'What would you become to protect your family?'

'Anything,' so says the Wolf.

*

It was late one October evening in 1196 when Gela trudged home after a long day at the market in Vorsschenbosch, with only her lantern and the rising full moon to light her way. It would have been an hour’s walk, if not for the heavy rainfall of the last couple of weeks. The swampy soil sucked in her shoes up to her ankles and her family’s trusty mule wasn’t faring much better; poor dear could barely keep the cart moving. 

Mosquitos swarmed around the lantern she held to light the way, biting every last exposed bit of her hands. But Gela was too exhausted, too cold and wet to release her cloak from her other hand and swat at them. Right now, there was nowhere she’d rather be than in bed with her family. Warm. Safe. 

She slowed down. Briefly entertaining the idea of stopping, resting in the cart and continuing her journey in the morning, but she remembered the rumours from surrounding towns. Chilling tales of a herder in Dinthre whose flock was eviscerated in a single night. Of a merchant from ‘s Hertogenbosch, whose bones were found picked clean amongst his finery and otherwise undisturbed merchandise. Of a family of weavers in Nistelre, all but one murdered in their sleep. Their throats ripped out, then flayed in wanton carnage, with only the youngest son left to tell the tale. All in a matter of months.

It was only a matter of time before something or someone from Loesbruch would meet such a terrible fate. Gela would do anything in her power to not be that person. And so, she persisted.

*

A half hour later, when the edge of the woods was about to come into view, a deafening howl pierced the night. It came from behind her. It was closeby. She halted the mule and cart and turned around, shining her lantern on the path. Nothing.

She didn't know what bravery or foolishness possessed her when she slowly turned around and called out into the dark, "Who goes there?"

Her voice shook. Her heart pounded in her throat. That could have been robbers, a wolf, or worse.

Gela checked the woods to the left and right of the path as well from where she stood. Still nothing. Sufficiently reassured that she wasn’t in immediate danger, Gela pulled her feet out of the marshy soil that had begun to suck her in again and turned back around to briskly walk the rest of the way home.

Right into some…one? Something?

In front of her eyes was a chest, covered in dark fur. Loose hairs swayed in the warm, heavy gusts of breath coming from above. Her own breath halted immediately. Slowly, she looked up. If she was to die tonight, she might as well know what killed her.

The furry chest was attached to equally furry, broad shoulders. Its head had a slim, elongated snout. Clouds of vapour were expelled from its nostrils with every breath. The wolf - no, this was no ordinary wolf - the beast gazed down at her with glowing red eyes and what Gela could only identify as murderous intent.

Gela turned to run, but the swamp had sucked in her feet again. Instead, she stumbled and fell face first into the cold mud. The light in the lantern extinguished. As she desperately tried to scramble to her feet, her skirts got in the way. She fell again and cried in fear as a heavy, clawed paw came down on her back.

The beast grabbed her by the cloak, tearing holes into the garment and the dress underneath, scratching and scarring her unblemished skin, and lifted her without any effort. It turned Gela to face it. She dared not look the beast in the eye, but at the same time, she found it difficult to avert her gaze. 

Why wasn’t it tearing her apart? 

The beast tilted its head and brought her close, sniffing at her hair and clothes. Salivating.

The murderous intent appeared to have left its eyes and was replaced with… something else. Gela knew not what, but didn’t care to find out.

“Please,” Gela whimpered, “have mercy,” she found herself praying. Both to the beast and to God.

The beast blinked slowly. Almost like it had understood her. It shifted its hold on her, from the back of her dress to underneath her arms, and rubbed its head and neck against her, spreading its thick odour of iron and musk on her. The fur was soft and warm. Gela was tempted to return the strange embrace, but the beast put her into the back of the cart with the wares she’d traded during the day.

Turning around, the beast liberated her shoes from the swamp with an unnerving squelch, picked up the doused lantern and set them down beside her.

Gela’s gaze followed the beast to the mule, which it picked up with slightly less ease than Gela herself, lifting its hooves from the swamp. The beast then took hold of the harness and pulled on the cart until the wheels were unstuck as well.

At last, the beast set the mule down and smacked its behind, sending it running home.

Gela watched wide-eyed from the speeding cart as the lumbering form of the beast returned to the woods. A minute later she heard a snarl, a scream, and then nothing.

*

Gela didn’t remember how she got home that night. She didn’t remember putting the mule in the stable nor the wares inside the house. She didn’t remember crawling into bed with her family.

She did remember being scolded for dirtying the bed and her family’s nightclothes come morning, but upon seeing her ghostly complexion, her family had let up.

