As the sun was setting over the village of London,Westminster Abbey chimed the hour.
One. Two. Three. Four….. Nehemiah Whipple squinted against the momentary beam of sunshine, concentrated through the spires of the church.
Suddenly, a howl rang out from the forest.
The eighth chime from the bells had been changed to alert the citizens to lock themselves in their homes.
Nehemiah, perched on the top of the London Wall, ducked down for cover.
Another howl, this time much closer.
He picked up his crossbow as quietly as possible, holding his breathe to sharpen his hearing.
Slowly, the wolf-creature stepped into the light. It sniffed the air, and howled again.
Fear threatened to over-take Nehemiah’s heart, he listened as it came closer to the city gate. The rustle of grass turned to the sound of gravel. Nehemiah prayed to God that it couldn’t smell him in his hiding place.
The sound of sniffing and snuffling was just below him now. The man almost cried in terror when the next howl ripped from just underneath his hiding place.
Recently, the threats of horrifying creatures had reached London. It happened to be around the same time the Puritans stepped forward and told the Church of England and the Holy leaders that they would not worship in any fashion, but that which they were convicted by God. King James was angered by this declaration, and saw to it that these “Puritans” were persecuted for their blatant disrespect to the Holy Church. Rumor had it that the Puritans were to blame for the appearance of these evil creatures.
Nehemiah Whipple was out to prove the rumors wrong, as he inhaled deeply, yet quietly, and then rose into a crouch position.
The beast was ugly. Much larger than a normal wolf, but with the appearance of a furry human body.
By the gods, what the hell is that? Nehemiah swallowed back a gasp before it could escape his throat.
Suddenly, Nehemiah was conflicted as to whether or not he should kill the beast, or tranquilize it in order to find out what kind of spell this creature was under.
Slowly passing through the gate, with it’s ears pinned back, the beast wandered over to old Farmer Tack’s sheep fence.
Running out of time before it fell into shadow again, Nehemiah placed the bolt, aiming for the beasts shoulder. Taking another deep breath and holding it, he sighted his aim, steadied his hand, and then let the bolt fly.
The beast went to the ground with a yelp.
Pleased with himself, Nehemiah waited to see what it would do next, before melting into the shadow of the wall and making his way down the stairs.
By the time Nehemiah had run to the beast it was sound asleep.
Sighing in relief, he studied the creature closer.
It’s paws were larger than normal, at least the size of his own hand, with sharp claws extending beyond the paw. It’s long, lean torso was very human like. It’s gray fur looked manged, falling out in large clumps. And it’s face was the most frightening thing of all. Though Nehemiah couldn’t see it’s eyes, he could only imagine they were just as vicious looking as it’s long sharp teeth. Fang-like, long teeth protruded from it’s snout on either side, and the rest of it’s teeth were embedded into inky black gums. The face was wide, like a cat’s, instead of long and narrow like normal dogs.
What kind of evil is this? The man asked himself, working to pick up the beast.
He had to take it to someone who would know what to do with him.
Branson Miller’s eyes went wide, “No! I refuse to have that thing wake up in my house.” He pointed at the door, “You get him out. The King will have our heads if he found us with the beast. We would be exiled for sure, or worse, King James might murder us all. He wouldn’t be proud of you for shooting it down, he would have proof to blame you for these things.”
“This is the proof that we didn’t bring the beasts.” Nehemiah laid the creature across the table.
Branson Miller not only worked as a veterinarian, he was one of few who supported the Puritans in their decision to do what they felt was right by God. He was also one of few who thought it quite ridiculous to blame the Puritans for the wolf outbreak.
“It will never work, and you know it.” Branson stepped slowly up to the table, his hands shaking violently, fearing that the beast would wake up at any moment.
Nehemiah met eyes with Branson, “It’s our only hope, Bran. If we don’t prove we didn’t bring cause the outbreak, we’ll be exiled for sure.”
Sighing heavily, Branson met eyes with Nehemiah, “I want to help you. I really do. But I can’t. If you think it’s going to work, then you take it to the King. Otherwise, forget this fool hardy idea, and please, for Christ sake, get this beast out of my home.” Branson’s eyes widened again, “I think it’s waking up.”
Sure enough, the beast began to writhe, as it came to life again, scratching at his shoulder with his massive paws.
The men screamed in terror, running from the house.
After the beast ransacked Branson’s home, it went in search for the scent of Nehemiah Whipple, ripping open doors and windows all around the town.
In the morning, when all had calmed down and the beast had been killed, as Branson had predicted, King James exiled the Puritans to Amsterdam.