West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, Walsh family home
5 November 1898, 02:11 hrs.

For days she had slept fitfully. No, actually it wasn't just days.... it had been weeks. A little over two to be exact. Ever since Marie's body had been found under all that bad luck, it hadn't given Sandra a moment's peace. Even if Marie had always thought of herself as something better, just because she had been born as the daughter of the village chiefs, she had still been her friend. She still couldn't believe what had happened to her. What worried her much more, however, was something else entirely. It was a fantasy, perhaps even a pipe dream. Actually, she, Sandra Walsh, was not that superstitious.

But ever since Walter the landlord had died so suddenly, and on All Hallows Eve too, this thought just wouldn't let her go. The talk about not upsetting the old Jäger family because they might put a curse on you.... was nonsense. Of course, it was. And yet... Three people were dead. It hadn't been long since the Father had thrown the old Jaeger out of his chapel. Now he was dead. Marie, too, often publicly mocked her roots and Walter the landlord was always selling some kind of food to the old woman at completely horrendous prices. She had overheard the old woman complaining a few weeks ago that the prices were too high and they could hardly afford anything anymore. Could it all be a coincidence? 

Marie's accident had been so strange. It wouldn't let her go. There was endless gossip about the Jäger family. About how they had fled Germany. That the old Mrs Jäger was a witch and wanted to take revenge for the death of her son and his wife, who had died in a fire here in St. George. To this day, no one knew what caused the devastating fire at the house on the edge of the village.

Sandra had once heard two old washerwomen whisper that it might have been set. But that was all very far-fetched. As was the claim that the old hag was a witch. It was true, her house was out of the way and she really did seem a bit creepy and cranky. But to Sandra, she had always been just an old lady. But she had not been the "leader" and nobody dared to mess with Marie. So she insulted the old lady in Marie's presence, harassed the little Jäger and insulted everyone else in the village whom Marie could not stand. But now Sandra tossed and turned constantly at night, wondering whether she shouldn't perhaps go to Mr Baltimore with her fears and suspicions. 

At the same time, she was sure that he wouldn't take her seriously or think she was crazy... These thoughts, swinging back and forth, accompanied Sandra into a restless sleep.

She dreamt of bad luck and graves. Of Marie reproaching her and trying to drag her down to her by her dress. When Sandra awoke with her heart pounding wildly, she blinked in confusion and drowsiness into the gloom of her room. Through the gap between her curtains, the moon cast a narrow strip of light into her chamber.

Sandra was about to turn around again and snuggle back under the covers when a noise caught her attention. Scratching and scraping on wood. Sandra paused and listened. Fatigue made her thoughts heavy, but the sound remained. It sounded like it was scratching in different parts of the house.... then it came from the direction of the kitchen. I wonder if Brow, her dog was trying to get at the supplies again. Lately, he had been kind of strange and constantly restless. A sigh escaped from inside her as she threw back the covers. Then she shuffled her feet out of bed and slipped sleepily into the coarse slippers with thin leather soles. A hiss followed the rustle of matches from which she lit the candle on her bedside table with one of the square sticks. The young girl's slender fingers groped for the rounded handle, slipped her index and middle fingers through it and lifted the rough candle plate. As soon as the warming blanket no longer enveloped her, Sandra felt the coolness of the night.

The tiny stove in her room had long been cold, the coals extinguished, and so she shivered and rubbed her upper right arm. Her woollen sleeping gown reached her ankles, but it was still chilly. So she put down the candle on her dresser and pulled a shawl, woven of warming wool, from the top drawer. The beautifully crocheted shawl was one of her favourites. Her grandmother had given it to her last winter, and of course, it was homemade. Handsome patterns of small flowers and geometric shapes covered the triangular shawl of fiery red colouring, while the ends ended in long fringes. She wrapped the warming piece of wool around her shoulders and pulled it together in front of her chest. The soft wool nestled against her neck and Sandra reached for the candle to get to the bottom of the scratching.

