The Plague 2: The Return of the Wolf

It was a wet and snowy January when Hall Randall got out off the train at Ombus railway station in the northern part of England. A large-brimmed hat and a long coat covered him fully, only exposing his face but they barely protected him from the strong wind and icy snow. He was forced to struggle through the vicious storm on foot to reach his destination - the small inn of Ombus Drive. Hall staggered in the inn, exhausted, keeping his head down.

He gasped, " I need a room and heat. Please hurry up!"

The innkeeper, Doyle Warcraft, showed Hall to a room on the second floor immediately, carrying the stranger's bag across the corridor. In the room, Doyle negotiated the price and was soon hurrying out, closing the door behind him. For the next several days, silence fell upon Hall's room. The innkeeper didn't care at first but when large boxes were delivered to Hall's room, he began to feel suspicious about his new visitor. "What is he doing?" he thought. Days went on quietly until Doyle heard smashing of glass, followed by and angry roar that echoed throughout the inn. Worrying that something terrible has happened, he hurried up the stairs and listened closely at the wooden door, not daring to knock.

"I can't go on like this!" Doyle heard Hall rave. "There's no cure. No freaking cure! There is no time...I have no time. What am I going to do?"

Several days passed and the smashing of glass continued. It soon became a regular topic of conversation among the people in the inn. Ted Wass, however, was curious more about the stranger than anyone else was. He came up with a good reason for calling on the stranger and made his way up the stairs knocking the door roughly like a loan shark demanding for money. He heard a muttering reply and assumed that reply was permission to enter, so he entered. Minutes past slowly and the room became absolutely still, till a sudden cry of surprise made the people in the inn jump. They heard a terrible growl and a loud scream of fear. Feeling afraid, the occupant of the inn fled out, shouting for help. Doyle, the bravest among the villages, entered Hall's room to investigate but he too ran out like the others. Once Doyle was safely away, he collapsed in the constable's arm, panting like a thirsty dog.

"There's an enormous dog in there," called Doyle, trying to balance on his feet. "I saw it with Ted. Do something please!"

"Hold your horses, Mr. Warcraft," said Warren Grommet, the village constable.

"But I have no horse, constable. Not since Peggy died."

"Not a horse you idiot! Where's the big dog you were talking about?"

"In the inn. Move along now, I have a valuable cupboard in that room. Let me follow you."

Soon, the constable walked up the stairs and marched into Hall's room, with Doyle following from behind. Claw marks can be found around the room and the floor was covered in glass. On the left side, they found Ted's body on the floor, showered in blood and beside him stood a bear-like monster, moaning. The monster paused for a while, staring with its shiny eyes, when the men entered. It immediately ran out of the room, away from the petrified men, who had never seen such an enormous creature before.

"Stop you ape!" warned Warren, trying to sound brave. "Stay still, you hairy thing."

"Actually, it's more like a dog," commented Doyle, combing his thick brown hair. "Maybe a bear."

"Oh...really," replied Warren, who had already forgotten about the werewolf. "A bear probably. 80% bear, 15% dog and 5% ape."

"No way," disagreed Doyle. "50% bear and the rest of that creatures are dogs."

By this time, Hall attempted to exit the inn but the entrance was full of curious villages, eager to learn what the excitement was all about. He heard shouts and shrieks coming from the crowd. Then Hall fell, hitting his head on the hard ground, where he lay unconscious. He woke up to find himself, human again, in an empty, dilapidated cell, about ten square feet square and like all the prisons in olden times, this one was made of timber. Whether the morning and evening of one day had passed, he couldn't tell. Hall bellowed the whole time, banging hard on the prison door but as the month passed by, no one bothered him. They only gave him food during dinnertime, everyday. Hall was beginning to feel restless till two uniformed officers appeared, holding a musket each.

"Time to meet the gallows, werewolf," sneered one of them. "Any last request?"

"It wasn't my fault I killed Ted, whatever his name was!" roared Hall. "I have to go back to that inn. What did you think I was doing last month? I was trying to look for a cure and I found it. A Wolfsbane potion, I call it. It's in the inn, somewhere in my bag. Let me out you idiots! The full moon is almost up! I need that potion!"

"Yea, and I am the King of Calcutta," criticized the other, nodding his head in a confirmatory way and playing carelessly with the handcuffs as if they were a pair of castanets. "Come along now, quick I say."

