Silver Bullet

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Book excerpt

Prologue

The man flicked his whip beside the horse’s right ear. The sound of the snap made by the leather lash urged the animal to run faster, although it was already exhausted from the journey. The wheels of the wooden cart harnessed to the poor animal bucked and jerked each time they crashed against a jagged rock or discarded branch in their path.

            In the distance the man could see the dark red hues of the setting sun seeping into darkness as night began to take hold. He glanced over his shoulder, afraid of what he already knew would soon be there, hanging in the sky like some razor-sharp sphere tolling his fate.

He cursed his bad fortune as he cracked his whip once more, urging his faithful steed to move faster.

            As he rode on, his mind reeled with the reminder of the events which had led to his present predicament. He had set off early enough that morning, allowing him ample time to make his various deliveries before reaching home before dark. What he had not anticipated was that old Simeon would forget that today was his wood delivery day, and that he would send his sons out to the next town to help with the building of a new barn for his brother. Old Simeon was too fragile to unload his order himself, and it would take too long to send word to the town to bring his boys back, so the man had no choice but to do it all himself. Old Simeon had been very grateful, it was true, but the extra time it had taken for the delivery had thrown the man’s carefully planned schedule completely off.

            From then on it had been one disaster after another. His next customer, because he had spent so much time at old Simeon’s, had gone out by the time he arrived, so he had no choice but to wait until they returned to make his second delivery. But worst of all was when his horse threw a shoe en route to his next drop. He was almost three miles outside of town, and his horse was obviously in too much discomfort to continue dragging the cart, so the man was left with no option but to unhitch his wagon and walk his horse into town to have the blacksmith there fit a new shoe.

            By the time the man was back on the road, he knew that he was desperately behind. Having made his final delivery, he considered taking lodging in the district for the night, for he knew that the journey home would doubtless take him longer than the remaining daylight allowed. But then he thought about his wife, Hanna, and their little girl, Katerina, alone in their cottage for the entire night, and tonight of all nights.

            He decided that he would have to make it home, come hell or high water. The cart was now empty and so easier for his horse to pull, and the smithy had checked all its shoes to ensure that the nails were tight. He even considered leaving his wagon behind and just riding his horse so that he could make better time. But then he remembered that he would need his wagon first thing the next morning otherwise he would lose a day’s wages. Working for Silas, the town coffin-maker and wood merchant, he knew from experience meant that wages were only paid for actual work completed. There was to be a burial at 11 a.m. the next morning, an elder from one of the wealthiest families in the district, and he had been contracted to transport the deceased’s coffin on the parade through the local villages on to the church.

            So, left with no choice, the man had decided to race for home as quickly as his poor horse could carry them.

            Now, with barely a mile left to go, he realised that he had been far too ambitious to think that he would reach home before dark.

            The sky ahead slipped behind its cloak of night, and at that moment the man heard the first howl emanate from somewhere in the darkness. He could feel his body, drenched with perspiration from a combination of exertion and anxiety, start to shiver. For a moment he wondered if indeed his tremors were as a result of the cold night air, or fear.

            More howls mingled in unison in response to the first, and the man held tightly onto the reins as he lashed out once more with his whip to urge his horse to make haste up the last hill before they entered the outskirts of his village. The horse galloped on, eager to fulfil its master’s wish, its flanks streaming with sweat as it breathed heavily through its flared nostrils.

            As they raced down the other side of the hill, the man could at last see the shadowy hulks of the surrounding dwellings, which signified he was finally back in his village. Only a little farther to go, he assured himself. Usually, on a night such as this, there would be lanterns lit on the front porches, or at the very least, firelight from inside the dwellings seeping under the door frames or shafting through the open windows in the summer. But tonight, just as he had expected, all was in darkness. None of his neighbours wished to draw to their presence the attention of anyone, or anything, outside.

            As he pulled back on the reins outside his cottage, his horse whinnied and snorted before coming to a complete halt. The man jumped down from his trap just as another loud howl crept through the darkness. Fighting the urge to leave his steed and race for the comfort and relative safety of his home, the man instead unhitched the wagon and led his horse into the small stable block beside his home.

There was straw and water already in situ for the horse to dine on, and the man made a silent promise to venture out later to feed his mount something more substantial and palatable as a reward for the service it had rendered in reaching home so quickly.

Once he had secured the stable door, the man raced up the wooden stairs to his cottage door and hammered on the wood. From inside, he could hear the scrape of furniture against the bare floorboards as his wife shot out of her chair to let him in.

As she fumbled with the locks, the man could hear another awful howl springing forth from the darkness which surrounded him. This one was immediately joined by several more, until he could feel them closing in around him.

“Hanna, quickly, they’re coming closer!” He leaned against the door and whispered as loud as he dared in an attempt to urge his wife on. Through the door he could hear his poor wife straining and crying with frustration as she wrestled with the largest bolt. The man cursed himself for not having greased it as he had promised his wife he would before leaving on his journey that morning.

Finally, he heard the bolt shoot free. The man pushed against the door, almost knocking his poor wife over in his haste to gain entry. Once inside, he slammed the door and slotted each of the bolts firmly into their sheaths before turning around and falling back against the wood, breathing heavily.

His young wife ran into his embrace, and the two of them stayed in that position until the man had recovered his composure.

