(so you don't waste your time reading the entire thing before you discover you don't like it, and sorry about the jittery spacing.) The town of Ajerbae has a killer on the loose. Only Dandilion Kingsley knows it's not wolves. That is, she and her enemy, Deputy Windsor,- but he won't say. As Dandilion tries to stop the killing of a the Wolf supposedly plagueing the town, she becomes connected with the wolf and Windsor that can have catastrophic results for the lives of Ajerbae. The only way out of the web is to catch the killer, before it murders again. Dandilion knows a wolf has killed people, but this one may come in a human guise.
It was a midnight plague, placed upon us all by nature. It was sent to torture our very souls, our bodies, and our minds. It came with claws and fangs. The wolf had come. It hunted by night and disappeared in a wisp of smoke by day, taking the souls that dared wander into its celestial domain. It preyed with its keen smell of fear and cowardice, the smell of the justified and the brave not detected by so foul a nose. Whether its prey be babe or grandfather, it came with silence and stealth. It hunted with viciousness as to tear its victims apart.
The Fable of the Wolf is known by all the children in Ajerbae. It is told to them in the evening, after they have said grace and goodnight. It was meant to keep them in line, keep them from wandering too far when they herded livestock or keeping their hands to themselves if they stole. I was sure the wolf in the story was pure fiction; but now, not so much. Now I’m not positive if a wolf like that really didn’t exist, and didn’t terrorize our village. All fables have to come from somewhere right?
Doubt crept in my mind about the Wolf Fable as I looked at the scene before me. My stomach flopped over in its place. Nausea was in the back of my throat, threatening a whole bucket load of bile. My mouth was open in shock and sadness, and by mistake I inhaled the heady alcohol taste of blood. It was strange. I once bit my lip open, and the blood had tasted metallic and salty. But this much blood… It smelt like Ganderby’s wine he made in the summer. The stench wafted around the edge of town, like a specter.
The puddle of liquid velvet melted the snow it fermented in. You could follow the gorge the warm blood had carved in the snow to the cornflower sleeve of my cousin’s hand. The hand was white, since what was left of her had frozen in the night. The dress was shredded from the waist down, and I desperately wanted to cover her in the presence of these men. Men who she respected, yes, but still didn’t need to see her so. I was on the fringe, watching the scene. Women in their Sunday best clustered around one another in little groups, whispering. I stood alone, notably not in my Sunday best. I had been out getting water when I found her.
I had cried out and dropped the bucket, but hadn’t moved. I hadn’t run away from the macabre sight of my butchered cousin. Someone, I can’t remember who, had heard me and came to see what the matter was. They had seen the blood and gotten the constable and a few other men that practically ran the town.
I lived on the edge of the village, right up against the woods. It had taken a few minutes before they arrived here. Now they stood in a semi-circle around her, none taking the chance of putting their back to the woods.
“It’s a wolf, I say. Damned creatures.”
“Aye, it’s the middle of winter. Hunger probably drove them.”
“No,” the calm voice of Victor McSerra. He tipped his tattered hat towards the woods and tucked his shotgun under an arm. “Wolves don’t attack like this. Not when driven by hunger,” he explained. I listened from my stance at the edge. “Wolves run up on som’thin and bite at their neck. They would have been weak, so that’s the first thing the wolves would have gone for, and the legs.” Now he pointed, “Neither her neck nor her legs show any sign of attack.”
“But her jaw is gone, and her legs have been mangled! What on earth do you mean? Chuh, ‘No sign of attack,’ indeed,” That was the growl of Samuel, the codger of the village. Sam had a bushy black beard that was useful for stroking, and he did so now with a gnarled hand.
“Hungry wolves don’t miss Sam,” Victor continued, “They would have hit the neck, ripped it to shreds. They would have left no legs to be found.” The cold bit at my hands and boots. The snow was making them wet, and I tightened the hood on my bonnet. I respected Victor the most out of the lot. He was old and wise, and if he said wolves didn’t kill her, and then as I saw it- wolves didn’t kill her.
I looked on. Sissy had been my cousin for fifteen years, and we weren’t particularly friends- weren’t even acquaintances. We ran in different circles, because she did not want to be seen with me. She didn’t like me, nor I her, but she was my only family left.
“Bears haven’t been in the region for decades,” mumbled Roy Flemming, “Couldn’t have been a bear, could it?”
“A bear would have left bigger tracks. Those are wolves’ tracks, Victor. A big one, maybe two.”
“Perhaps a Mountain Lion?” offered up Sam.
“Nah, Mountain Lions don’t attack people, too afraid. Now attack horse, maybe.” Roy debated, and suddenly all their heads turned in unison the sound of hoof beats.
I turned too, and scowled.
On a steel grey Morgan horse rode the town Deputy. He was next in line for the Constable, and would take over when Keith Landon retired in a few weeks. He was very, ‘pleased’ with it. Anthony Windsor cantered up to the scene and swung off his sixteen hand horse while it was still pulling to a stop, full of himself and his importance.
On a brighter note however, Windsor’s shadow Jeremy Scall rode with him on a less ostentatious Quarter horse. His family owned the town’s only livery, and made a nice living from it. Jeremy and Anthony had been friends for many years, but so had Jeremy and I. My disgust of Anthony had so far not caused any complications in the relationship, thankfully; I was only too aware of what would happen if he was forced to choose.
“Deputy Windsor, ‘bout time you showed up.” Victor growled. I smiled to myself, glad that I wasn’t the only one irritated by the young asshole. However, sometimes I did feel alone in my hatred for Windsor. He was twenty-three, in a position with a good deal of power, and handsome enough. That is, handsome enough to constitute many of the girls that fawned over him, but he just made me sick. At least in his job he was competent.
Jeremy dismounted and walked with Anthony over to the crime scene. He spotted me on the fringe, and winked in his boyish way. I smiled and waved back, feeling silly.
“I was busy,” the Deputy growled. It was too early in the morning for a non-church goer like Windsor.
“Justice never has hours, young man,” Victor pointed to the body, “Now what do you make of this?”
Jeremy stood off to the side while the deputy sauntered over and blinked. Windsor stepped a bit closer than the other men had dared. His forehead wrinkled, his mouth parted, and eyes widened all together for a split moment in time.
The deputy panicked, for a mere moment, and I caught it. I relished it. But on the other hand, why would he panic at such a sight? The danger was away, at least for now, but his face was full of fear. Why? My lip puckered in disgust, perhaps he’s just a simple coward. In any case his face recovered in the next moment, and turned around to the other men. They of course, hadn’t seen a thing.
“Looks like an animal attack to me sir. Possibly a puma.”
“There would be bites on the back of the neck,” Victor rubbed his stubbly chin.
“And its wolves’ paw prints. Probably two of ‘em.” Sam said again, for Windsor’s benefit. Windsor just stared. He sat silent a moment, then nodded.
“Stay here,” he muttered to the men, and broke their circle, “Alright people!” He cried out to the crowd, “Nothing you can do! Please, go on to church, and please pray for Sissy Valdez’s soul. Go on, please, leave!” He waved his hands and shooed the crowd away. I blinked. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to know what had happened to my cousin. However, the Deputy might turn my way, and possibly give me grief about it. Suffice to say, he had such a way with words as to not sound hurtful when talking to others, but to you it seems as though you were found under a rock.
I slipped away, moving back to my own home, just across the street.
