Winter Night

“Stay with me”, he begged the moon.

“Stay, for when you’re gone, I shall have to be a man again, no longer at home in this enchanted forest.”

So she stayed with him, and the snow sparkled with her gentle smile, and the trees lit the forest: eerie, cold torches.

And so he sang his stories for her.

And the owl listened…

“It was not a wild beast that doomed me,” the wolf started, as the nearby cedar bent its snow-laden branches in sympathy, and the owl blinked its large, wise eyes, “but the sharp nails of a woman’s passion…”

“Hauntingly beautiful she was”, he continued, “a delicate, frozen flower whose petals looked as if they would shatter upon the slightest touch, face smooth as fine porcelain, skin whiter than the freshest morning snow, and bright, crimson lips.”

The wolf licked his lips at the memory.

“Or so I thought. Of her real nature, I had not an inkling…”

“What say you, wise owl? Do you know of the Lady who once ruled this forest?” But the owl only hooted sympathetically, and straightened its wings, startling some snowdust into the air.

The wolf let the sparkling snowflakes meander their way to the ground, tasting a few with his lolling tongue, then continued:

“Dusk was fast descending when I came upon a turn in the road. Sore from the saddle, I was, and as thirsty as a pilgrim, so when I saw that flickering light…I attempted to make the horse break into a gallop, but it snorted its displeasure at the spurs, and I relented, nudging it gently instead. Still, the hoped-for warm fire and full belly that might await me at the country inn drew me like a moth to the flame.”

He let out a long, sorrowful howl, and the forest soon echoed it, as his pack brothers joined in from across its vast expanse. Were any of them men in the past, as he had been? If they ever were, they’d forgotten it, as the thrill of the hunt, the smell of the prey’s fear, and the taste of its blood on their tongue had long dulled any such memories. But none of that mattered. They knew when one of their brothers sang from the heart.

The wolf waited for the echoes to fade. “Would that I’d kept riding, riding until I reached the next village, as was my original intent, owl... Then I wouldn’t be here speaking to you.

But take that turn I did, and the end of the road did not disappoint. No, not a country inn at all, but a nobleman’s castle appeared in front of me, candle-lit windows and a stone-paved circular driveway fit for a king’s carriage, though the absence of any welcoming staff was surprising. ‘Perhaps they’d all turned in for the evening? I’d almost missed the turn myself in the waning light of dusk,’ I thought, and after tying my horse to a post, made my way in.”

“I was looking up at the candle-lit chandelier gracing the foyer when I heard steps approaching,” the wolf continued. “I’d assumed it would be a servant, the butler or somesuch, but there she was: a crimson, tightly laced gown to match her blood-red lips, the eyebrows, a bird in flight, and those black, piercing eyes. I could barely speak. ‘Are you… Are you here all alone?’ I managed finally.

She laughed, the sound of a mountain stream relishing the melting spring ice. ‘Why, are you planning to take advantage of me, sirra?’ she said, a predator playing with its prey, head tilting just so, exposing her exquisite neck. I could barely stop myself from grabbing her in my arms. ‘What’s wrong with you!’ I thought. ‘Control yourself, idiot.’

‘Forgive my boldness, where are my manners, Miss…’ I let the phrase hang, expecting to be corrected with an introduction, but she remained silent. ‘Forgive me, I simply did not expect the lady of the house to greet me in such a palatial estate…’ Still no reply. ‘My name is Jack. Jack Wulkie. Might I impose upon your hospitality to stay the night, Miss? I do not relish the prospect of braving that foreboding forest with naught but moonlight. But I would surely respect your wishes.’ I paused. ‘Anything, even the stables would do.’

She shook her head, her long, dangling ruby earrings a burst of fire-lit pomegranate against her pale cheeks. ‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘there are a dozen empty bedrooms upstairs, use the one on the left side of the double staircase…I’ll get it prepared.’ She clapped her hands twice to no one in particular. ‘Would you like a warm meal before you retire upstairs... what did you say your name was…Jack? You look famished.’

She pointed me to a luxurious dining room on the right side of the foyer. The ornate, gold-footed mahogany table in the middle of the room was incrusted with mother-of-pearl mosaics depicting scenes from the classics, echoed on the tapestry hanging above the fireplace mantle. There was but one setting on the table: a few loaves of bread and a bowl with a simmering, fragrant stew of some unfamiliar meat, looking as if it had just been placed there. As if she expected someone for dinner. Not me, surely? But then who? Why put on this elaborate show if you’re not expecting anyone?"

