Ethereal Chronicles

My little brother had always resented me. So much so that upon visiting him one evening, I discovered that he had left in place of my supper a hunk of human flesh.

I knew that he hoped I would fall into Satan’s grip, just as surely as he believed me too dimwitted to see through his trickery. A foolish plan, which I would easily destroy. So before we began our meal, I calmly asked him if he might fetch me some water, to which he gladly obliged, and I switched the plates in his absence.

When he did return and we began to eat, he watched me warily, his gaze drifting stupidly over the replacement on his plate, blinded with impatience and the smug illusion of premature victory. Of course, the disease made no show, which shifted the wariness to irritation, and then, in an instant, to agony.

The tough meat slipped from his trembling hands, hitting the plate with a dull thud before it crashed off the table. Clutching his throat, he began to gasp and choke, each breath more hideous than the last. Blood welled up in his mouth, spilling over his lips and dripping down the sides of his chin in thick, red streams that spattered the table with every uncontrollable cough. Eventually, he lurched over the side of his chair to retch violently, and heaved a nauseating pile of vomit filled with slick, black fur.

It was then that he glared up at me, hatred burning in his wild, bloodshot eyes. “What did you do, you snake?” He hissed through clenched teeth, spaying blood as he spoke. I felt the warm droplets land on my cheek, but I did not flinch.

“I, the snake? Was it not you who tried to trick me?” I replied, my voice calm, even as I watched the hair on his arms thicken and his nails elongate to jagged claws. He might have killed me there and then, had he not been possessed by a wave of torment that contorted his body, forcing him to double over. His hands slammed down onto the table, yellowed claws digging deep in the wood, splintering it as he tore chunks away. With a snarl, he staggered to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor behind him as he stumbled towards the door and fled from the house.

I did not see him for many weeks after that, but each day without detection of his presence felt like an eternity of dread. When they discovered the first house, the residents maimed and their walls covered with sticky blood, I knew that it was him, and I knew that he would come for me.

The following day, the Ahlbergs vanished. Their home had been left in ruins by an unseen struggle, and a dirty trail of red had been smeared across the floor of the house, weaving all the way through the village and out into the forest that waited not far from where we lived.

These horrors persisted until the village slowly but surely became a ghost town, a place suffused with the reek of blood and death. My loneliness consumed me, only the vultures and the flies serving witness to my miserable, wretched existence.

Yet still, he had not come for me.

So I decided to confront him myself, venturing into the forest where I knew he had hidden himself. There, amidst a grotesque mound of slippery bodies, I found him. He lay sprawled across the carnage, so still I wasn’t quite sure if he was dead or alive. His feral mouth lay open, and his furry belly gaped fat and full.

Without a word, I walked towards him, tightly gripping my knife in my hand. I almost felt pity for the thing. Perhaps he might be able to find his peace in death, I thought, as I drew the blade across his stomach. The Werewolf jolted awake with a terrible howl, throwing a desperate swipe at me, but the undigested flesh he had gorged on erupted from his wound, spilling over the heaped bodies and pooling on the floor around him. The air poisoned with a thick smell of rot and death.

APPEARANCE AND ATTRIBUTES

In many familiar tales, Werewolves shift from man to wolf, and from wolf to man. In other interpretations, however, the wolf guise that the human assumes may represent not a physical transformation but a malevolent double, or a dark fragment of the human soul which leaves the unaware body to commit acts of evil in the darkest hours of night.

A werewolf may alternatively be seen as a familiar; a spirit deeply connected to its owner. In this interpretation, the spirit appears as a wolf, whose injuries mirror those of its human counterpart.

In human form, Werewolves are often easily distinguishable. Typically, such distinctive features would be a pronounced unibrow, curved fingernails and low-set ears. When injured, their wounds might not bleed but instead reveal a layer of thick fur beneath the skin. They may have volatile tempers, and insatiable cravings for violence.

In their animal forms, Werewolves are not unlike wolves, aside from their lack of tail, and human eyes. Many can remember human speech. They may choose to walk on two legs as humans do, or run on all fours. In some parts of Sweden, it is believed that Werewolves run on three legs, using the fourth as a makeshift tail.

The transformation between man and wolf is not an easy one, causing intense pain that leaves Werewolves feeling debilitated and weak once it has occurred.

In their wolf form, Werewolves often venture to towns and villages. They prefer to hunt living humans, but their appetite extends to recently buried corpses as well.

TO BECOME A WEREWOLF

Werewolves can increase their numbers by spreading their curse to other humans. This often occurs through bites and occasional scratches.

Some Werewolves are wicked souls who have forsaken God, cursed to become beasts by night as divine retribution for their sins. Alternatively, these creatures could be bound to Satan, having traded their souls in return for power.

Those seeking to become a Werewolf by their own choice have several methods at their disposal. One of the simplest approaches is to strip naked and don a belt made of wolfskin. 

Sleeping outdoors with moonlight on one’s face, particularly on Wednesdays or Fridays, is also thought to induce a transformation.

Those who do not follow the confines of morality may choose such a life by consuming the flesh of a fellow human being.

PROTECTION AND CURES

Werewolves, though formidable, can be easily destroyed. It is generally advisable to kill them in their human forms, when they are at their most vulnerable. Decapitation and incineration of both the head and the body is imperative to prevent the Werewolf from returning.

Ancient Greeks believed that Werewolves could be cured with exhaustion; by submitting the Werewolf to extended periods of strenuous activity, they hoped that it might lift the curse.

Exorcisms are also believed to end a Werewolf, as well as piercing the hands, nails or forehead of the creature.