The Cursed

The horse’s hooves hammered against the damp ground, kicking up chunky clods of dirt in its wake. The rider’s leather duster slapped against the steaming sides of the animal. Hot breath plumed from both, blending into the dense creamy night fog that enveloped the estate grounds. Pulling on the reins, the horse reared and came to a stop. Though he couldn’t exactly see it, he knew the tree line was close ahead.

Braying dogs thundered past him as his horse chuffed. Reaching into his heavy duster, he withdrew a long barreled revolver. Earlier he had loaded it with six silver bullets. Gazing skyward, he saw a silvery sheen start to diffuse through the fog.

“The clouds are finally passing,” he said aloud.

As if in response, a blood curdling howl burst from the tree line. His horse pulled to the side, but he corrected, muttering calming words.

This curse ends tonight, he thought to himself.

Forward and from the left a cascade of dog barks erupted, followed by another monstrous roar. Wrapping the reins in one leather gloved hand, he steadied the pistol with the other, and delivered a swift kick into the sides of the horse, launching it towards the tree line.

Damp branches slapped against horse and rider until they came upon a clearing. Through the fog he saw a giant humanoid wolf. Around it, the dog pack circled, barking. The creature growled, gnashed it’s teeth, and cut the air with sharp claws.

Taking careful aim, he fired.