A darkness began to encroach on the moonlit forest, and the wolf paused, teeth snarling, fur standing on end on his back, head lowered, breath steaming in the suddenly colder air, but it was just a cloud crossing the brightly lit moon. Still, he waited, as if he needed to banish some shadow, and couldn’t continue without the moon’s comforting glow, and the forest waited in silence.

“It was all too strange…I should have known. Should have realized,” he said at last. “But her pull… I couldn’t resist her. Cannot resist her, even now.” He howled, longer, deeper, but this time it was the cedars alone that bore witness to his anguish, although the owl hooted, knowingly.

“I sat down at the table,” the wolf continued. “In truth, I was famished. Politeness dictated I wait for her to sit, so I gestured at the opposite chair and asked ‘Will you not join me, my lady?’ but she declined. ‘I’d already eaten, Jack,’ she said with the lazy smile of a satisfied cat, ‘perhaps we shall chat later,’ and walked out of the dining room, skirts rustling under her gown.

I tore off a piece of the rich loaf of bread and sampled the stew. Too rich for venison, but not mutton. I couldn’t quite place it. ‘Do I dare ask what it is?’ I wondered. Tasty though. No observer in sight, I disposed of any pretense of manners and made quick work of the meal, wishing for a good wine or brandy to wash it down with, but there was none at the table.

I pushed myself back from the table and walked to the richly carpeted staircase leading to the second floor. Not a living soul in sight, not even a creak of an old floorboard disturbed the silence. ‘A castle with no ghosts,’ I chuckled. ‘The lady of the house must have retired to her chambers. Oh well.’

I did my best to banish the inevitable adolescent fantasies from my racing mind — I’d recently read Chaucer’s tales. ‘Best get yourself upstairs, Jack, and get some sleep. Enough excitement for one day.’

The one on the left, she’d said. I made my way up there. It was spacious, the fireplace already lit, sending shadows dancing on the deer hunt tapestry hanging above it. Flickers of orange added a warm glow to the crystal carafe on the writing desk facing the window, filled as it was with a flagrant red wine. The faint pine aroma was pleasant, each crackling of a burning log a surprise in the otherwise stark silence of the seemingly empty castle.”

The wolf suddenly tilted his head toward the forest, yellow eyes flashing, and the quiet night was interrupted by the panicky sounds of a deer’s escape through the densely packed trees. ‘It must enjoy my stories,’ the wolf remarked slyly, and the owl nodded in appreciation.

“I lingered at the desk for a bit,” the wolf went on, “trying to jot down a few notes in my journal as I sipped the full-bodied vintage. But though the silver-tipped quill I’d kept for the purpose never failed me before, words wouldn’t come out. I attempted to sketch her silhouette but soon gave up — I had not the gift to do that neck or lips justice.

Through the window, I could see the full moon rise high above the forest, its pale glory bathing the trees in an eerie light. Unable to look away, I sat transfixed, refilling the glass with the wine’s crimson liquid. ‘Matches her dress…’ I couldn’t help it — every thought kept returning to her.

Don’t think me a novice choir boy — I’ve had my share of women, but this was no harlot or tavern wench. Was she a nobleman’s wife? Mistress? Daughter? Could she really be here all alone?

The questions kept racing through my head, but the fortified wine soon made my eyelids heavy. I rushed to undress, collapsing onto the nearby bed, and, warm under the generous goose-down blanket, the sweet taste of the wine still on my lips, fell into a deep slumber.”

“I woke with a start, her astride me, a vision of heaven…” — the wolf shook his head — “or perhaps hell. Her fine features, so hauntingly beautiful before, took on a demonic shine as the light of the giant winter moon mixed in with the fireplace’s glow. She was chanting as she rode me:

Sub luna feroci mutatur forma,

Vincis nocturnas, fit caro fera,

Nunc eris lupus, perpetua norma,

Umbra regnat, lux non vera…

I was never one for Latin studies, but caught Luna and Lupus well enough. Suddenly, the events of the previous evening became clear. This was no bored noblewoman out for a bit of scandalous fun!

