# Werewolf



## DATo (Aug 3, 2015)

_This is my first contribution to the website. I hope you like it._*

Werewolf
*
*by
*
*DATo*




Late upon a rainy, winter evening in 1874, in keeping with their weekly custom, a group of eleven distinguished friends were gathered at the Junior Carlton Club for gentlemen at 30 Pall Mall, London. Numbered among them was a former lieutenant of calvary, now a retired colonel, who had participated in the storied charge at Balaclava and had lived to tell of it. There were also present a current member of Parliament; a widely acclaimed playwright; a former, English, world sculling champion and the standing commissioner of Scotland Yard, Sir Charles Amberway. The assembled men were all deeply bonded and devoted friends through years of association.


"When are you going to tell us the true events of the story, Amberway?"


"To what story do you refer, my dear Eberly?"


The smiles and subdued laughter of the men casually seated before the enormous hearth were proof that every man present was precisely aware of the story to which Matthew Eberly was referring.


Sir Charles Amberway raised his hand and gestured to the young, uniformed man standing in the corner. "Oh, I say, Johnny! Scotch and soda if you would be so kind. There's a good chap."


"Immediately sir." replied the quickly departing club attendant.


"Eberly, my good man, I shall tell you the story when you are old enough to hear it."


"Good God, Amberway! My hair is white, I walk with a cane, and I require twenty minutes to piss. Just how much older must I be in your discriminating judgement?"


This remark brought open, raucous laughter from the other men marked by an occasional "Hear! Hear!"


Sir Charles took his time to light his pipe while staring into the faces of each member of the assembled group severally. As he did so a hush fell over the group and their smiles began to wane. Was it possible that on this evening and in this room Sir Charles would finally divulge what had happened on that fateful Friday night of November 19, 1869?


"Oh, yes, thank you Johnny. You didn't forget the bitters?"


"No sir. Never. You always require bitters with your scotch and soda. I remembered."


"Brilliant boy! You are a credit to this time-honored establishment. My dear young man, would you think it unkind of me if I were to ask you to leave the room for a time?"


At these spoken words a palpable effect not unlike an electric current coursed through the gathering of assembled men. Even Malcolm Price, the quintessential emotional stoic, radiated anticipation as he very slowly lowered his glass of gin and tonic to the table beside which he was standing while never diverting his gaze from the face of Sir Charles.


"Just as you please sir. And would you like me to close the door as I exit?"


"You are_ indeed_ a brilliant boy. Did I not say so? You anticipate me! Yes, please close the door as you depart and please be so accommodating to request of the master steward that we not be disturbed."


"Very good sir."


Sir Charles took a drink from the cocktail tumbler and then peered into the amber liquid thoughtfully before lowering his arm to the uppermost thigh of his crossed legs. He then turned his head slightly to gaze vacantly at the gently burning logs of the fire. The room was absolutely hushed but for the crackling sound of burning wood and the incessant soft patter of rain upon the room's towering, draped windows.


"We have been chums for some two and a half decades have we not? I know that there is not a man in this room who would not willingly give his life for another. You wouldn't like to see your old Charlie-boy thrown to the jackals would you? What I am about to relate is classified under the Official Secrets Act. You must therefore consider yourselves bound, upon our sacred and cherished friendship ... to silence.


"You all know the essence of the tale, the events of which took place two years before my induction as commissioner of The Yard. Three inspectors, including myself, were sent to investigate the gruesome Shropshire Hills murders. During the course of the investigation my two companions were killed in a manner which made the identification of their bodies problematical. I was found senseless, lying prostrate in the center of a road which the natives refer to as Tooking's Tack. I was covered in blood, though no injuries to my body could be established and I was found to be clutching tightly an ancient, black-bladed broadsword which was later expertly dated to the fifteenth century. The locals, when interviewed by _The Times,_ expatiated upon a demonic beast of regional lore as the perpetrator of the crimes; but the official judgement as presented to the public by The Yard and confirmed by Whitehall stated that my companions were killed by an anarchist bomb blast thus patently accounting for the severe mutilation of the bodies. I was confined to hospital for what was termed 'nervous disorder'. You men know my mettle, do you not? Is it often that a former officer of the Coldstream Guards and recipient of the Victoria Cross for valor a suspect of nervous disorders? But I tell you truly gentlemen my nerves were indeed in a state of shambles for long on three fortnight.


