Werewolf Project

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Wolf Masks from Grade 2/3B

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

A Spooky Story

A long time ago, only yesterday, a very wealthy nobleman and his wife lived in a beautiful palace not far from the woods.

One morning a very terrible thing happened. The nobleman was watching television when suddenly an important update was reported. A werewolf had escaped from a sanctuary and had been seen in the woods. Two victims had been killed.

The nobleman ran straight to his wife’s room but she wasn’t there. The nobleman looked all over the palace but she was nowhere to be seen. The nobleman let out a huge yelp and asked for his hunter. The hunter ran right to him.
“What do you want?” said the hunter.
“ I believe my wife was has been kidnapped. I was just watching television when I heard that a werewolf had escaped in the woods and two people have been killed. If my wife is in the woods she will be killed as well. I want you to take this sword to the woods and kill the werewolf”

The hunter ran down to the woods and hid behind a tree. After waiting there for almost two hours he saw the werewolf. The hunter jumped out from behind the tree and cut the werewolves paw off. However, the werewolf was not killed but injured. The werewolf ran from the hunter. The hunter put the bloody paw in the pocket of his shirt and then went back to the palace. The hunter then showed the nobleman the paw. The nobleman believed that he had killed the werewolf but still could not find his wife.

The nobleman walked down to the kitchen to get a bite to eat. To his surprise his wife was making soup with only one hand. The other hand was in the pocket of her apron. The nobleman asked the his wife
“Why are you cooking with one hand?”
His wife replied
“I am using one hand because I am the werewolf your hunter chased in the woods.”

DONG, DONG the clock struck twelve.

The nobleman’s wife started to grow fur.
“What thick hair you have” said the nobleman.
Then suddenly the nobleman’s wife grew big brown eyes and the she started to grow long pointy nails that were as sharp as a knife.
“What long nails you have” said the nobleman.
“The better to stab you with” said the nobleman’s wife and she pounced on him. Blood went everywhere.

Now the nobleman is dead and we all know that all along the werewolf was the nobleman’s wife and that this werewolf ain’t coming back.
At least we hope she is not coming back.

Brittany.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Little Red Mafia Hood

Hi! I'm a wolf! I'm the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, or should we say Little Red Mafia Hood. Here I am sitting in a court room for nothing. You know the story? Well this is my side.

Once upon a time lived a little girl called Little Red Mafia Hood but everyone called her Little Red Riding Hood cause of her coat. One day Little Red Mafia Hood went for a walk to her grandma's. She'd been waiting for this day for ages. She had her eye on her grandma's DVD player, her 33 inch plasma TV and her movie collection. On the way to grandma's house she dropped by a mafia club and picked up two goons. When I saw what was happening I had to warn Grandma so I ran to Grandma's house. When I got there Little Red Mafia Hood was there too and when she saw me she threatened me. She told me to eat her Grandma or she would get the hunter on to my family. I had to say yes! I didn't want to lose my family.

So I barged in! I didn't bother eating the Grandma and hid her in the forest. " Oh crap! I forgot to go back and get her". Oh well! On with the story.

So I told Little Red that the job was done and they stole the DVD player, the 33 inch plasma TV, the whole movie collection and a computer with a DVD burner. While they were there I ran off. Little Red sent the cops after me. Now I am here. Well at least I am only here till Wednesday.

Damon Ansell Grade 5

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Revenge of the Werewolves

The car door opens and a dark figure steps out...

It is a man holding a briefcase. He opens it and gazes in. Suddenly a wild gust of wind swirls the papers and they fall to the ground. A page lands at your feet. You pick it up and read it. It's the same kind of story about 'Revenge of the Werewolves'. You keep reading until the realization hits you. It is about a kid winning a competition, just like you, there is a man, just like you, theand there is a story just like the one you are reading. You convince yourself it is all a silly coincidence.

You decide to let the people in the lodge know that you're here. You step up to the door. The knob is a bit werewolves face. You put your hand on the knob and start to turn it. Just then a sting in your palm makes you jump. You take your hands off the knob and gaze down at your palm. It's bleeding!

You shove the door open with a small push. You're not putting your hand on the handle again! You step inside. It is a huge building with a counter in the middle. You step up to the counter. No one is there. Suddenly a hand taps your shoulder. You turn around slowly. A kid about your age gazes at you solemnly. He wore a T-shirt and faded jeans. "My name is Cory," he said. "Get away from here," he said. You were just to ask why, when voices were heard upstairs. They were coming closer. Cory grabbed your arm and pulled you into a closet. It is pitch black. You peer through the keyhole. You see these creatures. They look like werewolves! They are werewolves! What is going on? Then you hear the most terrifying words. They sent a chill down your spine. "Tonight is the revenge of the werewolves" one of them said. "Whoever is in this building stays here FOREVER!!!

by Demi Grade 5/6

Little Red Cap, Groovy Gran and The Wolf

Grant Grievan worked with Year 7 students when he came to LaTrobe as a part of his student teaching rounds. He engaged and was sufficiently captivated by the Werewolf, Little Red Riding Hood Project that he waxed lyrical. This is his story.

Little Red Cap, Groovy Gran and The Wolf by Grant Grievan

One day there was a girl who was a mad Sydney Swan’s supporter, and therefore she always wore a red Sydney cap. Everyone thought she was so cute and called her Little Red Cap.
One day Little Red Cap’s Groovy Gran sent her an SMS. “Hey LRC Im sik, can u bring chickn soup,” it said.
Little Red Cap loved her Groovy Gran so much that she immediately grabbed a can of soup. “Hey Joan” – for Little Red Cap was going through a teen rebellion stage that involved calling her Mum by the first name – “I’m going to see my Groovy Gran.”
“Ok, as long I don’t need to go,” Joan replied.
Little Red Cap’s Groovy Gran was Little Red Cap’s father’s mother, and Joan and her had never really got along. So Little Red Cap headed off alone, walking down the street to the train station.
After validating her ticket Little Red Cap wandered on the platform where there was a wolf. Little Red Cap liked dogs so she said: “Hi doggy.”
“Woof, woof,” said the Wolf, which clearly meant: “Hello, Little Red Cap, how are you on this fine Autumn morning?”
Little Red Cap was surprised that a Wolf could talk, so she told it her plans for the day. “I’m taking chicken soup to my Groovy Gran.”
“Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof,” said the Wolf, which clearly meant: “Aha.”
Then the train came so Little Red Cap and the Wolf got on. Little Red Cap thought it was funny to see a Wolf on the train, so she laughed.
“Do you have a problem?” a voice said.
Little Red Cap looked up and saw a boy wearing a West Coast Eagles cap. She glared at him.
He glared back.
They glared at each other. And everyone around them were silent, afraid to say anything…
That was except the Wolf, he noticed that Little Red Cap was far too busy glaring and did not notice her stop. He said: “Woof,” which Little Red Cap thoughts meant: “Go the Swans!” but actually meant “If you don’t get off I will and I’ll eat your Groovy Gran.”
Little Red Cap nodded, so the Wolf shrugged, got off and went to find the Groovy Gran. When he got to her house he knocked with his head and almost concussed himself.
“Who is there?” Groovy Gran said.
“Woof.”
“Pardon?”
“Woof.”
“Is that you Little Red Cap?”
“Woof.”
“That wasn’t no, must be yes.” So she opened the door.
He ate her.

