From Blood’s History: Wolves
Upon occasion, Cross has an issue with wolves. These are not wandering packs which have somehow followed the Berkshires down into northern Massachusetts. They are, instead, lycanthropes. Werewolves.
Like so many other creatures of myth, werewolves have been painted in a delightfully pleasant light. An image which could not possibly be further from the truth.
When a person becomes a werewolf, whether, through the transference of the infection through a bite or by accident of birth, they are no longer in control of their own faculties. They are subject to the whims of the moon, and thus a werewolf is a danger to those around it.
In 1910, a Greek couple arrived in Lowell, Massachusetts and set up a tailor’s shop in that city. Once a month, they would travel to the countryside for the wife’s health, and all would agree that when she returned, both husband and wife looked remarkably refreshed.
Shortly after the turn of the new year, the couple, both of whom were werewolves, decided to hunt in Cross. To be more precise, they came onto my farm in search of easy prey.
They did not find it.
I killed them both, in wolf form, on my front steps. When death transformed them back into human shape, I dragged their carcasses to North Road and left them there, where they were found in the morning.
1911 was a difficult year. I would spend a great deal of it killing creatures of myth. Creatures who should have known better than to hunt in Cross.
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