Kill The Beast

The Other Wolves

 "We don't like...what we don't...understand in fact it scares us...and this monster is mysterious at least." - The Mob Song - Beauty and The Beast. 

***

No one dared leave their house after dark.

The day Evie had run away from the village something terrible had happened. There were rumours that a beast had attacked defenceless patrons at the local tavern, leaving one man dead and another critically injured. Evie wasn't sure if she believed the tales, the locals who frequented the tavern often concocted whimsical stories, and if it wasn't alcohol fueling their imaginations then it was boredom, as seldom anything excited happened in their quiet village, every day like the one before. Most of the villagers ignored the usual blether of the tavern, but for some reason, this time, they listened.

People were afraid, there was no denying it. There was a thick, foreboding tension clinging to the air of the village. Even the animals- their horses, dogs, cats, cows and chickens -seemed to pick up on it, making them jittery. The people and animals of the village were wound up tighter than violin strings and it felt that at any moment the strings would snap under the tension. It was so unusual that Evie felt herself being pulled into a strange sense of caution herself. Usually, the village was alive with vibrant chatter and songs each morning and early afternoon, everyone bustling about in their chores and trade. Not now, not since the alleged attacks. Now everyone kept to themselves, watched their neighbours warily and barely a word was uttered outside.

It wasn't until one of her mother's guards told her that the beast that had said to have attacked the tavern had been a werewolf that she understood the villager's reactions. Werewolves were human as much as they were wolves. Anyone, from their neighbours to their shopkeepers, could be one, and they would be none the wiser. The monster that had harmed their fellow villagers could be walking among them, as bold as brass, waiting to strike again.

Mournfully, Evie watched from her bedroom window, hating seeing the villagers treat each other with such caution, such mistrust. There was so much suspicion and scorn in every gaze it made Evie's heart swell in disappointment.

"Has what happened at the tavern been investigated?" Evie asked her head guard, Sir Pellinore, as he came to stand beside her.

He was an older man, nearing his late sixties. Unlike the other guards - who dressed in light armour - he was dressed far more casually, but no less richly for a man of his stature. He wore a thick, green poet shirt with a black, buttoned vest, black trousers and heavy boots. His thinning hair had turned as white as starlight and was combed back neatly. Evie had known him all her life, he was almost like a father to her. He doted on her but no amount of smiles and sweet words - nor royal titles - could sway him from scolding her when needed. He was still a little sour over her latest escape attempt and refused to let her leave her cottage as punishment. So long as she behaved for a time he promised he would forget to mention the incident to her mother - provided she didn't attempt it again.

"It has indeed. Witnesses say it was a werewolf."

"So I heard," Evie replied dryly, narrowing her eyes as she glanced at the forest at the edge of the village. "But that can't be what happened, can it? Werewolves? Really, Sir Pellinore?"

"You don't believe they exist, Princess?" the old knight inquired.

"No, I don't."

"Tis a bit strange hearing that coming from a lass who dwells in potions and alchemy in her spare time when she thinks her guards aren't watching," Pellinore mused, stroking his grey moustache. "If witchcraft exists, why can't werewolves?"