"Upon arrival in the Shropshire Hill district, and within the immediate vicinity of the perpetration of the murders Campbell, Higgens and I separated to question the local inhabitants and take depositions of information in their possession which could aid our investigation. There were ubiquitous allusions by one and all to a beast of medieval folklore - a tale that had been passed to their progeny by ancestors for untold generations. An ancient temple ruin of indiscriminate historical significance three leagues to the west of the hamlet on Burway Hill had also figured prominently in the myth. There was evidence that a small but vibrant community had once existed in the vicinity of the ruins - a community which had been inexplicably abandoned.


"Owing to the diabolical nature of the legend no one had heretofore ventured to establish a homestead near the site of the ruins, but a recently retired merchant of self-made wealth, still in the prime of life, had decided to move his family from the hectic pace, squalor, and teeming metropolis of London to the Shropshire Hills where they might live surrounded by the peace, beauty, and serenity of the English countryside. He scoffed at the prevailing superstition and hoped as a result of same to secure land at a bargain price. For a bit of diversion he brought his family, as well as supplies and two servants. His intention was to camp at the temple ruins for several days on holiday while exploring the environs to determine a suitable building site for his prospective estate. On what has been determined the second night of their stay the entire group, including three children, had been viciously slaughtered.


"During our interviews we learned that one of the outlying homesteads was said to include a member who had recently seen a mysterious apparition which many believed to be at the heart of the yarn. We certainly did not attribute credence to the mythological explanations of which we had been informed, however, we concluded that perhaps a description of any significance at all might be helpful in leading us to the murderer, or murderers. You will readily appreciate our deflated expectations when the witness proved to be a small boy of seven years; but, blast it, there we were, and there too was he, so we decided to perform a perfunctory examination of the child before taking our leave. With the lad's mother and father in attendance I began my inquiry.


"Would you be so kind as to tell me your name young man?"


"Me name is Thomas Albert Helms sir. Me front tooth is loose and mum says I will get a sweet if I place it under me pillow when it come out. A genie will come an .... "


"I'm sure your mother is quite correct Thomas. Now, can you tell me about this beastie-thing you saw on the moor?"


"E' were black sir, like this." The boy scampered to the coal scuttle and lifted a piece of blue-black coal. "An E' walked strange to look at 'em when E' was a'standin up but could run quite fast, to be sure, when E' runned on both E's 'ands and feets. An sometimes E' would sing and go 'AhhhOOOOOOOOoooo'! I could see em good cause the moon was big and round and there was lots-a light about to see with."


"And when exactly did you see the beastie?"


"It were the night of Ma's washing day. I snuck out me chamber window to catch me up a frog at the pond. If mum or da ha’ saw me they would have hided me a good one too, but I know how to be real quiet and not nobody can see nor hear me."


"When you last saw the beast in which direction was he moving?"


"The boy stood stiffly and pointed to the wall on the west side of the house. The ruins lay precisely in that direction, a league and a half beyond the wall.


"I thanked the boy while patting his head and we left the house, but not before asking the mother to tell me upon what day she performed her laundry tasks. We returned to the town where we had taken temporary residence at a modest hostel and I noted the day upon which the last full moon had occurred on a calendar which hung upon the wall of the common room. The last full moon had indeed occurred on a Wednesday - 'Ma's washing day'. Verily this part of the boy’s story was on the mark. Was it coincidence, or had the child actually seen something on the moors that night?


"Comparing the information obtained from our individual interviews my companions and I concluded that the entire effort had been a waste of energy. Campbell suggested that we survey the temple ruins at night when the murderer might be inclined to be active on the moor, for surely he was using this structure as refuge from the elements, emboldened by the fact that fear of the legend would keep people away and thus insure his privacy. Higgens suggested that we wait for the next full moon, which would occur night after next. He suggested this for two reasons: the first, that the additional moonlight would help us see anything moving about on the moor; and secondly, that there may be some routine or pattern which drew the murderer either to or away from his lair when the moon was full as was the case when the boy, we were now inclined to believe, had seen him.