She bathed in a tub of cold water in the drab, grey morning and by noon she wore her grandmother’s dress as mother washed hers. It was worn down and the hem and sleeves were fraying, but at least she was warm. She braided her damp, blonde hair, no longer caked with dried mud.

*

She sat on the bench in front of the farmhouse. Thousand mile stare directed vaguely at the area in front of her as she tried to process the events of the night before.

Before the night had gone quiet, she had heard a scream. The beast must have gotten its teeth into something, but what? Or who? And why did it not take her? Why did it do what it did? She buried her face in her hands.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a voice called.

Gela’s gaze snapped upward. 

There, at the fence, stood Driek. He was a few years her senior and had returned from seminary school a few months prior to help out his mother and sisters after the death of his father. He was dressed completely in black -matching his equally black hair and eyes- except for the single silver crucifix that hung on his neck by a chain. He smiled sympathetically at her.

Gela bit on her lip. “Not sure if it was a ghost, per say,” she mumbled. “I don’t think a ghost should be able to pick you up as if you’re no more than a straw doll.”

“That doesn’t sound like a ghost, no.” Driek carefully approached the bench and sat down beside her, leaving ample space between them. “Would you be so kind as to describe to me what you saw?”

Gela wasn’t sure she wanted to revisit the night before more than she already had. But then again, Driek was a man of faith - or would be, down the line - perhaps he might be able to do something about it. Gela drew a shaky breath. 

“It howled like a wolf. Looked like one too, but standing on its hind legs. Although, from the waist up it was more human shaped, still covered in fur but it had hands sort of like ours and with long, sharp claws. The head looked like that of a wolf as well, but its eyes glowed bright red. And it was,” Gela stood up on her tiptoes and raised her hands as high as she could, “about this tall.”

“And the colour of its fur?”

“Black, I think. Or dark brown. It was very difficult to tell in the dark,” she sighed, sinking down into the bench. 

“That’s… more detailed of a description than I’ve heard so far.”

“I hear that most witnesses don’t live to tell the tale.”

Driek cast his gaze downward, wringing his hands. “Unfortunately not, rest their souls.”

“What do you know of these beasts?” Gela asked, surprising Driek and even herself.

He glanced up at her with a puzzled look on his face.

“I thought people in seminary school learned all about servants of the devil, to thwart their evil wiles?” She explained.

Driek chuckled. “Ah, well, that’s a specialised group. And not one I have the ambition of joining” he explained. “The only evil I will be tasked to thwart is that in the hearts of men. But I’m not there yet. My first priority is mother and the girls.”

They sat there in silence for a while until Driek spoke up again. “I’m glad it didn’t attack you though,” he said, glancing at her, wringing his hands again. 

Gela frowned, unsure what to make of the declaration.

“May I see your hand?”

She nodded and extended her hand towards him. 

Gently, he took her hand and turned her palm upward. With his free hand, he removed the silver chain and crucifix from his neck and put it in her hand, placing his own hand on top and squeezing her hand with both of his.

“What are you…?”

“Please consider it a gift. Creatures of darkness, they cannot stand silver. If it comes close to you again and you feel that you’re in danger, just press it against the beast like so,” he explained, placing her hand with the crucifix against his collarbone, pressing firmly. “That will burn its flesh. Should buy you some time to get away from it.”

“But…” Gela mumbled, trying to find the right words, but came up empty. Simply asking, “Why?”

Driek regarded her with dark eyes and a slight inclination of his head. There was something sad about his countenance. “The beast now knows your scent.”

Gela’s heart sank deep into her stomach.

“I merely wish for you and your family to be safe.”

*

It had been weeks since Gela’s encounter with the Beast, as the entire village now knew it, and life was returning to normal. Mostly. Driek had started visiting more often, checking in with Gela’s wellbeing. She was definitely feeling better, but she wouldn’t say entirely well if he asked her. Many a night, in that state where she couldn’t be certain whether she was sleeping or awake, she still heard the guttural growls and the savage snarls of the beast, still felt as though she was being watched. No, hunted.

She wore the silver crucifix Driek had given her every day. Fingers tracing the jewel whenever her mind wandered too far from the light of day and too close to the glow of the bright orange full moon, that October night.

As nights grew longer, more and more stories of horrible attacks were whispered around town. Gela couldn’t help but freeze every time she heard one. However, more often than not, Driek was there to comfort her, holding her hand in his and telling her, vowing to her that such a fate would never befall her.

And Gela believed every last word of it. 

Funny, then, that the times she clutched the crucifix the most tightly, were the times she was with him.