The Wolf Within Ch. 01

Historians call that period from the time Rome fell to the 11th century The Dark Ages. But for many people no era was darker than the 17th century - when superstition, like an ugly spectre, stalked Europe. When suspicion was spread like a fearful pestilence throughout the land...when the fear of Satan coloured men's minds hideously, urging them on to ghastly deeds...

crimen exceptum: a crime so foul that all normal legal procedures were superseded. Because the Devil was not going to "confess", it was necessary to gain a confession from the human involved.

England 1646

Thomas Makepeace Harvey was uneasy as he made his way through the woods. A celebrated witch hunter, he'd been summoned to a quiet God-fearing Suffolk village after a spate of violent deaths had occurred. Witchcraft was immediately suspected, though after reading about what had happened to the victims, Thomas had a feeling the truth would be even more disturbing.

He had ridden less than two hundred yards north along the well-trodden path, when he heard a shrill, haunting cry that halted him. The sound was distant, rising and falling, rising and falling, then fading.

The sound was so cold, it penetrated his flesh and pierced like a needle to his bone marrow. Immediately his horse became agitated. Eyes wide with fright, he began whinnying and rearing up.

"Easy there, Tenacious, old boy. Settle down." Thomas said, calming the animal. Tenacious shook his head and blew air through his nostrils.

Chilled more by that strange call than by the brisk winter air, Thomas wondered what he had heard. It had sounded like a canine howl, yet it was unlike any dog he'd ever heard before. He shivered. Twilight was fading fast, and he wanted to reach Brome before darkness descended.

"We must make haste," he muttered to his horse. "Go!"

Tenacious leapt forward and galloped straight toward the meadowed slope that led to the village, about a quarter of a mile away. As they cleared the woods, the lights from houses became visible.

Suddenly Thomas saw something racing across the tall grass towards him. It was dark, low and swift, the size of a man but running on all fours--or nearly so--loping, about fifty yards away and closing. If it was a dog it was a damned queer one.

"Ha! Go!" Thomas yelled, urging his horse on. tearing flat-out across the meadow. The fleet-footed Tenacious worked his great haunch muscles, sensing his master's urgency. Thomas looked over his shoulder and saw no sign of the loping figure. Evidently it was no match for a horse's stride.

Five minutes later, they galloped past the gateposts that marked the main road into the village of Brome. A notice greeted him.

PUBLICK NOTICE

The Observation of Christmas having been deemed a Sacrilege, the exchanging of Gifts and Greetings, dressing in Fyne Clothing, Feasting and similar Satanical Practices are hereby

FORBIDDEN

with the Offender liable to a fine of FIVE SHILLINGS.

Thomas was warmly received by the insular village elders.

"Master Harvey you've come not a moment too soon," the vicar said, welcoming the witchfinder into the church. It will take a stout heart to root out the festering rot of Satan here in Brome. A great evil hath been spreading in this village! May I introduce John Winthrop, our magistrate."

Thomas shook hands with the corpulent, white-haired gentleman.

"Thank heavens you've arrived, sir. Our village is in ferment! There are wicked things occurring here - fornication, sodomy, lechery, drunkenness! Unbridled sin on every street corner!"

"The good Lord is with us and it is with His Word that I shall defeat this evil of witchcraft," Thomas said. "crimen exceptum, I say."

"Nay," Magistrate Winthrop replied. "It's not witchcraft that's plaguing this village. There was a witch...lived in the eastern woods. She was tried and hanged a year ago. Now it be a Beast."

"Your letter made no mention of this. I was led to believe witchcraft was being practiced in this village."

"That might still be the case. Three deaths," the vicar said. "All local men. Always at night. Their bodies hideously mutilated...I cannot bear to speak of it!" He sat down on a pew.

"Myself and a group of chased down what we thought was the Beast. Thought we'd got it cornered in a barn. One man aimed a musket a shot it. Only when we approached the fallen thing....we realised it was...the body of a man."

"Charles Fletcher. The village blacksmith. He went missing a few days earlier after going hunting in the woods."

A cry of horror interrupted the group as a woman burst into the church.

"Murder! the Beast hath killed again!"

The dead man was sprawled in an alley by the side of the cordwainer's quarters. His frost-white face was spotted with blood. In the flickering firelight of the burning torches, his wide eyes stared unblinkingly. Hideously bruised, savagely bitten, scratched and torn, neck broken, the man was little more than a pile of decomposing meat.

"Lord have mercy!" someone cried.

"It's the remains of Jeb Stone!"

The fourth victim had been a local tramp. A slave to ale, which was how he came to ruin himself. His presence in the village had been barely tolerated at the best of times.

"We must pray for this poor wretch's lost soul."

Thomas raised a lantern and examined the body closely. He grimaced. This wasn't the work of an ordinary dog.

"A Hellhound," he exclaimed. "I fear someone in this village hath summoned one of Satan's beasts, using the dark forces of witchcraft."

The assembled villagers looked at each other and nodded. There were various mutterings and coughs.

"Therefore, it is by God's command that I seek out this creature of Hell."

A room had been provided for Thomas at the vicarage. He walked up the creaking stairs, candle in hand, his steps light as was his custom, to be a stealthy as possible, given his work. The bedchamber was tiny and simply furnished, but clean. It would serve his purpose. Bare floorboards. A single bed, chamber pot, bedside table and a chair. He had no need for anything else. He considered unnecessary adornments a sacrilege. Unfastening his black leather satchel, Thomas pulled out his Bible.

"Thou hast called unto me to open my hand, and thou wouldest fill it: but I would not open it; I held the world fast, and kept my hand shut, and would not let it go. But do thou open it for me; not my hand only, but my mouth; not my mouth, but my heart also."