The floorboards of the wooden floor creaked as she walked on silent soles to the door and turned the knob. The door groaned softly, but only briefly, as Sandra listened into the hallway. Loud snoring was coming from her parent's room. Then there was that wooden scratching sound again. Impatient and louder. Surely it wouldn't be long before her mother heard it too."Brow?" she murmured into the hallway. The scratching grew louder. Pursing her lips, she crept down the narrow hallway, the carpet swallowing her footsteps for a few moments. Her father's hunting trophies adorned the walls on either side, dead empty eyes in countless skulls. Tusks on wooden slabs, small antlers and larger ones, interrupted only by two family photographs they had taken at Christmas. On the walls, the shadows of horns and bones seemed like long, gnarled branches and twigs, trailing behind her as she slipped quietly past them.

"Brow! Where are you boy?" she whispered softly, letting her eyes wander in search of the family dog. Had he once again holed up in one of the cupboards, or had her father locked him out as punishment? She quietly opened the door to her brother's room. The light fell in and onto the small bed where a boy of about nine lays blissfully hugging his duvet. Candlelight fell on blond-brown hair, tousled and half buried under the pillow. She smiled gently at the sight. Clearly, he was fast asleep. The door clicked softly as it closed again.

Downstairs in the parlour, a few coals still smouldered in the large stove, blinking as wearily as they did. The room lay deserted, a little brightness falling through the windows, making the dark silhouettes of the armchairs and dining table clearer. Her house was on the edge of the village, the first small paths opened up to the front, the field already to the back. No other house or tree kept the moonlight from peeking through the windows. She briefly glanced out the window as she passed, peering for the tail or the shape of her dog. The English Setter had been loyal to her family since they had taken him in as a puppy. Sandra loved the silky fringe of his underbelly, on his tail and legs. But the striking coat of white, grey and black, was nowhere to be seen. 

Sandra followed the sound into the kitchen. The smell of the delicious dinner still hung in the air. Her mother had boiled up a strong vegetable broth and slaughtered a chicken for it. For dessert, there were small pies with berries and she toyed for a moment with the idea of snatching a piece. But she did not get around to it. Instead, her eyes were glued to the back door. There was a loud scratching and pawing. A snort escaped her and the girl shook her head. "What have you been up to?" she asked softly as if the dog might give her an answer.

A cold breeze drifted in through the cracks and whistled softly. A strangely undirected feeling crept over her skin, leaving a shiver and setting the fine hairs on edge. It made the girl shiver and Sandra reached into the red wool to pull the ends of her shawl tighter in front of her chest and knot them. The fringe tickled her fingers as she then reached out and placed the candle on the work surface. The little light pranced restlessly as she stepped up to the door, which trembled slightly under the scratching.

"Sandra?" it asked from the hallway behind her. The tired voice of her mother."Yes, Mother... Father locked Brow out," she explained to herself in a low whisper, meanwhile reaching for the door handle, "...I'll just let him-"

There was a click. Then the door slammed against the wall with a loud crash. Wood splintered from the tremendous force and Sandra's startled exclamation turned into a shriek of terror. As if at a soundless signal, a tall figure pushed through the wooden frame of the gate. Shaggy black fur covered a muscular body of immense proportions. Strong fore and hind legs scraped claws across the wooden floor. From their paws, each larger than the surface of a plate, the long, curved claws left deep gouges in the dark floorboards. Short fur curled on the muzzle amid the dog-like skull, which nevertheless exceeded a normal wolf by twice its size. It was hard to tell what colour this behemoth of a wolf might be, but in the light that fell through the doorway into the interior, it appeared pitch black. As if a hellhound had risen from the underworld to feast its hunger on mortal flesh. Yellowish teeth, sharp and pointed, showed beneath the raised lips. Greasy drool dripped from the slightly open mouth, ready to snap and break a bone in one bite. Deep breaths made the flanks quiver as the huge wolf drew in a deep breath and fixed its glowing eyes on the young girl. The mind of the overwhelmed mother and her daughter did not yet grasp what had just happened. Then the head snapped forward and moonlight flashed its teeth.

