Authors: David Kempf
“These wolves are not as much as a problem as your master thinks,” said Father Darrow.
“ Oh?” said Father Hitchens.
“I think we have things under control.”
“Father Darrow, with all due respect, you have wild beasts that come out in the middle of the night to devour peasants. This is a serious problem. The church needs these folks to reproduce as much as possible. When folks get eaten alive, it spoils the romantic mood and they cannot pro create. Do you understand me, Father Darrow?”
“Yes, I do, Father.”
“Excellent.”
“What’s to be done?” asked Father Darrow.
“My master wants to hire hunters to kill these beasts off.”
“I believe there is no need for that, Father Hitchens.”
“These aren’t imaginary ghosts. These are real monsters.”
“Yes, real monsters.”
“Well, let’s kill them and make the problem stop.”
“Very well then…”
“We will defeat them with the help of the very best slayers. My master recommends them most highly.”
“So be it.”
Hitchens really wondered why Father Darrow was not thrilled with the excitement of eradicating the problem forever.
“Do you have some special attachment to these wolves?”
“We can discuss that later.”
“I would prefer now.”
The conversation was cut short by a huge, grey wolf that knocked Hitchens down and ran away quickly. The fellow monks of this strange place were not at all shocked by what they saw. This was more disturbing to him than the wild animal running loose. He shook his head and looked at Darrow.
“Does this happen often, Father?”
“It happens more often than you might think; it’s not however what one would call an everyday occurrence.”
“I see.”
Father Hitchens ran to the highest window and watched the wolf run like hell. He saw the thing grab a little boy by the throat. There were no spectators to the creature’s blood sport. They had all ran away and hid from the four legged monster.
“We must go now,” said Father Hitchens.
“Why?” asked Father Darrow.
“The final… rites must…”
“You may serve him but he’s obviously already dead. What difference does it make now?”
“I must go to him.”
“So be it.”
The good priest prayed for the soul of the young boy. He had so much more time to spend on this earth so he could prepare himself for the joys of eternal life with God. All of his potential was destroyed by some ignorant, bloodthirsty beast. Darrow didn’t seem upset at all. It was almost as if death and anarchy were the expected order of things here at the monastery of banned lunatics.
“How can you not cry?”
“You know…… we all see very strange things here. We have grown accustomed to living with things that others simply could not tolerate.”
“I see.”
The longer you stay here, the stranger things will get for you. The more nights you live among us, the more your eyes will be opened to the darkness of this dreaded place.”
“Are you trying to frighten me away so I won’t finish my inquiry?”
“No.”
“Then why tell me these stories?”
The howling noises were all around Father Hitchens now. He was growing increasingly more frightened. The sense of menace was growing. He thought that watching a wolf kill a young boy would be more terrifying than strange noises. He was wrong.
“The wolves are not going away. They would not have enough to feed on if the peasants didn’t have so many children. I’m sure you know they have far more children than they could ever hope to afford. That’s another matter of church law though, isn’t it?”
“For God’s sake, what are babbling about now?”
“Nothing at all, Father Hitchens…”
Father Hitchens was startled beyond belief. He felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned around. It was an older man who had some strange disease of the eyes. It appeared as if he was going blind.
“Father Hitchens, I’m Father Dawkins, we need to get you back safely inside.”
“Yes, I understand.”
The old man frightened Hitchens but the idea of being outside and vulnerable was much more terrifying. Still, the damned thing did manage to run wild in the monastery prior to killing the boy.
“I must rest, this night has been truly exhausting,” said Hitchens. He walked to his guest quarters and looked at the two lit candles on both sides of his bed. He would not be blowing them out. The frightening older monk shut the door behind him.
“Good dreams and sleep well,” said Father Dawkins. Hitchens experienced neither. He did not fall asleep for a matter of hours. Hitchens was kind of a drunk. The sounds of wolves howling went on all night long. When he did fall asleep, he dreamed of the damned wolves again. He was beginning to seriously wonder how any man, even those who had taken vows of chastity or silence could live here and remain sane. It was too much to ask of ordinary men. It would be far less painful to pay for one’s sins in purgatory than to live among the foul things of the night. He was starting to think that the monastery itself was damned.