"As we sat together at the dining table Higgens remarked, 'Blimey Charles, the infant was describing a werewolf for the love of Saint Michael!' We all looked at one another blankly for a moment and then began to laugh heartily.


"’No doubt his imagination has been influenced by overhearing the talk of his elders.’ Campbell replied.


"In the late afternoon of the day which is the focus of my narrative the three of us set out on foot for we could persuade no one to provide us with transport to the location of the ruins which was the object of our journey. In time we nonetheless made our arrival, rosey-cheeked and breathing heavily as a result of our exertion. We then ascended a rocky path which led to the temple ruins which was found to be nestled in a small clearing surrounded by trees and woody undergrowth. The immediate effect of the scene before us evinced upon our collective sense an altogether dark and foreboding sensation which was enhanced by the approaching dusk. We entered the chamber which was a rotunda of perhaps thirty feet in diameter. Directly opposite the doorway which one entered after climbing several stone steps, was what could be inferred an altar made of solid stone upon the top of which was an overlay of precisely chiseled rectangular blocks forming the altar’s table top as-it-were. Investigators arriving before us had combed the area for evidence but found nothing.


"’Gentlemen, the stones are manageable. Shall we give it a go?’ asked Higgens.


"Campbell and I joined Higgens in moving the stones atop the altar, and to our astonishment found a cavity, and within the cavity was found the previously described black-bladed broadsword.


"’How could they have missed this in the preliminary investigation?’ remarked Campbell.


"’Amateurs!’ responded Higgens.


"Even to anyone uninitiated to the facts surrounding the crime it would be obvious that this blade was not responsible for the massacre of the unfortunate family. It was certain that the sword had slept in the cavity at the time of the murders for the entire sword was wreathed, undisturbed, in spiderweb which had accumulated over untold ages. Taking the sword into our possession with the object of delivering it to Scotland Yard upon our return Campbell carried it to the doorway, and then, upon reflection of the long vigil remaining before us this night, placed it beside the doorway with the intention of retrieving it upon our departure in the morning.


"Leaving the enclosure of the ruins we then employed a strategy we had calculated on the day prior. Each of us would take up positions forming a triangle, the equidistant points of which surrounded the ruins at a distance of roughly two hundred yards. Our plan was to signal by means of a constable’s whistle, one of which we each had in our possession. One blast would indicate that the subject of our search was in the immediate vicinity of the whistle blower. Two blasts would inform that the subject’s movement was directed in approach to the ruins. If the first signal was sounded the hearers would make haste in the direction of he who sounded the alarm; if the second, we would all converge simultaneously upon the ruins. In the gathering darkness we each hastened to our designated surveillance posts.


"The silver-white light of the rising full moon provided illumination enough to easily read the face of my timepiece. I had now been at my appointed post for several hours. Checking my timepiece some time later I determined the time to be one, and one half hours past midnight. As I snapped the cover closed I heard the first report of Higgens’ whistle. Jumping from my blind I ran with all speed to the sound of what soon became a frenzied series of blasts, encouraged by the knowledge that Campbell was racing to the same sound. The night was then shattered by a series of explosions which I quickly deduced to be gunfire. Then came the first scream, a scream unlike any other, a desperate scream from the throat of one who had been injected into the very bowels of hell itself. My time in service to Her Majesty had inured me to the cries and screams of the wounded and dying - to the terror wrought by the incalculable carnage of war - but nothing in my experience had ever prepared me, had ever chilled my blood, like the high pitched, piercing screams emanating from the direction of Higgens’ position.