Sandra backed away with a hoarse yelp and tripped over her own feet. With a muffled sound she landed on her bottom and in the movement snatched the candle from the worktop. Instantly the small flame went out and the metal hit the floor with a clang. Candle wax splattered across the floorboards and, whirring, the candle plate rolled a little before coming to rest. The long rod swept aside like a broom, sweeping everything from the worktop and low shelves. A small jar of lard and a jar of jam shattered, shards and contents scattered across the kitchen floor.

Behind Sandra, her mother's screaming now joined her own sounds. The girl tried to pull herself together and crawled backwards away from the beast, whose teeth were already snapping at her again. The sound of bellowing growls, screams and the shattering of glass echoed through the house, where reactions could now also be heard in the other rooms.

Her father called out and staggered into the living room. He almost slipped on the carpet because he turned the corner so sharply. Everything rang in Sandra's ears and turned into burning pain as sharp teeth dug into her leg. Like daggers, the points penetrated flesh, stars exploded before her eyes and desperately she tried to kick at the head with her other leg out of reflex. Relentlessly, the monster tugged at her. Sandra felt the jolt against her body. Her head flung back and hit the wooden floorboards dully. Like a tangled veil, her hair fanned out behind her as the wolf dragged her forward. Like a puppet, the beast yanked her across the floor and cold air swung around her senses. She heard her father yelling for her brother to stay in his room. Her mother yelled for him to get his rifle. Sandra tried to hold on, no matter what. She felt her dress billow around her legs, then damp, wet grass.

Her brave mother rushed forward, grabbing the first thing she could. A muffled sound squeezed between the screams, clangs and growls of the beast as Mrs Walsh struck at the bloodthirsty monster with a frying pan. The jaw snapped open and the searing pain subsided as Sandra whimpered and tried to sit up. Her vision was blurred, her mind numb. It spun drunkenly, just wouldn't gain clarity. The critter leapt towards her mother, grabbed her and almost caught her by the arm. Clanking, the cast-iron pan fell to the floor and with a yelp, her mother slammed the door. Just in time.

The massive body crashed against the wood, which cracked under the force. Sandra's whole body trembled. Blood smeared her leg, throbbing pain pressed dully from the shock into her perception as the massive body turned to face her again. The wolf took a few steps, slow and almost stalking. Whimpering, the girl pushed herself up and took a step back. As he set towards her, she turned and ran. There was a high place at the edge of the forest. If she could make it there, maybe she would be safe?! Whether the thought was wise, she could not measure in sheer panic.

She staggered, limped and ran as fast as she could. The mist dispersed around her and the red of her shawl wafted behind her like a troubled flag. Then, at last, her eyes clung hopefully to the wooden high stand. The saving ladder rose out of the mist and ended in a small structure. It was sturdy, she just hoped it could withstand this beast until her father came! Again and again, she stumbled over a bump. Then suddenly there was something bigger.

Her blood froze in her veins. Amidst prostrate grass, there was little more of Brow than torn flesh and bloodied fur. His chest was ripped open, his neck was bent at an unnatural angle and his long tongue was curled out of his mouth. All over, the blood-red witness to death caked the grass and had seeped blackish into the earth beneath the torn companion. Sandra uttered a hoarse cry that choked in her throat. But then she tore herself away from the gruesome sight and ran on.

But the wolf had taken advantage of the brief hesitation. The shaggy figure with the eyes of hell had sprinted past her and now the massive body blocked her way. Sandra felt her hope burst. Her heart ached, beating so fast. She wanted to turn around and ran a little way, but then he was in front of her again. He snapped at her like a sheep. Their jaws clashed loudly. She didn't want to think about getting between them. Sandra lost her sense of direction, of logic. All she could think about was getting away from the wolf that was chasing her. The forest enveloped her in a dark, ominous embrace. And yet she ran. On and on.