Aura Wintergreen
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The Howling
Time for another story written by yours truly. This one I entered into a writing competition but I did not make it into the finals. To be fair, my story is not as good as the stuff that other's write and it's also not my best piece, but still an okay short story overall.

The inspiration for my story was Within Temptation's The Howling.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=U8hJsKn0wzo)

The Howling

Silver; the blade of a knife, a sliver of moonlight or a speeding bullet.
Silver held a great secret; those who knew the secret guarded it well. I knew the secret of silver, as did my not-so-merry-band of hunters.
When I say hunters, I don’t mean your average everyday bear hunters, I’m talking about your no nonsense hunters of the things that go bump in the night, hunters of the supernatural, hunters of werewolves.
We hunters knew silver’s secret, we knew that silver could kill werewolves.

I checked my reflection in a cracked and chipped mirror. My blonde hair was pinned up into a bun and my face showed the scars from my last hunt.
I ran my fingers over the raised and reddish scratches; they still hurt slightly and would probably leave scars. That was the life of a hunter.
We hunters have a rule that we live by ‘kill or be killed’, this applied to any creature you dared to hunt. It was always better to kill than to let something live or let something kill you.

There we were; my hunter buddies and I, in a cabin. Silver flashed all around me- a knife being sharpened, a twisting of a chain, bullets being counted.
The flurry of silver was everywhere.
I checked the sharpness of my dagger; the silvery moonlight hit the blade, and danced around the room.
The other hunters glanced around nervously and I sheathed my dagger, tucking it into my combat boot. Next I pulled out my hand gun and checked the ammunition; it was fully loaded with silver bullets.
It didn’t matter if it was a head or heart shot, silver bullets were one effective, and sometimes messy way of killing werewolves.






The other hunters looked around themselves nervously, it was nearing midnight.
Midnight- when the moon would be at its silvery fullest. When the werewolves would come out to play.
I picked up my silver charm bracelet and slipped it on my wrist, and fastened my silver cross around my neck.
Silver; a bracelet, a necklace-my world was full of it.

The old clock with its silver hands struck midnight, the tinkling sound of silver bells rang through our rotting and decrepit cabin.
The hunters and I nodded to each other, picking up guns and knives.
It was time; we exited the cabin and walked out into the grassy valley, a slight breeze stirring the grass.
The moon rose above us, bathing us in its silvery light, turning our skin eerily pale.


That’s when we heard it, the howling.
That bone chilling, spine curling howling. The kind of howling that is only made by werewolves.
The hunters and I stayed where we were, waiting for the right moment.

I hear them getting closer, their howls are sending chills down my spine, and they’re coming down the hills from behind.
The hunters and I turned to face them, they were almost upon us.
We could hear their furry, club-like feet pattering on the soft, dewy grass; we could smell the foul rotting stench of the breath.
With a snarl, a werewolf jumped forward and our battle began.


I saw the twisting of silver chains, around werewolves’ necks. I could hear their low moans as their air supply was cut off, I could hear their claws as the scratched at the ground, fighting, struggling to breathe.
The sounds of knives and daggers slicing through thick and strong werewolf hides reached my ears. Splashes of thick, dark red werewolf blood spattered everywhere, hitting the ground, me, the other hunters and other werewolves.
The werewolves’ teeth clicked as they snapped and snarled at the hunters and myself.
I squared off against a particularly bulky one, his hide thick and matted with blood, whether it was human or werewolf blood I couldn’t tell. His breath smelled of rotten flesh and his teeth were yellowed. He lunged for my throat.
As he lunged, I saw the bloodlust in his yellow eyes. His eyes were fixed on my throat, the smooth untouched tanned skin appealing to his horrific nature.


I swung my dagger, sliced it clean across his throat. My dagger’s blade was slick with its blood. As the werewolf thrashed on the ground, its blood pouring from its throat, I wiped the blood on its fur.
I moved further into the thick of the bloody battle, I watched in revulsion as two werewolves took down one of my comrades. I glared at the werewolves and raised my gun. The werewolves that took down my comrade fell, their blood mingling with my friend’s

Another werewolf came out me, and I fired my gun again, the werewolf fell several feet away from me.
I back off, and helped another one of my fellow hunters. She was dragging one end of a silver chain, in the ground. I picked up the other end, and we ran with it.
Two gormless and ugly werewolves, sprinted to us, and their necks tangled in the chain.
I laughed cruelly and pulled it tighter at my end. When those werewolves fell, I moved on to another part of the battle.
The werewolves retreated running like the wind over the hills and vanishing from our sight.


The sun was rising, the screams were gone, and too many had fallen few still stood tall.
The early morning sun glinted off the silver that littered the battle field. Knives, bullets and chains sticking out of dead werewolves glistened, and the remaining hunters and I shielded our eyes.
Blood covered most of the ground, and our clothes. I felt sick as the werewolf bodies started to morph back into humans. That was one of the flaws of being a hunter; you only saw the monster, not the human.

Silver was all I could see now. Silver it killed, it protected, it set us apart from the werewolves and in the end it made us no better them.
In the end, silver or no, we were all monsters.