Meanwhile Little Red Cap stopped glaring and realized she had gone too far. So she got off the train and caught one going back the other way.
When she arrived at her Groovy Gran’s house she knocked.
“Woof.”
“My, Groovy Gran, you sound like you’re dying. I’m coming in.”
She went in. The Wolf was wearing a sun hat.
“That is the worst attempt at Groovy Gran impersonating I have ever seen.”
“Woof,” said the Wolf, which meant: “****.” But Little Red Cap thought meant: “I ate your Groovy Gran,” which by sheer coincidence was true.
“You ate my Groovy Gran!” Little Red Cap said.
“Woof,” the Wolf said. Which meant: “You gave me permission if you dob me in, I’ll have you up on conspiracy to murder charges.”
“****,” said Little Red Cap. Which meant: “Oops.”
So they decided to cover up the murder, go their own ways and try to live happily ever after.

Shewolf Stories from Latrobe University Diploma of Education Students

In the mountains of Auvergne, a story dating back to 1588 was told of a royal female werewolf. In the story the nobleman was gazing out of his window and upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt. While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf. In the ensuing struggle, he severed one of the wolf's paws and placed it in his pouch.

Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all, in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a feminine hand bearing an elegant gold ring. The nobleman recognised the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his wife. When he came upon her in the kitchen, he found her nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that her hand had been cut off.

Finish this story

Students at LaTrobe University School of Education were presented with the same Shewolf material that had been presented to students ranging in age from Grade1/2 to Year 12. These are some of their stories.

Werewolf by Joanna Seidel

The nobleman goes to the kitchen and sees his wife nursing a wounded arm.....

Her arm is wrapped in a whit cloth and blood is seeping through the layers. She looks at her husband with fear in her eyes, rises slowly and moves to the hearth to lie in front of the fire and keep warm. The nobleman stares at his wife in horror and disbelief. But he loves her. He cannot help but sense how hard it has been for his beloved to live such a double life. He leaves her alone by the kitchen fire and heads for the quiet of his study to devise a plan.

The nobleman waits for the next full moon. An hour before midnight he leaves his bed-chamber and prepares for his sojourn to the deep, dark forest. He carries no weapons, not wanting to appear as a hunter, and meanders slowly with the heart of an old man. He finds a tall tree and leans against its sturdy trunk, waiting for the werewolf to appear. Shortly before midnight he hears the sound of a snapping twig and looks around him. A shadowy figure creeps stealthily across the forest floor, unaware it is being watched. The nobleman opens the package he brought with him from the castle, hoping that the smell of food will bring the creature nearer to his hiding place. His plan works and the animal, its snout in the air and ears alert, pads soflty toward the smell of sustenance. It seems unafraid. It smell no fear from the nobleman. It eats the morsels laid at the nobleman's feet. When sated, it lays down on the forest floor and rests its head near the nobleman's outstretched hand.

The nobleman lays down with the wolf and falls asleep, not stirring until dawn shines its light on the trees above. He sits up, turns his head to look for the wolf but finds he is alone. He feels stiff and sore from his night in the forest, but his neck seems to have suffered the most. He reaches his hand up to rub his sore muscles and touches a recent wound, crusted with dried blood.

The nobleman has no memory of receiving the wound but he finds upon his return to the castle that he feels no fear or horror at the sight of his wife. Tenderness overwhelms him. They never speak of how his beloved lost her hand. There is no need. They are together again now and will sleep indoors no more. Their lives have come together not only in this world, but in another world that will hold their secret forever.

Another Werewolf Story by Mink Schapper

Sir Bob and Lady Madge: a story of love and loss

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there lived a nobleman in a big castle in the countryside. Beyond the castle were deep dark woods, and the villagers said that in the woods there was a werewolf.

The nobleman, (whose name was Sir Bob) sent his hunter out to kill the werewolf. The hunter went into the deep woods, and came across the werewolf. There was a battle, he cut off the werewolf’s right paw, and the werewolf escaped.

The hunter said to himself, “I don’t want to go further into the woods, to find the bleeding, enraged werewolf. He will surely trick me and kill me. I can tell milord that I have, indeed killed the werewolf, showing him the paw as proof.” So he went home to bed, well pleased with himself.

At dawn he rose from his bed, prepared himself to speak to Sir Bob, had a hearty breakfast of porridge with a good dash of salt, and was up at the castle as the people began their day. He presented himself to Sir Bob, telling a story of courage and daring, finishing with a flourish and presenting the paw, wrapped in a bloody kerchief. He quickly left the room, as he’d never been good around blood.

His quick exit was fortuitous. When Sir Bob unwrapped the kerchief, he discovered, not the paw of a wolf, but the fair ringed hand of his wife, Lady Madge. He blanched, then bravely decided to confront Lady Madge with this ghastly evidence of her other life.

Breakfast smells issued from the kitchen, and he could hear his wife’s gentle voice, singing a soothing lullaby, amongst the other busy kitchen noises. He entered the kitchen, and saw, to his dismay, that she was, indeed nursing a wounded arm.
“My darling, dearest. What has happened to you?” he exclaimed.
She cried pitifully, “I was making your favourite meal, wolf-soup, and when I was chopping through the sinews, the hatchet slipped and cut clean through my wrist. My hand fell into the soup, see?”

With trepidation, he peered into the large cauldron, and sure enough, there was a sinewy, gristly hand-looking object, bubbling noisily away, along with the rest of the meat, onions, turnips, herbs and spices. It smelt good.
“Please, my darling!” she pleaded. “To show me how much you love me, please let us eat this meal together, so that we will have taken back into our bodies, that which has been taken away from me?”

Poor Sir Bob was torn. He loved his dear wife, and very much wanted to reassure her of his attachment to her. They would indeed partake of this meal together, but first he needed to have Lady Madge’s dreadful wound attended to. He called the local healer to pay a visit, and she made a draught of healing herbs for Lady Madge to drink, and a poultice to wrap around her stump. After which they ate, and a delicious meal it was indeed.

Sir Bob had many important nobleman duties, so he sent Lady Madge off to bed and recovery. He saddled his horse and rode the countryside, visiting here and there, until night began to fall, and he headed home to his safe castle.

He was quite exhausted, so after a quick bite to eat, he fell into bed, and sleep overcame him as his wife snored close by.

At midnight, he woke with a start, realising that in his shock and haste the morning before he had left the werewolf’s paw/hand in his audience-chamber. He crept out of bed, out into the cold stone hall, and along to the grand room, with his grand chair and the kneeling cushion at its foot, for supplicants to be comfortable. As he walked closer to the chair, he could discern a faint glow, and the bloodied kerchief was opened. The hand had turned again into a wolf’s paw.

Full of fear he sprinted back to find an empty bed, the wedding ring, and tears on his wife’s pillow.

Sir Bob never saw Lady Madge again.

