Thursday 25th July – 1:45 am
Otto was tired. He knew they’d
be looking for him. He had travelled as far as he could that night. He didn’t
know where he was going, but knew that he had to get there. The escape from the
barred room and the journey had exhausted him. He needed food. The last meal
had helped a little, but he was still very weak. He’d kept to the grass at the
side of the strange, hard road, hopefully unseen. Was it safe to travel alone,
on foot? Were there highwaymen or thieves or robbers about?
He looked at the pile of
animal bones and other remains beside him. Stupid rabbits, never learn, do
they?
He looked around; where was he? There was no
way of telling, and certainly no one to ask. His new surroundings frightened
him. The carriages all moved without horses and were unlike anything he’d ever
seen before. Some were bright colours, some were enormous; big enough to even
carry several horses. Not that he’d seen any horses here. And wolves, what
about wolves? Were here wolves here? And what about bears, or other wild
animals that might attack or harm him in his present, vulnerable state?
He had money, a few coins,
but he had no idea how much, or what it would buy him. Maybe he could pay for a
ride in one of the carriages that sped past. Some of the larger ones must be
the new-style stage coaches. But how much would a journey in one cost? They all
went so fast. He doubted if he could even stop one to ask.
He’d last come to England to
take up a large inheritance. His late father’s brother had met with a sudden
and sticky end, and Otto had become lord of some manor house, in the English
countryside, complete with fields and peasants to take care of. But was this
England? In the short time that he’d spent here before, he had become quite
fluent in the language, but it seemed different now. Something was not quite
right. The fashion was strange to him too, he really did stand out dressed like
that. And the women now; that one whom he had stopped to ask for help …
He wiped the rabbits’ blood
from his chin and stood up. He felt a lot stronger now, but he knew that he
must find a safe place to sleep before long. Being attacked or discovered
wasn’t the only worry on his mind. He knew that he had done something wrong;
something terribly wrong. But that was not all. He himself had been wronged,
wronged by someone close to him. Ah, but that felt like a log time ago. A long,
long time ago.
He ran on for another two miles, this time
on all fours, over the short grass and through the trees. He’d begun to start
giving up hope when he spotted it up ahead. He knew what it was at once, a
cottage or perhaps a small farmhouse. It was too hard to tell in black and white.
He stood up, rising to his full height and feeling the strength drain out of
him. The colour returned to his eyes.
Yes, that was better. His
human brain saw things much clearer, they made more sense. It was definitely a
cottage. He crossed the road and began to walk towards it, carefully
scrutinising all the windows or lights or movement. There was none. Perhaps it
was empty.
His legs were aching and he
felt chilled to the bone despite the warm summer evening. Drops of perspiration
fell from his brow.
4:57 am
The wolf got Larry first.
Leapt straight at his throat out of the darkness. Larry had been sleeping on
his back and he wolf had simply torn his throat out. Dead. Marsha was woken by
the sudden rough movement on the bed and a muffled groan from her husband. In
the darkness, she had thought it must be a robber. She reached for the bedside
lamp, knocking it off the small table in her panic. But by then, the wolf was
upon her anyway. She smelled the foul breath, glimpsed he needle-sharp teeth.
Drops of warm saliva dripped onto her nightdress. Before recognition hit her,
she too was dead, her head ripped off and her ribcage torn open.
The wolf finished off her husband.
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