After Darkness Falls...
Before I start, I would just like to say: I don't believe in werewolves.
I don't believe in fantastical creatures of any kind in fact. It was just in case you thought that this short report was some kind of twisted, mythical story. It is not.
After all that I have seen, I have committed myself to recording the incidents that happened between September 2010 and February 2011 in the small village of North Newton in South West England. I can only hope that they have stopped for good and will never happen again.
Nobody knew what had happened. I made the discovery when I was doing the usual, delivering mail to all the residents of North Newton. Mrs Gatehouse had a large package coming her way and it was probably her new box set of 'Larkrise to Candleford.' She was very pleased with herself because she had managed to order it online herself, as she had informed me the week before. I rung the doorbell twice, left a delivery card and got ready to leave. It was only when I noticed the broken front window that I stopped and investigated.
Probably some yob causing trouble.
I looked through the broken window and tutted at the damage caused. I noticed the dismembered corpse lying on the floor and screamed. There was blood all over the floor and walls and there was a small puddle of grey liquid on the floor. Poor Mrs Patricia Gatehouse's corpse was missing several limbs and a look of pure, raw horror was transfixed onto her face. I stumbled away from the shocking site and struggled to keep my food from coming up. I quickly pulled out my mobile phone and dialled 999.
The police and forensics team arrived approximately twenty-five minutes later. That day was easily the scariest of my life. And it was only the first in a series of extremely gruesome deaths in the village. Some said it was some kind of wild animal, which was possible. But there are no wild, carnivorous animals living anywhere near North Newton, and there wasn't a zoo for miles. Others said that some vicious, sick minded serial killer did it. But North Newton isn't the biggest village in the world and everybody knew each other. There was likely nobody in the village that was capable of committing such a crime. Even some people (generally regarded as nutters) said that it was a werewolf. They said that the village was cursed by an ancient sorceress, centuries ago. Now I personally regard this as a lot of bullshit, but I guess people are entitled to their own opinion.
The next to die, I'm sorry to say, was Father McKenzie. He was the much loved parish priest for the village. He was very friendly and polite, not stiff and strict like some priests and vicars. He gave short and interesting homiles, and therefore attracted the younger generation. He was writing the words of a sermon that no one would hear when he was attacked. His housekeeper, Miss Burbridge, found him slumped at his desk, with a huge pile of blood surrounding him.
He was missing his head.
From the look of it, his head had not been sawn or cut off: it had in fact been chewed off. This was when everybody in the village really started to worry. People started to bar their windows and buy extra large bolts for their door. Some even moved out of town, fearing for their very lives. The police did all they could. They sent thirty policemen to guard the town and provided advice for the townspeople. They informed everyone that a mysterious wild animal may be on the loose. They also advised not to go out during the hours of nine PM and seven AM and to take extra care when travelling through country roads. Most people followed this advice. Some didn't.
Mr Gareth Fraser was a very respected citizen in North Newton. He was well known as the local grocer and also as the organiser of the village's annual gala parade. He stood on top of the main float and threw sweets and chocolate out to the crowd. It was because of this that he was loved by the local children. On Saturday the twentieth of November 2010, at seven thirty in the evening, he said goodbye to his wife for the very last time. He said that he had left the light on in the shop and had to switch it off immediately. His wife told him to be very careful, even though the shop was located just next door to the Fraser household. He said that it would only take a minute and he would be as quick as he could. He then left and never returned.
His body, or rather his remains, were found the very next morning.
Sophie Murphy asked her mother if she could go and play in the local playground, which was down in the middle of the village green. Her mother said that she was fine to go, as many other parents supervised the play-park and it was already quarter past nine, well past the curfew that the police had assigned to the village. Little Sophie made her way down to the playground. It was quite early in the morning, so she was the very first child to arrive. She was only seven and was easily excited. She ran the last twenty metres to the park and stopped at the park gates. Sophie screamed as loud as she could when the sight met her eyes.
Right in the middle of the playground, in between the roundabout and the chute, were the remains of a decaying corpse.
The entire abdomen had been sliced open, revealing a gory chest cavity and spilling out internal organs. The legs were splayed out and it looked as if the person had been running before being attacked and falling to the ground. It was obvious that Gareth Fraser had died a horrible, untimely death.
Upon hearing the scream, several of the villagers (including me) and police officers rushed towards the scene. Sophie heard the villagers coming and rushed into her mother's arms. Her eyes were wide with shock and fear and she was sucking her thumb. The villagers gasped at the appalling site and several women screamed. An old man comforted his crying wife. The newly assigned parish priest closed his eyes and blessed himself. Gareth Fraser's wife had fainted and was being revived by her friends. I looked away from the sight.
I had seen one too many dead bodies already.
A few of the policemen were speaking into their radio mikes with panicked expressions on their faces. Most of them were young and had likely never seen anything like this before. An ambulance arrived later and took the remains away. Mrs Fraser was taken to the hospital and was treated for shock.
After that, many more families moved away, fearing for their children's lives rather than their own. Many people took to the streets, preaching that a werewolf was stalking the village and that everyone must leave. Most of the people that remained were the people that had lived in the village for all or most of their lives. I remained, because I knew that I was a vital service to the residents of North Newton.
Now, there isn't really much more to say. The security in the village and the surrounding areas was upped and the curfew was lengthened. There were a few more deaths in the village, but nowhere near as gory as the first three. But I'm not afraid. I feel quite safe in my cosy little house and still enjoy life. There haven't been many deaths recently which is excellent. I have noticed though that, I'm starting to feel very hungry. No matter what I eat, whether it's a green salad or a large gammon stake, I still feel famished. I've also been having these strange dreams in which I'm running on all fours, chasing people from the village. And just yesterday, I found that I now have a liking for very rare steaks. Sometimes, I only cook the steak for five minutes or so and it tastes delicious.
The rawer, the better.