The moral of this story is: if you love your love, (were) warts ‘n all, show them you love all of them, or they might disappear!


More Werewolf Shenanigans by Liz Packett

With a look of disgust on his face, the nobleman asked his wife, "What happened to your hand?" With a confused look on her face, the wife said, "I don't know. I just woke up this morning and it was gone."
Without wasting another moment, the nobleman called for the finest surgeon in the kingdom to reattach his wife's hand.

The surgeon put the nobleman's wife under anaesthetic and sewed the hand back into place. But as he did so a strange thing began to happen. The nobleman's wife started to grow hair, then more hair, then even more hair, until her whole body was covered. There was no denying it now. The nobleman's wife was a werewolf!

So horrified was the nobleman that he ordered the surgeon to pump up the levels of anaesthetic until his wife/werewolf was dead.

After a hasty but tasteful funeral, the nobleman went on a holiday to the neighbouring kingdom. Here, he a wealthy and attractive young woman with no werewolf tendencies. They were promptly married and the nobleman couldn't be happier. However, there were a few things about his new wife that did seem a little strange. Like the fact that she didn't like the sun, had a fondness for bats and tended to shrivel up when garlic was served in her pasta...

The Hand That Feeds You by Rebecca Reggars

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a nobleman who lived in a big castle. Beyond the castle were the deep dark woods and the villagers used to say that a werewolf lived in the woods. The nobleman, displeased with the thought of a ware wolf living so near to the castle, sent a hunter into the deep dark woods to kill the werewolf. The hunter bravely entered the deep dark woods and stumbled across the ware wolf. They fought. The werewolf, trying to defend itself, was strong but the hunter prevailed and cut off the poor werewolf’s paw. The unjustly injured werewolf limped away favouring his injured leg now devoid of its paw. The hunter hadn’t done his job – he hadn’t killed the werewolf, but he knew that the werewolf didn’t deserve to be killed. It was causing no pains to anyone … it was just trying to exist. The hunter decided to deceive the nobleman and to take the werewolf’s paw in a pouch to the castle to prove that he had “killed” the “wicked beast”.

Back at the castle, the nobleman opened the pouch presented to him by the hunter with a triumphant smirk. But when he looked inside the pouch, the smirk was replaced by a look of pure horror. There was no paw inside the pouch. There was a hand. A feminine hand with a beautiful ring on its ring finger. The nobleman recognised the ring immediately as the engagement ring he had given to his wife. Praising the hunter for having done a “good job” the nobleman walked down the stairs to the kitchen holding on to the railing to keep him steady for his heart was pounding and his head was spinning. Could she, his beautiful wife, be a filthy beast? In the kitchen his wife stood by the fire nursing her arm with a steady stream of tears cascading down her peach-coloured cheeks.

He approached her slowly, gingerly. “My love?” he began in a tremor, barely able to hear his voice over the sound of his own heart thumping so rapidly and forcefully that he feared it would escape from his chest. “What has happened to your … hand?” he managed to ask. His wife looked up at him. The tears had stopped streaming down her face but had stained her peach-coloured cheeks a crimson red. He stepped back. There was something in her eyes that frightened him. Sensing his fear, she looked away and moved from the fire to the kitchen bench where she began to chop carrots. He couldn’t help but notice that she only used one hand and that the other, seemingly injured, hand that she had been previously nursing was hidden behind her back. Anger now replacing his fear the nobleman asked again: “What happened to your hand?”. She said nothing but smiled wryly. “I asked you a question!” screamed the nobleman as he walked over to her and again repeated “what happened to your hand?”. The woman stopped chopping carrots and looked into his eyes. “What hand?” she asked innocently. Fed up, the nobleman grabbed the arm that was concealed behind her and screamed when he saw that there was nothing but a bloody stump where her beautiful, fragile wrist should have been. “What hand?” repeated the wife then in a deafeningly loud, high pitched voice screamed: “I HAVE NO HAND!”. The nobleman stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Regaining her composure the woman said: “Your hunter failed” she then picked up the knife she had been using to chop carrots with and slit his throat. She then washed the blood from the knife, and took it upstairs with her where she opened the safe, took the jewels and money and some of her favorite personal effects, placed them neatly in a suitcase, and left the castle, explaining to one of the (female) servants on the way out that a burglar had come into the castle, killed her husband, cut off one of her hands and forced her to open the safe from which he stole all of their money and jewels. The servant smiled knowingly and said: “I rather thought he would have taken you with him as a hostage” to which the woman replied: “He did”. The servant winked, and waited a good two hours before calling the authorities.

It is said that the “burglar” killed the woman as soon as they were clear of the village and that her ghost reappeared exactly one year later and cut off one of the hunter’s hands. This of course can not be proven though, for who would believe such a story?

The moral of this story: don’t cut off the hand that feeds you.

Label Your Wolfbane Clearly by Grant Grievan

In the mountains of Auvergne, a story dating back to 1588 was told of a royal female werewolf. In the story the nobleman was gazing out of his window and upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt.

While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf. In the ensuing struggle, he severed one of the wolf's paws and placed it in his pouch. Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all, in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a feminine hand bearing an elegant gold ring.

The nobleman recognised the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his wife. When he came upon her in the kitchen, he found her nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that her hand had been cut off. Upon questioning his wife she finally admitted to being the wolf the hunter had encountered in the forest.

"How did this happen?" the nobleman asked his wife.
"Well", his wife answered "I was making some soup last Tuesday and the cook mislabelled the herbs. I was trying to add parsley and instead I added Wolfbane. Now I am a Werewolf."

The Nobleman got scared and he ran away screaming like a little girl. It was only when he passed the window and saw the full moon that he felt himself change.

Fear filled him for he had eaten the soup too.

Just then the Hunter came around the corner, saw the Nobleman and threw a silver dagger into him.

He died.

The moral of this story is to always label your wolfbane clearly.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

To Grandmother's House

Her name is Radu and she lives down the street from my Grandmother's house.

Radu and my Grandmother are friends and have been friends for over 50 years. They've traveled together, gone shopping together, done all those old lady things together like drink tea and take in the odd bingo game together.

And while my Grandmother has aged gracefully her friend Radu has not. In fact, Radu has not aged at all.

Recently her hair has turned gray, and there are traces of wrinkles around her eyes and near her mouth, across her forehead. Laugh lines I think they're called. I'm pretty sure that like the streaks of gray the lines are cosmetic.

Convincing but cosmetic.

Radu is patient and kind and sometimes when she thinks no one is looking her eyes flame orange. It's enough to give you a heart attack, but once you get use to it, it's not so bad. Because freaky eyes or not, she's Radu.

She's Radu who can do magic tricks, can guess what the faces on cards are before you turn them over, who sings loudest of all even though she has an awful voice and is tone deaf as well.

My Grandmother's best friend Radu who I've known for all my life.

Last Halloween though, I met the real Radu.

I was walking to my Grandmother's house instead of driving because it was a pretty Autumn evening, there were wonderful Halloween decorations in almost every yard and the children in their costumes racing around the streets was magical, fun.

It made me wish I was young enough to Trick or Treat again.

