Highland Wolf

By MJ Innes

The werewolf lifted his nose to the cold night air and sniffed. He smelt the usual smells of the highlands, heather, dewy grass, water, rabbit, thistle, human. He grinned a wolfish grin and identified the smell of human near the lake. The human’s scent was strong and it hinted a whiff of heather. The werewolf loped in the direction of the smell, his paws padded silently on the springy grass. As he reached the rise of a small hill, he stopped and spied his prey.

The human female was staring across the lake, curly auburn hair in a braid down her back. She stood with her back to the werewolf, and he could tell she was easy pickings. He stalked down the hill and reached the sandy beach silently. The werewolf crouched down low and prepared to strike. His eyes were locked on the human, and he began to salivate at the thought of sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. He pounced and knocked the girl down. With her down he wasted no time in sinking his inch long fangs into her shoulder. She screamed as the werewolf maimed her shoulder. The werewolf got off her suddenly, and sat back allowing the frightened girl to get up and run to her village. She’d be dead before dawn if his plan had worked.

Catlin McInnes ran down the grassy slope to her cottage as fast as her wound would allow her. Over by the lake the wolf thing that had bitten her sat by watching her like a trained hound. She felt sick, and stumbled now and again. She reached the cottage and stumbled through the door. She fell in a heap by the fire, and slept until dawn. In the morning Catlin tended to her wound and stayed in the cottage all day. As the sunset, and the moon rose, Catlin felt the changes instantly.

Her bones were shifting and resetting themselves at odd angles. Her hands transformed into huge paws, and fur sprouted through her skin. Her face elongated into a snout and her teeth became large fangs. She fell onto all fours, and her voice changed from a soft lilt to a harsh growl. The newly transformed werewolf howled at the moon and loped through the door. The soft dewy grass was comforting under her paws, and she had a new thought in her head.

Find food!

The werewolf (who used to be mild tempered Catlin) smelt the air for food. A hare raced across under her nose. She leaned over and snatched the hare up in her jaws. She snapped its neck with ease, and began to eat the hare. Its warm blood gushed down her throat, and the bones snapped under the force of her jaws. The hare was devoured in half an hour. Catlin saw the sun rise over her village. She transformed back into a human, this time a little smoother than before. Where a powerful beast once sat, stood mild tempered, sweet speaking Catlin. She panted, and looked down at her feet. A half chewed hare’s head sat at her feet. She gulped, and strode into town to find a friend who could help her.

Margaret understood more things about the supernatural than Catlin, and would gladly help her friend.

“Catlin? By Mary queen of Scots, its Catlin!” cried Margaret.

“Margaret, you must help me, for something odd happened to me last night,” whispered Catlin.

“What lass, if you’ve been out by the lake when a man has been there, its your own fault” replied Margaret tartly.

“No! I got bit the night before by a wolf like thing the next night, well I changed in more ways than one,” hissed Catlin indicating with her head her shoulder. Margaret looked at her friends maimed shoulder, and paled. She beckoned Catlin into her home, and asked her to sit.

“Catlin, I hate to tell you this lass, really I do, but that was no normal wolf that bit you” whispered Margaret.

“What do you mean?” asked Catlin.

“Wolves have been extinct in the highlands for ages, lass, and well if you’ve been a change’n lately you might have been bit by a, a…” Margaret trailed off. Catlin petted her friend’s hand kindly.

“What, what could it be if it wasn’t a wolf?” asked Catlin.

“A werewolf lass, they’re nasty bits of work mind, so I wouldn’t be hang’n around, not while people fear them” whispered Margaret.

“So your say’n I’m one of these werewolves” replied Catlin.

“Aye that I am lass, and I’d be a fair sight carefull from now mind. Don’t be goin’ and eating people lass, aye, that wouldn’t be good for you and the human you bit!” Margaret told Catlin.

“Why, the wolf that bit me is still liven, or he aint” Catlin said.

“He may or he may not but you be goin’ back to your home now, and you be not leav’n until I tell you to” snapped Margaret.

Catlin bade her friend goodbye, and walked briskly to her cottage scattering some little kids on her way. As she arrived at her cottage, Catlin could hear the sound of shouting from the village, although she lived too far away to hear the noise normally. The shouting told Catlin that they had discovered a werewolf was alive and newly created in their village.

“Good, then they shan’t be suspecting me” she thought. But oh how she was wrong. The villages were marching towards her lonely cottage shouting war cries that sounded like “Death to all werewolves”. Catlin turned tail and fled for her life, cursing all the while her stupidity. She streaked along grass that was still wet with dew, and the lake its surface like glass to all who passed it. Catlin scrambled up the hill her werewolf father had stalked down the night he created her. She felt soft heather at the top of the hill, and preyed her pursuers were a fair way behind her.

But when the first arrow buried itself just where Catlin’s hand had been, she knew her pursuers were hot on her trail. The arrows whistled by her and she climbed, and as she reached the crest of the hill, a savage hatred filled Catlin’s heart.

“Pathetic humans” she shouted, “you only fear me because I’m different! You make a werewolf puppy look strong! Why don’t you…” but Catlin never finished what she was going to say, because at that moment a silver tipped arrow struck Catlin square in the heart. She fell onto the soft sweet smelling heather and lay there while the stunned villages watched. The blood from her wound was staining the earth on which she lay, and thrushes, hares, rabbits, and foxes came to the hill. As Catlin died, she cursed the village forever to have werewolves among them, and with that Catlin passed on to the next life.

When she finally breathed her last breath, the animals present cried out in mourning, and all the women in the village wailed. The men cursed, the children cried, and Margaret the traitor who inevitably sent Catlin to her death wept. The villages, fearing the curse of a dying werewolf built a monument in her honour. Now every year on the night of a full moon in June, you can see the ghost of Catlin McInnes wandering the shores of the lake, alone and angry.