"I ran with increased determination, vaulting stones and shrubs to come to the aid of my colleague and friend. Brambles tore at my face, twice I fell to the earth and then I came upon the carcass of what was once Miles Higgens. It was as though he had been torn inside-out. His head and shoulders were covered by the bloody entrails of his viscera. His identification could only be ascertained by one of his prized, oxford shoes and small patches of the black greatcoat he had been wearing which were still visible amid the crimson and white butchery lying before my eyes. As I fought desperately in an attempt to maintain my senses there were more explosions and more screams which rivaled the first from approximately fifty yards in the direction of Jimmy Campbell’s position. Throughout my entire military service I had never faltered in the execution of my duty even under the most desperate circumstances, but now a terror I had never before known gripped me, choked me, dragged me away as with powerful steam-powered cables - away, away and away.


"I found myself at the entrance of the temple, not knowing how I had arrived there, for I had run blindly in my terror from the unholy menace which I knew awaited me on the moor. I stumbled into the enclosure tripping on the uneven floor stones and then slowly and instinctively made my way to the altar, whether to ask an unseen god for protection, or to ask its forgiveness for abandoning my friends, I know not.


"As I advanced my footfalls echoed in the icy air of the cavernous enclosure. I then experienced an eerie sense of an alien presence. Mechanically I glanced behind me. What I saw arrested all physical movement. My mind went suddenly blank. My legs became as wax candles softening beneath the blazing heat of an arid desert, threatening to melt and drag me down to the uneven tiles from which I knew I would never rise again. An enormous creature, a creature of no chronicled, zoological description, was crouching in the doorway through which I had entered. Its body was covered in matted, inky-black hair, its ears were erect and pointed, its snout elongated. Its overall appearance resembled the features of a canine but its cheekbones and eyes were decidedly human. It made no sound or movement but its demonic eyes, which were locked upon my own, burrowed deeply into my very soul. A single line of saliva slowly, slowly descending from a bared and bloody fang was the only movement in the room.


"In stupid desperation my mind raced to conceive a plan of action which could save me. I had only moments to react before the inevitable spring, and death. I slowly pulled the Webley Bulldog which had twice saved my life in the Khyber from the pocket of my overcoat. Raising it quickly I fired twice at the apparition before me. I saw blood spurt where the forty-five caliber projectiles found their mark. Upon impact the creature made only the slightest movement and then, unbelievably, the bullets were purged from its body and fell with leaden thuds upon the tiles.


"The creature made no movement, but looked beyond me to the displaced stones of the altar. Its eyes flickered and I sensed that the beast was collating, reasoning, evaluating ... something. It then began to warily advance several paces along the circular wall to my right while alternating its sight from the altar to me and then back again. Then, as if a decision had been made, it coiled itself to pounce upon my hapless body. I fired my gun till it was emptied with the same, previously described results as the beast rose on its hind legs and prepared to launch itself toward me. In an instant I reached for one of the enormous cut stones lying upon the altar and flung it with a new-found, superhuman effort in the direction of the creature as it sprang into the air. The altar stone struck the beast in the chest in mid-flight thus causing it to fall upon its side which allowed me time to scurry upon my hands and knees to the doorway in an effort to escape, for I too had fallen in the opposite direction upon release of the stone ingot. As I reached the entrance of the enclosure my contortions struck the broadsword Jimmy Campbell had placed there only hours before and it fell to the stone floor. As the beast hurled itself upon me once again I lifted the sword with both hands, the pummel against my chest, the blade pointing skyward. The creature descended through the air upon me with its full weight impaling itself through its chest upon the black blade of the broadsword. All that now separated the snapping gnashing jaws from my face was the three-hands distance of the hilt of the sword. I could feel its hot breath upon my face. The human-like, fingered paws of the beast were groping to find my throat as it gave voice to a continuous stream of half-human, half-animal growls and screams. And then the effect of the broadsword became evident for the mighty heart of the beast exploded causing it to vomit a seemingly unending torrent of gore directly upon my head, shoulders and chest. It then spasmodically lurched backward disengaging itself from the sword, hopped several times upon its right leg as it fell backwards, and lay inert.


"The rest of the story you already know gentlemen. In some manner which I cannot fathom I made my way upon Tooking’s Tack, and there it was that I was found the following day, lying senseless in the road and still clinging desperately, despite my demented state, to the broadsword which had proved to be my salvation. The monster was found by the army of special investigators and agents sent from Scotland Yard who collectively descended upon the Shropshire Hills immediately after I was found. The beast was found in the temple, just as I have described him. Two years later, after my convalescence, I was appointed commissioner of Scotland Yard."