It was about a block away from my Grandmother's house that I noticed the figure in the black coat. The coat was long and had silver buttons down the front. The person wearing it had long black hair and was powerfully built with wide shoulders and because the jacket was form fitting I could see the arms were muscular too.

Was it a light from a passing car or maybe the light of the bright Harvest Moon when the clouds moved away from it’s face that cast enough light for me to see a set of flaming orange golden eyes from across the road? I don't know.

But I saw them.

They were Radu’ s eyes, but the figure, it was all wrong. Radu was an average sized woman with shoulder length hair. The person I saw looked like they worked out, that they were built as the saying goes, to inflict some serious hurt.

It wasn't her, I told myself because those eyes I took for Radu’ s lacked her humor.

I turned away and started to walk. From across the road the figure dropped back but I could hear it walk across dried fallen leaves.

Then the air turned cold and I could hear what I thought was something from behind me taking a long deep breath. Then my head was pulled back and the sky disappeared behind a terrible face. It was a blank pale face, its eyes were black and empty and it had far to many teeth.

Horrible pointed teeth.

And before I could cry out, strike out something knocked me aside and it was on my attacker. There was a growl, tearing sounds and both figures seemed to be embracing. Then one stood and the other fell to the ground.

When I stood I was looking at the figure in the black coat with the silver buttons.

Its face was heavy, the jaw was heavy, the brow bone was heavy and close up the figure was even more imposing then it was from across the road.

It was Radu of course and if I were to say what her now changed face reminded me of it was animal like...wolf like almost.

She couldn't speak well; it was as if she weren't use to talking. " You have to watch out for those Vampires Sarah. They're nasty things. "

Then she reached down for the dead man and nodded up towards my Grandmother's house. " Time for you to go, time for me to eat. Yes? "

All I could think to say was, " Happy Halloween Radu. "

She tossed the figure over her should and walked away from me, towards the cemetery.

Singing... off key of course.

The Shewolf's Real Story!

In the mountains of Auvergne, a story dating back to 1588 was told of a royal female werewolf. In the story the nobleman was gazing out of his window and upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt.

( So far, that sounds about right. That's about all my husband the Nobleman did in those days...he believed one of our station should never do anything, that's what the help was for. Fetch this fetch that turn your head and cough for me, ask about a hunt instead of riding out and taking a look for himself. )

While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf.

(That was me, only at the time I wasn't a wolf. I mean, think about it, daylight no full moon. I was out for a ride alone and the hunter? He had Roman Fingers and Russian Hands...if you get my drift.)

In the ensuing struggle, he severed one of the wolf's paws and placed it in his pouch.

(Sicko, when he couldn't get me to submit he cut off my hand and tried to take my head. But even in human form I'm not exactly without defenses. In fact, had I not lost my hand I could've snapped his neck.)

Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all, in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a feminine hand bearing an elegant gold ring.

(He never had my 'paw' but he had to explain what he thought were my poor hacked up remains...and remember there was always the chance someone say us talking in the Woods that day. I always rode on well traveled paths. Safety first you know.)

The nobleman recognized the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his wife. When he came upon her in the kitchen, he found her nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that her hand had been cut off. Upon questioning his wife she finally admitted to being the wolf the hunter had encountered in the forest and...

( By the time he found me in the kitchen the sun was starting to set and I was going to change...it was a full moon that night. So I told him, indeed I was a Werewolf but I wasn't a wolf that afternoon and that I hadn't attacked the Hunter. He attacked me first.Now my husband was a spoiled rich pampered Nobleman. But he wasn't a bad spoiled rich pampered Nobleman. As far as they go, he was an upright guy.

He asked me, after seeing my stump and cut neck, would I remember the Hunter? Could I find him if I wanted to?

Oh yes, I told him, after all, we Werewolves travel in packs. If I couldn't find him one of the others could. But all the same, the Hunter and I would meet again. My husband smiled...smirked really and kissed my cheek. Then he told me to have a pleasant evening and that he would see me in the morning. )

That's my story...the real story of the Shewolf of Auvergne

Good Wolf Bad Wolf

As a part of the Werewolf project that I have undertaken with students, ranging in age from from Prep through to Diploma of Education students at LaTrobe University, we read a few versions of Little Red Riding Hood.

Apart from fracturing this old fairy story we decided that there were so many variations to this classic tale that the wolf could have been framed - might well have been innocent all along. Grade Two and Three students have had a wonderful time making good/bad wolf masks and they have put forward defenses and also had the wolf admit it's guilt.

Ruth Stott, from Reservoir East got right into the spirit of the project and has shown her students the good and bad wolves. You be the judge as to what the truth really is about that big bad wolf that featured in so many clssic tales.

The Guilty Wolf

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

You know why I am here sitting in this jail. I was caught trying to catch and eat Red Riding Hood and her grandmother.

You know those stories about me trying to eat them well they are true. But that is not all of it. Not everyone knows about my other little ventures, which alas have failed.

It was me who tried to catch and eat those cutesy pie little pigs.

It wasn't a mean old witch who tried to eat Hansel and Gretel. It was me. I am really good at disguises.

And it was me that caused Sleeping Beauty to prick her finger on the spinning wheel. That stupid prince foiled my plan.

It wasn't the wicked stepmother who poisoned Snow White with the apple. I had already eaten her stepmother, which I wasn't really happy about because I admired how her brain worked. As I said, I am really good at disguises.

And I am good at escaping, which is what I am about to do in a few minutes.

My final piece of advice is to check out your teacher because I have done my homework. Teachers always have kids near them and I love to eat kids. If there is a kid in your grade missing after lunch they may not have gone home sick or to the dentist. They may jsut have been my lunch.

I Have Been Framed

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

I suppose you are wondering why I am sitting here in this cage. Well this is why! That girl is a liar. She tells really big whoppers. She is Little Red Riding Hood. I didn't try to eat her grandmother. All those stories she told about me are lies. This is what really happpened.

It was a beautiful spring morning and I was wandering through the woods picking flowers for my grandmother. Suddenly out from behind a tree jumped Little Red Riding Hood. Boy did she give me a scare. She gave me the evil look and asked what I was doing and where I was going. I was so frightened I told her that I was picking flowers for my grandmother who was sick and that I was going to give them to her. She asked me where grandmother lived. I told her in the cave at the end of the woods. Then just as quickly she disappeared.

What I didn't know was that Red Riding Hood had run to my grandmother's cave, tricked here way inside by pretending to be me and locked my grandmother in the cupboard. Then she hopped in to my grandmother's bed and pulled the blankets up to her head and pretended to be asleep.

When I got to my grandmother's cave I called out to her to let her know I was there. I didn't just walk in because that would have been rude.

I walked up to my grandmother's bed to give her the flowers and ask how she was. I thought it was unusual that my grandmother would hide her face from me but maybe she didn't want me to catch whatever was making her sick.

I sat on the floor next to my grandmother's bed to talk to her and tell her what I had been doing at school. Then I noticed something strange. My grandmother had shrunk and lost a lot of weight. She wasn't taking up very much space in bed. Slowly I stood up and went up to the top of the bed and gently pulled back the blankets.

