voice dying in her throat as a clawed hand slashed across in a spray of blood and gore, turning it to an ugly gurgling as death claimed her. The werewolf had already eaten well during the night and he spared more of the carcass this time, but there was one morsel he desired. He lowered his bloody muzzle to the bulging belly where the unborn baby nestled in its mother’s womb, drooling as he sniffed her abdomen. He tore through her dress and the flesh beneath, ripping the foetus from the protective warmth of its mother. With a clawed finger he sliced its chest open and pulled out the tiny heart, swallowing it whole. Then he tossed aside the small life that had ended so cruelly before it had even begun, and with a howl he withdrew before the humans came upon him.
***
The chilling howls and screams of pain and terror attracted the villagers just as the werewolf had known they would. Lothar was one of the first to react, pulling his axe from his belt and running towards the sounds with no thought for his own safety, thinking only of the grim fate that awaited them all if they didn’t slay the monster soon. He came upon the gruesome scene of the woman’s corpse and her unborn baby, blood running down the bark of the nearest trees where it had sprayed out, and pooling on the ground at his feet. The werewolf was nowhere to be seen but as he scanned between the trees he thought he saw two eyes glowing menacingly, before the beast retreated into the gloom.
The villagers took the body back to their home on the edge of the forest and lay the woman to rest in the same graveyard they’d gathered in just hours earlier. This time Lothar waited until after the burial to speak to the vicar, feeling he was the one that needed convincing for he was the only figure of authority in so small a settlement as Bedburg.
“Reverend, I warn you again, this is no ordinary wolf. You need only look to the unnatural mutilations for proof.”
“I fear you are right to suspect the supernatural must be at work here,” the vicar sighed.
“It is the only explanation. Wolves do not kill women with child just to taste the flesh of their unborn babes. And I have reason to suspect this demon is none other than Peter Stubbe when in human form.”
“That is a weighty accusation. Peter has been a pillar of our community for many years and he comes from a well respected family. Have you any evidence of this?”
“No,” Lothar admitted. “But think about it. He’s a widower. He lives alone with his children on a farm set slightly apart from the rest of us. Why isolate himself so, other than to hide his true bestial nature? There have been rumours of his unnatural relationship with his daughter Beel, and they say his son was born of their incest, not of the relationship he had with his late wife.”
“Those rumours have never been proven.”
“Peter Stubbe is the werewolf, I tell you,” Lothar said stubbornly and with conviction. “Will you do nothing while he slaughters us like lambs?”
“How can you be so sure he is the beast, when you bring me only rumours and circumstance? I will not condone a witch hunt when the man in question may yet be innocent.”
“If you will not act then I will. I’ll bring you proof.”
The vicar watched Lothar go, troubled. While some may have been all too happy to point the finger and put men on trial until the brutal killings ended, he could not in good conscience take that course without being sure of any man’s guilt. Even if the accused was a Protestant, rather than a Catholic.
Lothar, for his part, had seen all he needed to during the burial of Adette. To that end he gathered his fellow village folk, leaving the vicar to his doubts in the church. The rest of them were more willing to listen now and he knew he could count on their aid in the hunt for this monster.
“These are dark times, my friends,” he said. “Six children are missing, seven have been found dead. Now Etta has been taken from us. Will you stand by and let this devilry continue? If the law will not help us we must put a stop to this ourselves. I for one won’t bury another friend or loved one. This ends today. Grab anything you can use as a weapon and let us hunt down this beast like he hunted down Etta and Adette. Who’s with me?”
The woodcutter’s words were met with roars of approval. The crowd dispersed in a flurry of movement as men and women alike rushed to find makeshift weapons, driven by their need for revenge. They swarmed through the village as if driven by the will of Lothar himself, until moments later the angry mob reformed and set out for blood.
***
Peter was quite unaware of the murderous crowd heading his way. He strode through the forest with his boy at his side, slowing only when they were out of sight of the village. His son dutifully slowed beside him, waiting for his father who had stopped behind a tree as if to urinate, but Peter said irritably “Go on boy, I will catch up with you in a moment.”
The boy was afraid to keep going on his own but he was equally afraid of his father’s wrath and he dared not defy him. He started forward, casting nervous glances back towards his father who nodded at him in encouragement. Tentatively he continued deeper into the forest, his fear intensifying with every step. Again he looked back to his father, hoping to see him catching up as promised, reassuring in his strong, confident presence which would surely keep the wolf at bay. The boy felt a jolt of fear when he found his father had disappeared.
“Father?” he called out uncertainly.
A howl sounded close by as the boy’s fears materialised into the form of the monstrous werewolf. Peter was nowhere to be seen, his son trembling with the terrifying realisation that he would have to face the nightmarish beast alone.
He began to back away from the advancing monster. It was larger than any mortal wolf with eyes great and large, which sparkled like brands of fire in the gloom of the forest. Strong and mighty, threads of saliva dripped from its powerful jaws in its greediness for fresh blood. Fear took hold of the young boy’s heart. Unable to face the beast any longer he whimpered, then turned and ran.
The werewolf gave chase, running the boy down in less than a minute. He pounced on his prey and slashed at the child with mighty paws, more like a cat than a wolf. The boy screamed and thrashed beneath the monster as tooth and claw ravaged his small frame, but he was powerless against it. Then came a pressure on his skull as those powerful jaws closed around his head. The last thing he knew was the terrifying sight of its blood stained fangs and the stink of blood and death on its warm breath, until his head exploded and he blissfully sank into the darkness, free from pain and terror at last.