"But the black sword Charles! What power could it have possessed to disable this apparently invulnerable monster?" Inquired Aston Renfrow III.


"Silver, my dear Aston. Silver, blackened by centuries of unkind neglect." Replied Sir Charles.


Mathew Eberly rose with difficulty from his chair and knelt beside the seat of Sir Charles, taking the hand of Sir Charles in his own.


"Dear Charles, can you ever forgive me? Had I known the facts of the grievous experience you have just related I would ... I would never have taunted you. I would never, never have asked you to relive the troubling experience you have just described. My dear lad can you ever find it in your heart ...... "


Mathew Eberly could not continue. The faces of the other men around the room displayed a variety of emotions. Some shared Eberly’s shame, guilt and embarrassment. Others sat or stood open-mouthed, their minds attempting to assimilate what could not be assimilated. By ones and twos they took their leave until only Sir Charles Amberway remained before the still crackling fire.


"Johnny! Show yourself Johnny. I know you’ve been eavesdropping."


The youngest club attendant, Johnny Mercer, entered the room and stood crestfallen before the commissioner of Scotland Yard.


"Will I be arrested sir?" asked Johnny, with slightly trembling voice.


"No." Replied Sir Charles.


"But the Official Secrets Act sir! I’m now guilty of a crime."


"You are guilty of gullibility." said Sir Charles.


"I ... I don’t understand, sir."


"Eberly wanted a story, they all did. They’ve been waiting five years to hear it. So I gave them one. My friends were indeed killed by an anarchist’s bomb. In dying they saved my life for their bodies had inadvertently shielded me from the blast, though I still required hospital convalescence for some time afterward."


"But the beast, sir ! The sword !"


"The sword was real enough. An antique artifact. It was found quite by accident during the subsequent investigation within the ruins in exactly the place I said it was found, but Jimmy Campbell didn’t find it, the investigators did, and that is the total extent of its relation to the story."


"And the boy sir, the boy who saw the beast upon the moor of that one night !"


Sir Charles smiled broadly. "Oh, good Lord yes, Thomas Albert Helms ... little Tommy. When I got out of hospital one of the first things I did was to purchase for his birthday a lovely bull pup. A far more suitable companion for such a lad than a frog. Oh, Johnny, nothing more than the creative musings of an intelligent child whose fanciful imaginings had found an attentive audience."


"But the family which was killed sir ... on the moor!"


"A tragic case of mistaken identity by the same anarchist group. They thought he was an MP with whom they held a special grievance and killed both he and his family to make a political statement. Bloody bad business it was."


"But why, sir? Why did you lie to them such as you have?"


"I’m conducting a personal experiment Johnny. I’m estimating how long it will take before this story appears in _The London Times_ as related by my _very_ sacred, and _very_ cherished friends."


And then Sir Charles Amberway laughed long and hard. His laughter proved infectious for soon Johnny Mercer was doubled over with laughter himself.


"Scotch and soda Johnny, and ......"


"Yes sir. I shan’t forget the bitters."


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## Joe_Bassett (Aug 4, 2015)

Reminds me of reading Sherlock Holmes.  I find the twist ending to be quite wonderful. My only problem is following the dialogue but, I also don't speak English fluently.  I like it!


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## Bard_Daniel (Aug 5, 2015)

This had an almost, if I dare say it, mix between an Elizabethan style and something that Edgar Allan Poe would have wrote. I enjoyed the way you set the story up and recanted it and the twist at the end surprised me. 

Good work here.


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## DATo (Aug 10, 2015)

GuitarHiro97 and danieistj,

Thank you so much for your comments. I am very happy to learn that you enjoyed my story. The werewolf was my favorite monster subject as a child and I always wanted to contribute to the canon of werewolf stories. Both of you have commented on the style in which this story was written and in fact the comment I have most often received is that the story reminds readers of Arthur Conan Doyle's style of writing which I consider a compliment as he is one of my very favorite writers.