Boy did I get a fright. Out of that bed jumped Little Red Riding Hoood with a hatchet in her hand and a mean look on her face. Well I screamed and ran. I ran until I could run no longer. She was getting closer. I was so out of breath. I stopped to try to catch my breath. I could see a man cutting wood. I thought he would be able to help. But I was wrong. Red Riding Hood had seen him too. She suddenly stopped chasing me and screamed and yelled.
"Help! Help! The wolf is trying to catch me."
I couldn't believe my ears,

Well do you think that man was goin going to believe me. No way. He took one look at me and one look at her and decided it was me trying to hurt her.

I turned around and ran. I was so tired I couldn't run very fast. He quickly caught me and threw me to the ground. Then he hit me on the head with a big pieces of wood. It knocked me out.

When I woke up I was all tied up in a cage. Red Riding Hood was standing there telling the police that I had attacked her grandmother. Did anyone believe me? No.

So that is why I am sitting here in this cage in the zoo. The worst thing is that I don't even know what happened to my grandmother and my mother thinks I am mean and horrible. There is no way that I can get her to hear my side of the story.

Ruth Stott - Reservoir East Primary School

The She-Wolf

The night was the stormiest night I have ever recalled in all my life. The rain was coming down so heavy no one even dared to leave their homes. The thunder struck like a cat of nine tails hitting a condemned man for the worst of penalties. I was sitting in my study, surveying the storm from the window behind my desk. It surely was horrific. My darling wife, Catharine, was sitting in the lounge, knitting. She always does that when she’s fretting about something. My two children, my son Edward and daughter Elizabeth were sitting there with her, playing cards. I don’t know where my dog Harlow was, probably laying on his bed, as he always does. The rain poured down for hours and hours, and I just sat there waiting for it to pass, so I could go hunting to get my family a decent feed for the next day. Finally I gave up and went to my bedroom. My kids had gone to bed hours ago. I thought my wife had to but, noticing she wasn’t there I gathered she was just continuing her knitting.

I awoke early the next morning to sunshine and blue skies. Surprisingly there was no evidence of the storm the night before, I thought as I looked out the window. My children were out there with Harlow. I looked for my wife; she was in the kitchen, making breakfast. I noted her nursing her hand. I enquired her about it but she just said something about knitting. I told her that that cut would be impossible to do whilst knitting, but she insisted on it and changed the subject. Not wanting to fight I just ate my breakfast passively, and went out to hunt food for the evening.

If only I realised then.

It was exactly four weeks after that night. My wife had been acting ever so strangely during the whole time but she insisted it was just a small head cold. Anyway, on this night my wife was out, playing cards with her friends or something, it’s this monthly ritual they decided to start. My children were in the rumpus room with my sister Penelope. I walked outside. The night was perfect for hunting. I called to my sister to take care of Edward and Elizabeth, before I grabbed my shotgun and walked out into the night. The moon came out from under the clouds and shone brightly. It made me realise how lively the forest is at night. I heard a wolf howl in the distance and my skin crawl. I hated wolves. But that was not nearly as much as I hated werewolves.

We once had one in my old town, then two, then four, before the whole town was flooded with them. Only a lucky few survived and fled. I have never known what exactly the wolves are, as the stories are varied so much it is hard to tell which ones are even close to the truth. I know that they are like normal wolves, except are larger and are able to stand on their hind legs at ease. They have huge rigid backs and no mercy. And how they are created, well I’ve only heard of two stories that could be even close to the truth. The first one tells the tail of the devil. In this tail, werewolves were people suffering from mental illnesses usually. The person will go outside to an isolated place and start to draw a circle in the dirt. In the middle of this circle the werewolves would light a fire. He would put on the skin of a wolf which he and only he had killed and rub a magical ointment on his body. Then he would pray to the Devil. At the end of this, the skin of the wolf would turn into their own skin and they would become a werewolf, and go off for their search of prey.

But I think this would be for only the first werewolf, if any. For I believe that a werewolf can only become what they are, by being bitten by another. Once they are bitten, that is it. There is no cure. Once it is found out the person is sent out to be hung, in broad daylight, to make sure that they never feast on another humans flesh. This is what most people believe how werewolves come about.

I listened to another howl. This one seemed closer, and I started to feel anxious of my surroundings. I heard a sound from behind me. I swung around and saw a bush shaking ferociously. I quickly swung my shotgun up over my shoulder and put it in position. The bush seemed to keep on shaking and my feet felt frozen to the spot. Then out jumped…a family of rabbits. I sighed and lowered my shotgun in relief. Wait…I picked my shotgun up again…do I think my family feels like rabbit stew?

I began walking back home, feeling very pleased with myself. My family now had a decent few days of feed ahead of them. I looked around at my surroundings. I liked the way this village looked at night. The way the old cottages looked like something at of a fairytale, and the way the lake shone as bright as the sun on a summer’s day. Everyone seemed to but at ease with everyone. It was then I heard a man’s desperate yell.

I ran in the direction I had heard the yell. It was only two blocks away, near the edge of the forest, where the trees were so close together they seemed like a cramped passageway. I walked down it and at the end I found my good friend being attacked by a werewolf. At least it seemed like a werewolf. It was the same build, yes, but it was slightly smaller, the paws where not as wide, and the facial features weren’t as long as usual. But it was a werewolf all the same. I picked up a large stick and swung it above my head, before throwing it onto the fiend. It turned my way. By now some other people arrived from the village, some holding sticks of fire. They also threw them at the wolf. It stood up on its hind legs, with quite ease, and caught them before throwing them back. The people screamed and ran for shelter. I got out my shotgun and shot at its head and chest, just as the clouds shifted and covered the moon.

At first I thought the bullets had worked. The werewolf let off a deafening howl. It seemed as though it was in agony. It stood, grasping its head with its two paws, moaning and groaning so much that I could not understand what was happening. Then it started to shrink in size. Its paws turned to hands and feet, then the legs and arms, then the body and the head. No…it seemed impossible, how could this be? The werewolf was not a werewolf. It was a she-wolf. It was Catharine. I couldn’t breathe. I knew the penalty for being a werewolf or she-wolf. She was going to be hanged.

I know now that the cut Catharine ha d received was not from her knitting, but from a werewolf. She had been out to fetch some fresh water from the well before morning when it struck. I only wish I heard her scream. I also know that werewolves do not mean the things they do, it is just bad luck. The worst luck. But now she’s dead, and I’m left to take care of Edward and Elizabeth and Harlow on my own, and I just can’t help thinking, if only.

Natalie Hogan

Wolf Wife

In the mountains of Auvergne, a story dating back to 1588 was told of a royal female werewolf. In the story the nobleman was gazing out of his window and upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt.

While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf. In the ensuing struggle, he severed one of the wolf's paws and placed it in his pouch. Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all, in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a feminine hand bearing an elegant gold ring.

The nobleman recognised the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his wife. When he came upon her in the kitchen, he found her nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that her hand had been cut off. Upon questioning his wife she finally admitted to being the wolf the hunter had encountered in the forest and by her confession.