***
Once more Lothar ran to the sound of the screams, hoping this time to catch Peter in the act and put an end to his murderous ways. He led the mob deep into the heart of the forest until they came upon the gruesome sight of the broken body lying on a bloody bed of twigs and leaves. The werewolf crouched over the mess of blood and bone that was once a head, lapping at the brains that had oozed out. It boldly raised its gore stained muzzle to snarl in defiance at the mob, but only turned to flee when they charged forward, too confident in its own speed and strength to consider the angry humans a serious threat. And indeed the humans were no match for the beast, which soon disappeared from sight. Lothar cursed as he ran but pushed his body onwards, despite the ache building in his muscles.
The mob continued in pursuit of the monster until finally they reached a clearing. The sun was bright compared to the gloom under the dense canopy of the trees, and they had to squint against its glare. But there was no mistaking what stood in that circle of light. The monstrous form of the werewolf had vanished; a man naked and covered in blood and gore stood in its place. He held a wolf skin belt in one hand and the heart of some poor victim – presumably the boy’s – in the other, laughing manically. As Lothar’s eyes adjusted he saw that the man was Peter, as he’d suspected.
With cries of outrage the mob surged forwards. Two of the villagers seized Peter, the heart falling from his left hand as the men grabbed him, but he clutched the belt tightly in his right as if it was his last lifeline. The werewolf didn’t even attempt to struggle while the men held him, his insane laugh still sounding as Lothar strode forward with his axe drawn. Even when Lothar raised his axe to strike, Peter’s laughter never faltered.
“Stop!” came a cry from behind them. “What is the meaning of this?”
The vicar strode into view, appalled by the sight that met his eyes. To his horror, Lothar ignored him and brought the axe down on Peter’s left wrist, cutting off his hand in one mighty blow. The werewolf’s laughter turned to screams of pain, but the mob let out a bloodthirsty cheer.
Lothar picked up the severed hand and threw it at the vicar, snarling “Here’s your proof.”
The vicar felt dizzy in the face of such blood and violence. He was reluctant to look at the hand which lay by his feet.
“They say werewolves have fur growing underneath their skin,” Lothar continued. “Tell me Reverend, what do you see?”
The vicar forced himself to kneel and retrieve the hand. He remained on one knee while he fought a wave of nausea as his eyes roved unwillingly over the red flesh of the severed appendage.
“It is just a hand Lothar. There is no fur growing under his skin. Release this poor man; we have no proof he is the werewolf.”
“He killed his own son!”
“This is beyond my power to deal with. It is now a matter for the Elector of Cologne, who I will call to aid us in this man’s trial.”
Furious, Lothar stormed off. Without their leader, the anger of the mob subsided into confusion and the stirrings of shame. Under the vicar’s guidance they bound Peter’s stump to stop the blood flow, and he was taken to the church where they could keep him under a watchful eye while they waited for the matter to be resolved.
***
That the powers they called in had elicited a confession from Peter Stubbe did little to ease the vicar’s conscience, considering they had done so under torture. But the fact Peter had been found naked and bloody in the forest by the other villagers could not be overlooked, and with the number of killings risen to seventeen the Archbishop was keen to put a stop to the carnage. Peter had confessed to the murders and consorting with the devil, who he claimed had given him his wolf skin belt which had the power to transform him into the werewolf whenever he put it on.
For his crimes the Archbishop ordered Peter to be put to the wheel, where he was to be executed in an especially brutal fashion. The vicar wished he could have turned away from the gruesome spectacle they made of the convicted werewolf, but it was his duty to watch so he forced himself to stare ahead. He wrinkled his nose at the sickly smell of burning meat as the red hot pincers were brought down on Peter’s body again and again, ripping away the flesh in ten places. Even if the vicar could have looked away there was no escaping the man’s terrible screams, so loud and full of agony that he fancied they must surely be heard throughout Germany.
That torment ended only for a new one to begin. The sharp crack of breaking bone was somehow audible amidst the screaming, as the blunt side of an axe head was brought down on each of Peter’s limbs to prevent him from returning from the grave. Finally he was beheaded and his body was burned, along with the flayed bodies of Beel and the mistress they’d discovered living on his farm. The execution of the two ladies troubled the vicar even more than Peter’s trial and execution, for he did not believe them to be in league with the devil, even if Peter had been.
Lothar was contented with Peter’s trial. He spat on the werewolf’s severed head, satisfied Bedburg was now free from the unnatural predator that had been stalking them for too long.
As the crowd dispersed the Archbishop ordered the torture wheel to be erected on a pole with the likeness of a wolf placed atop it, and at the very top they placed Peter’s severed head as a warning to those who turned from the Catholic faith.
The vicar turned away with distaste. In the week after the trial he slept little, plagued by the gruesome images of Peter’s victims, the scene in the forest where they’d severed his hand, and most of all the horrific nature of the werewolf’s trial and execution. When men were capable of such acts, he had to wonder if they were any better than the convicted beast they’d put to death.
Such thoughts chased through his mind in endless circles late one night, into the early hours of the morning. Finally he drifted off to sleep, only to fall into another nightmare. It felt so real, he could smell the fetid breath of the monster that had preyed upon them, and he struggled to claw his way back towards consciousness, desperate to break free of the terrors of his mind. He awoke drenched in cold sweat, but still the stench from his nightmare lingered. Then he became aware of lupine eyes seemingly floating in the darkness, just inches from his face, and a bead of saliva splashed across his cheek from gaping jaws barely visible in the shadowy room. Peter Stubbe had not been the werewolf after all, but merely a sick man in need of help who instead they’d sentenced to a cruel death. The vicar barely had chance to register this fact before those powerful jaws lunged forward, ripping the life from him, he who was to be but the first of many to pay for their mistake with his life.