The only light inside the cottage came from the fireplace and a single candle placed in the middle of the table. The man looked around the room to ensure that his wife had secured all the shutters so that no light could escape and be seen from outside. Once he was satisfied, he released one last long sigh before he held his wife’s tear-stained face in his hands and wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. They kissed passionately and then hugged each other in a tight embrace.

“I was starting to think you were not going to make it,” the woman spoke with her face nestled in her husband’s chest.

“It was touch and go for a while, but how could I leave you and Katerina alone on such a night?”

“Silas’s wife called round an hour before dark; they were worried that you would not make it back in time and offered us to go and stay with them tonight.”

“You should have gone, at least then you and our daughter would have been safe, warm and fed.”

Hanna leaned away from her husband and gazed up into his face. “How could I sleep not knowing if you had made it home safely?”

In the glow from the firelight, the man caught sight of a pair of emerald green eyes, framed by a mass of wavy dark-brown hair. “And speaking of the imp,” he announced.

His wife looked puzzled for a moment before following his gaze and seeing their six-year-old daughter peering around the door of her bedroom.

“Katerina!” her mother scolded. “You should be asleep by now.”

The man crouched down and held out his arms. His daughter, taking the cue, ran to him, and he lifted her up, kissing her all over her little face.

The child squealed with a combination of joy and revulsion in a desperate attempt to wipe away her father’s sloppy kisses before he could plant any more. Once the battle was over, the man clasped his daughter close to him, and she reciprocated, placing her head on his broad shoulder, letting her flowing locks cover her face.

Her mother moved forward and gently uncovered her daughter’s face. The little girl smiled back at her, compelling the woman to soften the expression of reprimand she was trying to impose. Hanna knew that their daughter could wind her father around her little finger whenever she wanted. There had even been times when Hanna had had to insist that Katerina be punished for pushing things too far, when her husband had still been willing to turn a blind eye.

Hanna ruffled her daughter’s hair playfully. “Bed, young lady,” she commanded.

“Papa, carry me,” the little girl urged cheekily, keeping her face buried in the folds of his jacket.

“Come on then, little one.” The man carried his daughter back into her bedroom, while his wife began to serve up their dinner.

He stayed with his daughter for a while, watching her angelic face in the dim light as her eyes grew heavy with sleep. Once he was satisfied that she was drifting off, he bent down and kissed her forehead before leaving the room, securing the door behind him.

The little girl opened her eyes. She had heard something, but she did not know what. She listened intently in the darkness. She had no way of knowing how long she had been asleep, but it seemed like ages. She lay in her bed, holding her breath, waiting for the sound to come again.

Then she heard it!

A howl, somewhere out in the woods that surrounded the village.

She had overheard talk from some of the elders in the village about the werewolves that came when the full moon was bright, but she had no inkling as to what they were discussing. When she had asked her mother, she was told that the werewolves were merely folklore, stories made up by the elders to keep the villagers in line.

But Katerina knew instinctively that there was more to the story. She had seen the concern in the eyes of those who discussed the situation whenever another full moon was on the cusp. Whenever her father had his friends over, they would stay up late into the night after her mother had retired, drinking and discussing what they could do to rid their village of this terrible situation.

The little girl had mastered the art of pretending to be asleep when her mother would come in and check on her before going to bed. Katerina knew that if her father had men over to talk, that talk would invariably turn to the topic of the werewolves, and she was eager to learn more about them than either of her parents was willing to divulge in her presence.

Now, as she strained to listen to the sounds of the night outside her window, she knew immediately that those strange howls were not being made by any old mountain wolves. She had heard their cries on several occasions in the past. The ones she was now listening to were far deeper, more guttural, and distinctly more sinister.

A child’s fearless inquisitiveness can often outweigh their dread of reprimand, and such was the case with Katerina. She knew that if she dared to try and venture out to take a look at what all the fuss was about, she would be in serious trouble with her parents.

There was no way that she would be able to undo the bolts on their front door by herself, and even if she could, the racket she would create would be more than enough to stir her parents from their sleep. So that idea was a non-starter.

However, she was aware of the trap door in the floor of her wardrobe which led to the crawl space under the cottage. Her father had shown it to her once when he was measuring it for a new trap door, after the old one had worn through. Having removed the old wood, he had placed a temporary board over the hole, but Katerina knew that he had not had the time to make the replacement as yet.

Inspired by this knowledge, she slid from under her covers and crept stealthily over to her wardrobe. She edged the door open gently, as she knew that the hinge creaked if you yanked it. In the darkness the little girl fumbled to find the edge of the board, shifting all her toys and shoes over to the other side to make it easier for her to move it.

Katerina shifted the board just far enough to create an opening to allow her to pass through. Before venturing through it, she retrieved her boots from the mass of jumble she had created and pulled them on so that she would not cut her feet on the stones and splinters of wood in the crawlspace.

As she lowered herself into the hole, she heard the howling once more. It appeared much closer than before, but she surmised that it was probably because she was now being exposed to the elements.

She crept along the dirt floor on her hands and knees until she reached the end of the porch, beside the steps which led to her front door. She stayed there for a moment and looked out at the surrounding area.

The night sky was filled with stars, the clarity of which she had never seen before. She gazed at them twinkling in unison as if to put on a special show just for her. The moon was bigger and brighter than it had ever been in her experience, which, granted, was somewhat limited as it was only on rare occasions that her parents had allowed her to join them on their porch so late at night, and never when the moon was full.