The nobleman could not believe what he was hearing, how could he have missed the signs that his wife was a wolf.
“How did you manage to hide his from me for so many years?” the shocked Nobleman said.
“It was not hard. I only turn in to a wolf when there is a full blue moon.”
“I was born half human and half wolf, when my mother was caring me inside of her, a wolf came up and bit her on the leg while she was collecting sticks for the fire and the venom only affected her un-born daughter (me)” the wife responed.
“How can we cure this?” the nobleman said with hope in his voice.
“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND!” the wife screamed.
“Why can't you take me for who I am? There is no cure for this!”
“Why don’t you understand??!!” the upset wife replied.
The nobleman stormed out and left the wife standing there in the middle of the room not knowing what was going on.

The nobleman returned many hours later with an extra spring in his step.
“I've got it!” he said with excitement
“'The next full blue moon when you turn into a wolf again I want you to bite me on the leg!” he continued
“Why?” the wife responded
“So that I can be like you and we can go through the forest together, I love you wife and I want to be by your side for ever" he replied.

Nicole Sheehan

Little Red

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away lived a little girl named Little Red. She was called Little Red because she was the only red haired girl in the kingdom.

One day Little Red went out of the kingdom with a basket of goodies that she took everywhere she went to meet up with her aunty who lived just along the shore out of the kingdom. While she was on her way to her Aunty's place, Little Red stumbled on to a big ugly troll.
"Hello little girl, where are you going?" asked the troll in charming voice.
Little Red replied "I'm going to visit my Aunty on the beach shore with my basket of goodies that I bring everywhere."
"Then go ahead, I'm not going to stop you" said the troll.

So Little Red skipped ahead picking up flowers along the way. The moment Little Red left the troll's stomach began to growl and he realised he had not eaten in two weeks.
"I gotta have the basket.!" the troll yelled, as he quickly dashed through a cave that led to the beach shore. The troll got to Little Red's Aunty's house before Little Red did and knocked on the door. The Aunty said "Who is it?" in an old an brittle voice. The troll got out a club, smashed the door open and replied "Troll" as he smacked her over the head with the club. The troll dragged the Aunty into her bed, covered her up and fixed the door.

Little Red came knocking on the door about five minutes later. The troll called, in a sweet but ugly tone "come in..." Little Red went in and walked up to her Aunty who was in bed. As she did this the troll snuck up from behind and clubbed her over the head, took the basket of goodies and ran off.

It was happy ever after for the troll.

by Joshua A (Year 7 LaTrobe Secondary College)

Little Red Riding Hood - Crime Revealed

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

Warning: Some readers may be disturbed by some of the images in this news report. Don't ever tell this tale to your kids.

Breaking News: Little Red Riding Hood Crime Revealed
Reporter: Heather Blakey

The thylacine, or Tasmanian Tiger looked like a large, long dog, with stripes, a heavy stiff tail and a big head. Its scientific name, Thylacinus cynocephalus, means pouched dog with a wolf's head. Fully grown it measured about 180 cm (6 ft) from nose to tail tip, stood about 58 cm (2 ft) high at the shoulder and weighed up to 30 kg. The short, soft fur was brown except for 13 - 20 dark brown-black stripes that extended from the base of the tail to almost the shoulders. The stiff tail became thicker towards the base and appeared to merge with the body.

Tasmanian Tigers were said to be usually mute, but when anxious or excited made a series of husky, coughing barks. When hunting, they gave a distinctive terrier-like, double yap, repeated every few seconds.

The tiger was shy and secretive and always avoided contact with humans. Despite its common name, 'tiger' it had a quiet, nervous temperament compared to its little cousin, the Tasmanian devil. Captured animals generally gave up without a struggle, and many died suddenly, apparently from shock. When hunting, the tiger relied on a good sense of smell, and stamina. It was said to pursue its prey relentlessly, until the prey was exhausted. The tiger was rarely seen to move fast, but when it did it appeared awkward. It trotted stiffly, and when pursued, broke into a kind of shambling canter.

Since 1936, no conclusive evidence of a tiger has been found. However, the incidence of reported tiger sightings has continued. There have been hundreds of sightings since 1936, many of which may have been clear cases of misidentification.

During the nineteen eighties Parks and Wildlife Officer, Richard Malrooney, was said to have undertaken an extensive but unsuccessful search to confirm a 1982 sighting reported near the Arthur River in the State's northwest.

Now twenty three years later startling information has emerged which has shocked Tasmanian residents and left a cloud, darker than the crimes committed against the native aboriginal population and the wretched inhabitants of the Port Arthur Penal Colony. It appears that Parks and Wildlife were compelled to suppress Richard Malrooney’s startling report that rare DNA, extracted from skeletal remains was found in bottled jars of ethanol on the dusty shelf of a house in a remote part of Northern Tasmania. Only last year more Frankenstein style remains were found there. Amongst these was a well-preserved, one hundred and thirty six year old Tasmanian tiger pup.

It has now emerged that a young girl and her grandmother conspired to undertake horrific experiments on these innocent creatures in a cottage in the wilds of Tasmania during the late eighteen nineties and the first part of the nineteenth century. It appears that they relentlessly pursued the Tasmanian tiger, trapped them and committed heinous crimes against them. They covered their actions by spreading the story that these carnivorous animals were a threat to both humans and livestock. Bounties were put on the head of tigers and hundreds of the animals were trapped, snared, shot and poisoned near their property. No one had guessed that these well respected women kept a terrible secret.

They were sadists.

Little Red Riding Hood, as the young woman was known throughout the small town of Keltro, was in the habit of going to work with her grandmother each weekend. She always wore a red cape and spent time in what was then known as the Asbestos Range National Park.

Narawntapu National Park, as it is now called, stretches from the low coastal ranges to the long Bass Strait beaches, and includes an historic farm, a complex of inlets, small islands, headlands, wetlands, dunes and lagoons, all with an amazing variety of plants and animals.

Red Riding Hood and her grandmother were well respected in the small community of Keltro. The Westwards had farmed the region for years. Red Riding Hood’s grandmother had come to Tasmania in 1835 on the Resource with other free settlers from England. Lucinda Westward had a Licence in Midwifery and was a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons. From about 1815 the colony began to grow rapidly as free settlers arrived and lands were opened up for farming. Lucinda Westward was the eldest daughter of Isaiah Spencer Westward an English farmer who claimed land in the Keltro region.

The beautiful, incredibly talented Westward became a prominent colonial medical "specialist", a surgeon. In the early days, she was mainly called upon to restore or amputate damaged limbs. Great advances in anatomical knowledge during the early colonial period, derived from the dissection of human bodies, greatly increased the range of feasible operations. After the advent of anaesthetics and later of disinfectants in the middle of the nineteenth century she is said to have ventured into the abdominal cavity, the neck, and the chest. These operations were mainly performed under chloroform.

Westward had some experience in obstetrics and gynaecology and in latter years strayed into the doubtful provenances of mesmerism and electrotherapy. She was highly successful and became very wealthy. Upon her retirement she chose to become reclusive and live in the cottage, adjacent to the Asbestos Ranges and despite the humble appearance of her home lived in luxury. What no one knew was that although she maintained the appearance of a congenial, aging doctor, Lucinda Westward was dabbling in evil arts and she had found creatures to experiment upon. Isaiah Westward had always complained that a wolf like creature was eating his stock and Lucinda decided to take her revenge and experiment on this ancient species.