The following day was lovely and Hitchens saw what a hardworking, cooperative community resided at the monastery. He regretted his uncharitable assumption that these men were more evil than good. The idea of a cursed monastery seemed absurd by the beautiful light of day.
“When you need a rest from your inquiry, we must discuss our favorite books, Father.”
“Yes, Father Dawkins, we shall do that.”
“I can still see a few words; I’m not completely blind yet.”
“Good to hear it.”
“Well, my hearing is still fine,” he said, laughing.
“Very amusing,” Father Hitchens responded.
“I enjoy the great Greek comedies. Does your master enjoy them?”
“No, my master burns them.”
It was at this moment that Hitchens and Dawkins realized they had something in common. They hated the censorship of the ones who would try and control the minds of all men. Aragon hated laughter almost as much as he despised anyone who dared to question church authority. He was the kind of man who would not have merely burned someone like Martin Luther at the stake. He would have had him tortured and humiliated for days. This was something that simply had to be done to prevent any future Martin Luther’s from rising up and questioning the sacred authority of God’s holy institution.
“We enjoy them although we do not have many, Father Hitchens.”
“I see.”
“I hope you find no need to tell your master about them.”
“I see no reason why these matters are important when people are being eaten alive by evil animals in the night.”
Father Hitchens took a walk around the monastery. The sun was so beautiful and so welcome after a sleepless night, and his heart filled with joy. The glorious of God’s creation were all around him. It was moments like this when he felt closer to God than when he was doing the will of his master. Sometimes it was damned near impossible to think that Aragon’s wishes had one blessed thing in common with the Jewish Rabbi who taught men to love others unconditionally. Burning people at the stake or torturing them for hours did not seem to fall in line with any of the lord’s teachings.
Father Darrow walked behind Father Dawkins and caught him by surprise.
“Father Dawkins, I think that our guest needs to speak with me for a little while. I mean no disrespect but he is here on official business and not to discuss great works of literature. We shall see you at supper.”
“You know, we have the best wine here,” said Father Dawkins.
“Okay, off you go then,” said Darrow to Dawkins.
“Sorry about that,” said Father Dawkins.”
“That’s fine; he seems like a decent man,” said Father Hitchens.
He was a very decent man and Father Hitchens and Father Darrow could easily see it.
“Now would you like to continue this investigation of yours?” Darrow asked.
“My men should be well fed soon first,” said Hitchens.
“Yes, they shall be.”
“We brought a great deal of food and supplies.”
“We have little to offer you except the fine wine that our near blind brother was so quick to discuss. We all have our vices, yes?”
“Yes. We do.”
“I know that your master happens to feel that some are worse than others.”
“I would agree. How exactly did Father Dawkins go blind?”
“We should probably discuss that later.”
The two men discussed the everyday running of the order and the ways that daily work was accomplished. Father Hitchens apologized and asked if he could take a nap. The other priest had no objections.
“I would like to sleep under this tree but I’m afraid of the damned wolves.”
“Then we shall have two men stand guard on each side of the tree. It’s okay, they’ve taken a vow of silence. They won’t disturb your sleep.”
“Thank you.”
“Sleep well, Father Hitchens.”
Father Darrow was very unhappy with the man who was investigating them. The secrets kept here could never be revealed to the outside world or there would literally be hell to pay. Hitchens was an obvious skeptic and could not be convinced the monastery was what it appeared to be on the surface. The quicker he left with his men back to Aragon, the better for all who dwelled in the monastery.
Hitchens woke up screaming. Someone had struck the back of his head with a large stone. His head was bleeding.
“The priests and the wolves are…”
“What?” the priest asked.
“You, you don’t know what’s going on here.”
It was a young boy. He was dressed in filthy rags and peaking behind a nearby tree, desperately trying to get his full attention.