The two men simply ignored Hall's warning and dragged him across the dark corridor, to the gallows. Then the old feeling of pain returned. Hall's body began to shake uncontrollably and grew bigger in size. His fingers lengthened and shiny, yellow eyes replaced his usual black. The officers were so shocked that they fled the scene, shouting for assistance. Feeling intolerably irritated, the half-formed werewolf charged out of the prison wall, into the deep forest. Far beyond him, the gray top of the hill loomed up against the moonlight. It was night time and the sky spoke of rain to come, but it came almost immediately, pouring mercilessly. Hall was completely hidden in the thick fog but was acutely aware that he was being trailed. The cold and wet had made his wound more painful than ever, and the ache doesn't seem to go away. Then he stumbled at the end of the forest, near a house, he knew so well.

"The boy!" he sniffed. "He's alive! I can smell him!"

Hall sensed the boy he had bitten two months ago, whom he believed had died.

*******

The policemen of thirty men including Warren made their way slowly through the forest searching for the werewolf. They cautiously rounded the slopes of the hill, and came in to the edge of the forest but there were no sign of their prisoner. As they hurried across, they heard a vicious growl. Trembling with fear, they sprang forward and advanced through the scanty grass, to a house. They met a werewolf in front of the house, howling. They gave chase, flashing their torchlight.

*********

Hall had the sudden urge to kill but he felt that black shapes were advancing near the house.

"No...please...I don't want to" pleaded Hall. "No more killings. How I wish I have the Wolfsbane potion with me."

His werewolf instinct was starting to take over but he fought on, forcing himself to hide. Suddenly, the door of the house burst open and another werewolf appeared. It howled in with pure agony.

"That boy is a werewolf?" thought Hall, sniffing the air. "No...It's my fault. He's a werewolf because of me. I passed my sickness to an innocent boy."

Then he felt a paralyzing terror as he realized that the policemen from the prison had seen the boy, in his werewolf form. The boy crawled out of the way to a tree, hiding, as the policemen gave chase.

"The monster attacked an innocent family," shouted Warren. "Kill it! Don't let it get away!"

Somehow, Hall felt that he was the cause of the boy's unfortunate fate. Feeling determined to save an innocent life, he crept quietly but quickly towards the boy's hiding place. Hall lunged on top of the unsuspected boy and gave an well-aimed punch across the face.

"This is for your own good boy," said Hall, as he cleverly hid the unconscious werewolf. "I will save you from this barbarians. You don't deserve to die."

His limbs suddenly shook again and sharp fangs began to grow. His hands curled into clawed paws and Hall's werewolf instinct finally won over him. He turned into a full-fledged monster and gave an eerie growl that rolled across the dark forest.

Surprisingly, the policemen rushed from all sides and managed to lay themselves on top of Hall, pinning him on the wet ground, making the pile-up look like a football game.

"We've got him," cried Warren. "Someone shoot it now and watch the fangs. Shoot, lads."

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Hall fell on the ground, knee first, and gave his last and final breath, unable to see the sunrise ever again.

********

Doyle Warcraft entered Hall's room, holding a broom. He looked extremely weak and tired. Doyle sighed as he looked around the dirty place.

"Stupid werewolf," grumbled Doyle. "Of all the inns he could go to, he comes here. Just look at this place. It's as if a tornado pass through it!"

As Doyle swept the floor he glanced merrily towards his cupboard in the room.

"At least he didn't destroy my precious cupboard," said Doyle. " He could have left his money there. I hope so since he still own me a few days rent."

Doyle opened the cupboard to find several cloaks and old shirts. In there, he also noticed a letter, neatly kept against the side of the cupboard. He unfolded the letter cautiously and he almost fell when he read it. It read:

Dear innkeeper of Ombus Drive,

My name is Hall Edward Randall. I used to live in London but a train crash there, brought me to a forest where a werewolf bit me. That was two months ago. I've been trying to find a cure of this werewolf disease but I could find none. I have already transformed once and it was painful and terrible experience. Now I'm in an inn writing this letter in search of a man named Doyle Warcraft. Mr. Warcraft is the only one that could help me uncover the cure since he too attempted to find the cure for his wife, Peggy Sanrio, also werewolf. I got this information from a special friend of mine in London, he told me the man I'm looking for, lived somewhere in Ombus Drive but I couldn't find him anywhere. But during my stay in Ombus Drive, I made a potion for the disease. I called it the Wolfsbane potion, and I hid it somewhere in my shirt. It will not cure the disease but it will do for this time. Please deliver this letter and the potion to Mr.Warcraft as werewolves around the world depends on it. Please. Thank you.

Yours truly,

Hall Randall