To capture these shy and secretive creatures, which generally avoided any human contact, Lucinda sent her granddaughter into the park with her basket to play among the butterflies and flowers that littered them. The girl had a special skill. She was able to communicate with all creatures and she enchanted even the hesitant Tasmanian tiger. When Red Riding took off her hooded red cape to reveal terrible bruises and scars the tiger went willingly to Grandmother’s house to protect her from the torture so cruelly inflicted upon her. Once there the beast was locked in a barren steel cage and subjected to unspeakable torture.

Malrooney, now retired, told reporters that the ghastly scene of mangled bodies parts in bottles found at the long abandoned Westward property left him permanently traumatised. He reported that these animals were routinely cut open, subjected to surgical operations, poisoned and forced to live in dark, barren steel cages for years. Many were left to suffer and die in these cages without any pain relief.

Today the Narawntapu National Park is a place of peace. However, many visitors to the park have reported sighting creatures that look like Tasmanian Tigers and have said that they have smelled their distinctive odour and heard husky coughing barks late at night. If you are out walking this park late at night you might hear the spine chilling, high pitched screeches of a Tasmanian Devil or smell the distinctive odour of the Tasmanian Tiger. If you do, get away from there as fast as you can - you are in grave danger. The legacy of Lucinda Westward and her granddaughter lives on in the forest where followers, generations removed, continue the practice of evil she began so long ago. Watch your step carefully! The ghostly spirits of tortured creatures regularly avenge the dead.

"What I think about vivisection is that if people admit that they have the right to take or endanger the life of living beings for the benefit of many, there will be no limit to their cruelty." Leo Tolstoy

Monday, May 09, 2005

Carnivore Rising

As light turns to dusk, hunters from above and beyond, come together in the forest. Armed and loaded, looking for those blasted dingo’s that have destroyed and traumatised live stock for the past six months. The sharp barking of tracker dogs set out a cry of gun fire. When silence fell, they had realised that they were in the wrong section of the forest. For one hour they have been firing into space, wasting time and effort. After one more hour, they packed it up and drove away, except for one. A local hunter an outcast to the community, continued on his search, hoping to gain local pride and respect for ending the carnivores rain of terror.

An hour goes past, still no sight of the malicious carnivore. His dog looked restless grasping for air. The night air grows cold and unforgiving. The hunter decides to turn back, and follow the others lead. Were the hunters in the wrong area of the forest? Or was it something bigger then expected?The hunter walks down the path, hearing howling noises getting closer and closer. The hairs on the back of his neck have stood up, as silence fall. He decides to run the rest of the way, and shortly trips over. He falls to the ground hard, with something large breaking his fall. A smooth liquid covered his hands, still unaware of what lay beneath him. He turned on his torch and let out a terrifying scream. The body of a local hunter, ripped apart, with a hand missing. He gets up and tried to run but something large is standing on the path. He stops, the figure stood there without a movement. The figure lifts its arms up with a spine tingling roar. The hunter turns around, and starts to run, but to his amazement the figure is in front of him once more. He turns around to find that the figure has gone. He turns around again, the figure is in his face, snarling, breathing heavily. He turns the torch on in its face, the Jaws of Life open up, the torch drops, blood covered on the dirt path.

That was six months ago, the mysterious creature still traumatises the town and stock. Since that first siting sxin months ago the death toll has risen to ten. The forest has been closed off to the community until the mysterious creature is found and removed.

My name is Joseph Bloggs; my father went missing in 1962 after entering the forest. It is January 6th 1963, exactly six months to the day. I wondered whether I’d ever see my dad again. What had become of him remains a mystery, but the dangers that lie within the trees is an even greater mystery and sets the stage for an adventure. My bags are packed; I’m going into the forest, with a grave fear of not returning alive.

As I walk through the peaceful valley leading to the forest, I pull out my machete and tie it to my belt. I hope I do not have to use it, but for my own protection I’ll keep it by my side. I reach the forest fence, not able to jig the lock. I decided to jump the fence. Once I was over, I was pulled down by someone, or something. It was the local sheriff, not looking too pleased at my stunt.“What are you doing here boy? You know this area is off limits”I watch on with no reply hoping he will just knick off, so I can get on with the job I came here to do.“So…answer me!!!!”I try to get up and run, but he grabbed me by the arm, when suddenly something launches from the trees.

Oh my god it’s really happening, the thing has taken the sheriff hostage. I reach for my machete, but it was too late. The animal snapped the sheriff’s neck, like it was a bread roll. I start taking small steps back but I’m trapped. I am right against the fence line with the creature advancing. Sirens sound and brakes screech, gun shots were released. The creature scattered into the forest dodging what was left of the shots. I fell to the ground, with a sigh of relief, as uniformed men approached me. I blacked out, but I felt the weight of floor as I was dragged into a vehicle.

I wake up in a cell, my hands tied back behind the seat. A cold room, with a large mirror on the side of it. The door opens, two men with suits and black glasses walk in. My heart starts to race as they approach me; one of them pulls out a knife, and cuts the rope around my hands.
“What do you want with me?” I asked, silence continued its agonising toll.“You have seen something you were not meant to see”.What is this guy on about, everyone knows about this creature.“It is not wise to throw away your life so foolishly Mr Bloggs”.I remained still not moving a muscle. The intimidation is taking its toll on my body, and I start to tremble.“Only you can see what is beyond the carnivore’s terror, you know who or what it is deep inside, but you refuse to believe it”.I really don’t know what this guy is on about; this must be some kind of joke or something.“Forget your conquest Mr Bloggs, I believe the truth behind what you want to see, is fear”.I cop a blow to the head, darkness once again.

I walk outside in a misty valley; it must be early morning because the mist is so terribly thick.“Joseph!!!!!”I turn around, no ones around, that same voice calling my name said it again behind me, I turn once more, and no one is there. Shadows engulf my surroundings, the voice repeats itself I turn, and it does it again this time its close. I turn once more; my father is less then an inch away. I fall backwards to the ground.“Father, you’re alive” he does not reply.Suddenly his face changes into the face of my attacker. It lets out a terrifying laugh it leaps I scream.I wake up in my bed I felt my body, no injuries. What a dream.

I can’t help wonder if that’s what the man in the suit meant? Is my father a monster? I walk to the window and stare at the misty rained out paddock. I close my eyes for a brief second to deal with what I have just seen. I open my eyes, I see my father in the distance, standing in the paddock. I shake my head and look out once more. I see the monster, carrying something in its claw. Oh my god it’s a head! Whose is it? The creature turns away and walks towards the forest. I ran out the door with my machete, and ran into the fog. I lost it, I hear chains rattling. I am not alone, but I do not fear death. I shout to the creature‘Show yourself! Where is my father? Show yourself!'A spine tingling roar, sounds, it felt like I just jumped out of my skin. I turn and hear the creatures laugh once more. Suddenly, it disappears and moved swiftly in front of me, as if teleported itself. My stomach stung as blood dripped to the ground. I was slashed. The creature returned to its original position ‘you will die!!!’ it shouted as it teleported itself again. Suddenly a shot was fired; the creature fell on top of me, dead. The man in the black suit with his shot gun had finished the job off for me.