Thomas was a staunch adherent to his Puritan principles. He'd been a Puritan minister, before embarking on this new career as witchfinder. Now in his thirtieth year, he prided himself on still being a virgin. He was able to withstand the sins that so many other men fell prey to. Such weak men! Such vile heathens. Thomas loathed how they gave in so easily to temptation.

His thoughts were interrupted by furtive voices and laughter. It was coming from the room below. Immediately suspicious, Thomas dropped to his knees and placed his head against the floor. A convenient gap between the floorboards afforded him just enough of a view. He squinted to get a better look between the narrow opening. The door of the room below opened, and a man entered. Thomas immediately recognised him as Magistrate Winthrop, whom he'd been introduced to at the church. What was he doing here at this late hour?

Winthrop removed his hat, and shook his shoulder-length white hair.

"My dear Sally, t'is late to be keeping such company, don't you think?"

The woman in question giggled and flung her arms round him. Thomas' eyes widened. It was the vicar's servant, around nineteen or twenty, and she was more than delighted to see the magistrate.

"Possession be nine-tenths of the law, Mr Winthrop, ye old scoundrel!" Sally gigged, unbuttoning his collar.

"Aye, true, that. Allow me to return the favour!" He began unfastening her clothing.

Thomas was disgusted and horrified. "What sin-addled place have I been summoned to? A magistrate of all people, engaging in carnal relations with a servant girl young enough to be his daughter!" Yet, as shocked as he was, he continued to watch. He let out a gasp as Winthrop slipped his arms around the young woman and kissed her passionately. For a moment, he wasn't sure what was more shocking - the actual kissing, or the fact that a fat, unattractive man like Winthrop was capable of thrilling a pretty young wench in such a manner.

"Disgusting filth!" Thomas muttered. "I will pray for their unfortunate souls. How dare such brazen licentiousness take place under the vicarage roof!"

And still, he continued to watch.

The magistrate's coat fell to the floor, soon to be joined by the rest of his apparel. Sally undid his necktie and shirt, and hauled it over his head. He was content to simply stand there and let her warm hands release him from his restrictive garments. Winthrop felt himself sigh as her lips met his and his mouth yielded and her tongue plundered his welcoming territory. He was determined to savour every moment. He moaned softly against her lips and pressed his firm body against hers. Still kissing, she unfastened her bodice and pulled him down to the bed.

Thomas struggled to get a good look at what was happening. He strained his eyes peering closer through the floorboard gap.

Winthrop trembled with excitement as he fondled Sally's bare skin. He had to lean back, had to let the flickering candlelight play across her body. Sally wasted no time in removing his shoes, stockings and breeches, moving forward to excite him with an intimacy that only she had ever performed. She rubbed her hands along his shoulders, down across his pale, bloated belly, and back up across his untoned, partially-hairy chest. He let out a laugh and she had to shush him.

"Ssh, you'll wake the Reverend...and that fellow from London. The witchfinder."

"I believe the correct title is Hellhoundfinder General," the magistrate chuckled in reply.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "How dare you mock me, o heathen fornicator."

Sally leaned forward and littered the magistrate's chest with kisses, and stopped at one of his nipples and gave it a delicate lick. It was so horrible, so revolting...so much so that Thomas was unable to turn away. He felt uncomfortably hot all of a sudden. A feverish sweat on his brow and neck forced him to loosen his collar.

Winthrop stared back at her, and sighed as the servant's hand brushed his cock.

"I've missed this." She said with a grin. The magistrate wasn't the most well-endowed of men, but Sally seemed more than pleased at the sight of his member standing proudly to attention.

She quickly took his hard cock in her hands and wrapped her lips around it.

"Oh dear God, more!" Winthrop cried out.

"The vilest of sin," Thomas thought as he gazed in amazement. He'd never witnessed a woman pleasuring a man like this, though had heard about the act.

It was a miracle that the magistrate hadn't spent already. Sally teased his cock with her mouth, stopping occasionally to run her tongue up and down the shaft. She stopped at the base and circled her tongue around his balls, and then returned to vigorously sucking and stroking his shaft, licking up every drop of precum.

Moaning, he grasped her arse cheeks, his finger lightly caressing her dripping cleft. Just like the last time they'd met, her juices were a glorious assault to his senses. Sally spread her legs and Winthrop sank his cock deeply into her, pushing upward. They slowly humped together in rhythm, each savouring every sensation. They continued like that, holding each other's hands and staring into each other's eyes, Sally frequently leaning down to kiss him.

"Spend for me, Johnny!"

This intimate embrace continued until they both shared a deep orgasm, and she collapsed, burying her head in his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her.

Thomas staggered to his feet. He had seen enough. Clutching his Bible, he hurriedly said a prayer of forgiveness and tried to ignore his raging erection.

"Lord, be merciful to me, a poor sinner. Forgive my sins and give me your Holy Spirit, that I may obey your divine will, and in my station in life produce much fruit to your glory. Amen."

Thomas finally slept, but his slumber was plagued by a vivid dream. He thrashed about in the bed. He was running...running through a wood. Someone was calling out to him. A female voice.

A stunning brown-haired woman in a red cape was standing at the edge of the path. She held out her hand to him.

"Beyond the village gates...the wylfen waits..."

Thomas reached out to her. Abruptly, the woman's face began to change. Her flesh was suddenly as malleable as soft wax: It bulged, blistered as if an invisible sculptor were at work on it. He turned to run away. Wanted to scream, but couldn't. When he looked again, it wasn't a woman staring at him, but an enormous brown wolf, its amber eyes radiant.

Thomas tossed and turned in bed some more and finally settled down.

"Beyond the village gates...the wylfen waits..."