She continued to chant, ‘Nunc eris lupus, perpetua norma.’

I felt utterly powerless, each gyration of her pelvis on top of me paralyzing me with bursts of intense… was it pain? Pleasure? Both?

Seeing my arms ripen, fur sprouting through the skin as it stretched to fit my now monstrous body, I knew fear. Finally managing to get my newly beclawed hands on her torso, I strained, trying to throw her off, but her legs hugged me tighter and she just laughed, then kissed me hard, biting my lips, nails digging into my back, drawing blood, as we both convulsed…”

Tears formed in the wolf’s eyes, dropping and freezing into pale diamonds as they fell on the snow, and he howled again, the long, anguished cry of the fallen, and the owl stared at him, unblinking, knowing it was powerless to help.

“It was then…then that I cursed her,” the wolf said haltingly. “Then, as she lay next to me, as we lay together, two half-animals, spent.

‘What have you done to me, evil creature!’ I roared.

She laughed at me, no longer the soft churning of a mountain stream, but the throaty laugh of a courtesan, as she traced my lips with her clawed finger.

‘Why, don’t you like it, Jack?’ she asked, toying with me, hand diving under the cover, as if to check my readiness. ‘I’ve made you immortal, like me. We shall now live here in splendor, king and queen of the forest, forever and ever. And when the moon ceases its monthly hiding game…’ She paused, smiling widely, canines slowly reducing their swell, ‘We shall hunt together, and take what we want, be it an elk, a bear, or a weary traveler.’

My fear inside mixed with fury. ‘Traveler!’ I yelled. ‘You dare…’

‘What we want, Jack,’ she interrupted. We take what we want. Didn’t you enjoy yesterday’s meal? Nothing like the taste of a frightened horse…’

I knew I did not have the strength to defeat her. But hurt and disgust overcame all reason at the thought of my trusty steed’s fate. Stretching my now much longer arm, I grabbed the silver-tipped quill off the writing desk and sank it deep into her heart.

She gasped and sat up, grabbing the quill and yanking it out, not comprehending at first. ‘Fool,’ she started to say, ‘you might as well use a toothpick. Immortality is what I offer you, don’t you…’ Her voice failed. ‘Immortal…’ she tried again, the blood draining from the cheeks just reddened by our coupling, and bubbling on her lips. Incredulous, she picked up the quill she had just yanked out. Looked at it. ‘Silver,’ she whispered, realization sinking in. ‘Jack!’ she managed, bright blood dripping down her chin, tongue betraying her, ‘I wanted…you… everything…Why, why!?’

Around me, the castle walls started collapsing. A falling roof tile knocked over the spare firewood into the fireplace, and the flames roared up, catching the tapestry and spreading fast through the room. Still, I couldn’t move. I continued to look at her, as she and all hers disintegrated around me, ash and rubble. And those eyes, black, piercing eyes staring right through me, even as she melted away, until a ceiling beam fell and knocked me out.

When I came to, I was once more a man, naked and cold, lying on a bed of moss in the ruins of a decrepit castle at the edge of the woods.”

I struggled my way into the nearby village and told a tale of being accosted by bandits and left for dead on the side of the road. The villagers didn’t hide their suspicions but were good enough to feed and clothe me nonetheless, and eventually, I made it back home.

The change came over me again a month later, and I understood the full depth of my curse.

As time flew, I noticed I wasn’t aging as fast as those around me. Once, I had killed a neighbor’s sheep and was lucky to get away from the outraged wolf hunt that followed. As the rumors of werewolves spread, I’ve had to kill more than one adventurer testing their luck with silver-tipped arrows. These incidents, and the slowness of my aging, forced me to move again and again.

But when the change comes over me, when the full moon is high up in the sky and I feel the beast stirring within, when I must tear off my clothes and run free, I return to roam through these ancient forests, and to search again for that one, hard-to-notice turn in the road.

I want to tell her I understand. Her pain... Her loneliness..

I want to tell her that I made a mistake. That I need her, and I’m sorry...”

Large snowflakes started falling again as the wolf sat up, his head tilted to look at the bright full moon high above the forest, his breath visible in the chilly air.

"I want to tell her everything,” the wolf said, turning to look at the owl. And the owl still listened.

Which gave him hope.