I roll the creature over and a terrifying site is what I saw. My father, eyes closed, without a movement. A drip fell from my eye, as my body filled with adrenalin. I got up and ran towards the man with the rifle and threw punches wildly. Bang, one more shot was fired.‘The gene pool Mr Bloggs, runs in the family, you would have soon became a carnivore”. I fall to my knees this is the end. I fall face first into the grass without any resistance.

This was my brother’s story, my name is James Bloggs, and I’ve documented my brother’s journals. I was there in the distance when my brother was shot. I have been living on the run for the past 18 years hiding away, making sure I live to tell this tale. The town will pay for the death of my brother.

As I look into the mirror, a familiar snarling face starts to appear. I walk out the door, with a terrifying roar; I will have my revenge on this town. This is my story, the man in the suit was right, when he spoke about looking beyond the carnivore’s terror, and finding out the truth. Well they have eliminated part of the truth, forgetting I am the last sibling.

Tim Enklemann

Wolfy Business

T'was the story of a nobleman who was gazing out of his window. Upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt. While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf. “Alas! A wolf”, exclaimed the hunter. The wolf made a snarling sound and made a break for freedom. The hunter soon gave chase. The wolf soon tired out, and slowed to a walking pace. The hunter dived on the beast in an attempt to rid the forest of such a horrible creature. In the ensuing struggle, the hunter severed one of the wolf's paws with his BBQ utensil kit, and placed it in his duffle bag, in a weird sadistic ritual. The hunter looked forward to consuming the wolfy prize, with cheese and crackers upon returning to his hired BBQ facility pre-ordered at the local roller ring. Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, in readiness for the consumption, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all; in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a masculine hand bearing an elegant gold ring. The nobleman recognised the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his boyfriend. When he came upon him in the garage, next to the blueprints and designs of the contraption he had called “the wheel” on the walls, he found him nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that his hand had been cut off. Upon questioning his boyfriend, he finally admitted to being the wolf the hunter had encountered in the forest.

“Brutus, how come you didn’t tell me that you were a wolf?”“I did meet you at the gay bar for wolves five years ago!” exclaimed Brutus, “Didn’t you twig then?” "I just thought that you had a lot of body hair!” the nobleman stated abruptly."Clearly you were wrong, young nobleman", stated Brutus.The nobleman, stood stunned for several seconds. “I can’t believe this is happening to me”, he thought over and over in his head.Brutus was bleeding heavily from the stump of the wound.“This is hurting badly”, he said “is there anything we can do to fix this problem?”“Nope, all we can do is eat it. This was my intention when I cut it off your arm in the first place”.Brutus screamed. “Nooooooooo” he exclaimed.“Alright, alright, we’ll sew it back on”, said the nobleman. “Come over to the sewing machine.”

It took over an hour for the nobleman to attach the severed arm to Brutus’s bloody stump. The duo was exhausted. Especially Brutus. He had spent most of the time screaming at the top of his lungs. The pain was gargantuan, but the ordeal was finally over.

“Phew”, said Brutus.
“Thanks for that”
“You’re welcome” stated the nobleman,
“I hope this doesn’t come between us”.
“Nah, you’re alright, it was my fault. I’ll never morph into a wolf ever again” Brutus said softly.
“Good, no more wolfy business”

And they lived happily ever after…. THE END...

Adam McGlone

Big Bad Werewolf

In the mountains of Auvergne, a story dating back to 1588 was told of a royal female werewolf. In the story the nobleman was gazing out of his window and upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt.

While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf. In the ensuing struggle, he severed one of the wolf's paws and placed it in his pouch. Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all; in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a feminine hand bearing an elegant gold ring.

The nobleman recognised the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his wife. When he came upon her in the kitchen, he found her nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that her hand had been cut off. Upon questioning his wife she finally admitted to being the wolf the hunter had encountered in the forest and by her confession.The nobleman looked at his wife stunned. She began to say how sorry she was for not telling him all this time, but he stopped her from speaking. He got up and walked outside to get some fresh air. It was night time and the light from the full moon was shining down amongst the valley. The nobleman paced back and forward trying to get his head around what his wife had just told him.

When he had finally settled down, he called his wife outside. She argued with him saying that she couldn’t go outside because she would change into her monstrous self.
The nobleman walked inside and grabbed his wife by her non-severed arm. He dragged her outside and instantly she began unleashing her rage upon her husband. Hair stared sprouting from her hands and face. Her shoes burst apart releasing her huge paws. The nobleman fell back in fear. He crawled out of view from his horrific wife. She had fully transformed into her other self and her husband was watching her every move from behind a distant hedge.

The werewolf moved over to her husband. She leant over him and held out her paw. He reluctantly held her hand and she helped him up. He stared into her eyes and saw that she was nothing but his loving and caring wife behind a figure that she transformed into once a month.
He began to say that he was sorry for thinking that she was some kind of beast. All of a sudden the werewolf drove her arm straight into her husbands head with a tremendous amount of force. He fell to the ground unconscious. She bent down and pulled him down a dark cave. When they reached the bottom of the cave, she snapped his neck and he lay there motionless.

She went back up to the house and when inside, transformed back to her normal self. She went back to the kitchen and put a pot of boiling water on the stove. She opened one of the cupboards and brought out a severed hand. She placed it in the pot and after a couple of minutes, got it out and started eating it.

A few years later, the villagers of the little town discovered that the werewolf had murdered a great number of people only to sever their hands and eat them. When the hunter discovered that this werewolf that he had stumbled upon in the forest that day was that exact werewolf that killed for human hands he severed her hand as pay back.

Graeme Larkins

Shewolf

In the mountains of Auvergne, a story dating back to 1588 was told of a royal female werewolf. In the story the nobleman was gazing out of his window and upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt. While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf. In the ensuing struggle, he severed one of the wolf's paws and placed it in his pouch.

Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all, in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a feminine hand bearing an elegant gold ring. The nobleman recognised the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his wife. When he came upon her in the kitchen, he found her nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that her hand had been cut off.

Finish this story

Big Bad Werewolf Project

I have been working on a Werewolf Project with the students at school and they are loving the horror and gore.

If you all check this Project you will find the artwork of the Girlie Werewolf Project. Now being a thinker I thought that the next bunch of mini stashes I could send out to artists would include a glove - when I can source some lovely old gloves - and we could have another challenge going.

The challenge would be to depict the noblewoman's hand or the hand of some other victim of the werewolf. Alternatively people can make wolf masks or depict some other element of the story.

Alternatively you could join a colouring competition and post your responses here on the Art Blogger.

.

Any takers? If so let me know and I will begin sourcing gloves and sending mini stashes to people. As with the Footprint they will come back to provide inspiration for students ranging in age from five to eighteen.

image courtesy of Timberwolf