“One of them killed my younger brother yesterday. You performed the final rites on him. Stop these monsters, please for God’s sake……”
“What?”
“This order, this monastery is cursed! Stop these things before…”
The creatures came out of nowhere. The wolves ran behind the boy. He looked up at them and showed little signs of fear.
“We are a poor, suffering, starving people. I don’t fear you.”
The wolves looked at him. They almost seemed to anticipate what he would say next.
“What manner of beasts are these wolves?” asked Hitchens.
“I shall tell you.”
A wolf bit the boy’s hair and grabbed onto it. He walked backwards slowly and the boy was dragged with him.
“Stop!” screamed Father Darrow.
“You can’t command these beasts,” said Father Hitchens.
The amazing thing was that Father Darrow could do just that.
“Put the boy down, now.”
The wolf let go of the boy.
“Boy, go back to your home and run like hell.”
“Father, the truth shall set you free,” the boy answered.
“The truth will get you torn to shreds, lad. Please run home.
“Fine, Father but…”
“Go!”
The boy ran as fast as he could deep into the woods. The wolves stood still in front of the priest who commanded them. Father Hitchens could not believe this absurd nightmare taking place in the light of day.
“Father, what manner of beasts is this?”
“We have no time to talk about such matters, Father Hitchens. Not now. These creatures must be dealt with. Later, we will discuss this. I beg you to leave as soon as you can. The idea of staying here is very foolish.”
“Father, you leave me little choice. Men! Now is the time!”
The wolves found themselves surrounded by men. They were the fearless, armed wolf slayers that the priest had promised earlier.
“These are the men I brought. This was their purpose, to kill your wolves. There must be a hundred wolves here now,” said Father Hitchens.
“There are almost as many men,” said Father Darrow.
“Yes,” Father Hitchens answered.
“What do you have to say to the wolves now, Father?”
“Kill them all, quickly and with mercy, please,” said Father Darrow.
Father Hitchens could not believe his own ears. Who was this man who commanded the beasts to fight according to his own will?
“Fight the wolves and win,” screamed Father Hitchens.
“They will not win,” said Father Darrow confidently.
“How do you know this?”
“God is on our side! You are not the first or the hundred and first men who have attempted to kill us.”
The wolves and the men fought for hours. Father Hitchens could not believe how quickly his slayers were being slain. Father Darrow could not believe how bravely these good men fought the wolves. They were the most noble and daring creatures he had ever seen before. The fighting seemed to never end. It was pure chaos with men and beasts fighting. Bloodshed and horror surrounded everything that could be seen. The terrors of being eaten alive were not nightmares anymore but things now made real.
“This is madness, Father,” said Hitchens.
“Perhaps it is…”
“How long must this go on?”
“It will go on until the death of one side. There will be no compromise or treaty from today.”
“How can wolves, werewolves come out during the day like this?”
“We are not werewolves, not exactly, Father Hitchens.”
“What are you then?”
“When you find out, it will be the last thing you ever know.”
A young peasant girl peeked behind the trees to watch the fighting. The wolves all left the men and chased after her. The men were confused and were at a loss for words. Suddenly, one of them caught the girl. He ripped her to pieces with his teeth. When his blood lusts were satisfied, he changed back into a man. The naked monk ran into the woods before anyone could catch up to him.
“Why?” asked Father Hitchens.
“Don’t you mean how?”
“Certainly.”
“Soon you will know our little secret, I promise.”
“I don’t like secrets, Father.”
“Come now, Father Hitchens. You kept a secret from us as well. Fifty men were hidden and ready for battle with these creatures. Now you plead for honesty from us.”
“At least I’m still human and I’ll die that way.”
There were now more peasants looking on behind the trees. The remainder of the wolves chased after them. There were three men and what appeared to be a nearly blind grey wolf left behind. The men got ready to stab the wolf with their spears and swords. He pulled a sword from one of the slayers. He slit their throats and they seemed to die almost instantly.