Since this is my first creative contribution to the site your comments are very encouraging. Thank you once again!


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## Tbird0000 (Aug 14, 2015)

It was a good read. At first I was like "Man this is long" but it was engaging. And yes, good ending. Like what you did there.


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## Desinori (Aug 14, 2015)

Very interesting read indeed!

I really liked the language in this piece and how most of it was told through Amberway. I also took keen note of the Webley Bulldog, being a gun nut~


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## MindBlank (Aug 15, 2015)

Brilliant read.  I can hear Sir Charles Amberway's voice and accent clear as day, and could easily picture in my mind the group of English gentry sat by the fire.  It was a gripping, flowing story and even when Amberway was going through the details of the case, phrases like, 'you know my mettle, do you not?' were perfect in keeping me reading it in the accent of an English gentleman.

There is nothing I can comment on except one thing,



> Its overall appearance resembled the features of a canine but its cheekbones and eyes were decidedly human. It made no sound or movement but its demonic eyes, which were locked upon my own, burrowed deeply into my very soul.



It says the eyes were decidedly human, but in the next sentence goes on the describe them as demonic.  Is this on purpose though? Like the duality of its condition being human at times and werewolf at others? This is ridiculously knit picky though and I only wanted to mention it because I noticed it, and also not wanting to admit I was too engrossed in the story when you've put this up to be critiqued as well as enjoyed.  Thank you for posting the story.


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## SummerPanda (Aug 16, 2015)

Well done, I see in Sir Charles a dozen crafty old men I've known over the years. 
My only possible critique would be to say that at times the narration seems more like a written report that has been edited once or twice, very precise and complete, whereas a verbal narration does not always come together as completely and fully. At the same time that could be justified by the fact that he'd had five years to think what to say to these fellows, or if the end had gone the other way it could be justified by pointing out that he had given a written report and probably gone over it many times, so why shouldn't he know it well. 
I suppose that's not the most helpful critique, but it's honest. I'll have to keep an eye out for more of your work. 
Thank you.


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## DATo (Aug 19, 2015)

*Tbird0000, Desinori, MindBlank & SummerPanda,*

Thank you all for your comments and criticisms.

*Tbird0000 *- The piece is long, I agree, but if you examine the text closely you will find that almost everything which is included, that is to say, the details which make it so long, bear upon the story with significance in one way or another.

*Mindblank* - I am overjoyed to learn that you found the story to be a "Brilliant read." You really made my day with that comment *L* I can see your point with the contrasting descriptions i.e. _human_ and _demonic. _My intent was to hint that the creature had vaguely human characteristics to reinforce the idea of the human side of a werewolf and yet to suggest the demonic character of the beast as well.

*SummerPanda* - We will assume that since _The Times_ had originally published the opinions of the hinterland folk five years in advance of the setting of the story that the members of the Junior Carlton Club were aware of the legend and always assumed that there may be more to the story of Sir Charles' experience than was ever officially told but with typical, British propriety were reticent to raise the issue with Sir Charles. The reader can also assume that Sir Charles was sensitive to this and had perhaps often mused upon what he could fabricate to play a little joke on them. Also, please remember that he had planned a "personal experiment" thereby suggesting that he had time to give thought to what he might say.

*Desinor *- I am happy to learn that you recognized the Webley Bulldog as a real firearm which was popular during the time the events of this story took place. It is not readily apparent but I did try to make the facts surrounding this story as authentic as possible For instance ....

1) At the time that this story takes place there actually was a real Junior Carlton Club for gentlemen, and it _was_ actually located at 30 Pall Mall in London.

2) The approximate age of the colonel who had fought at Balaclava as a lieutenant (1854) would dovetail with the time this story takes place (1874).

3) The date that the encounter with the werewolf took place (November 19, 1869) historically _was_ a night of a full moon - you can look it up. It was also, as stated in the story, a Friday night.

4) The term 'Scotland Yard' _was_ used at this time in history. It was formerly referred to as the Metropolitan London Police Force, and in fact I believe it officially still is. Scotland Yard was actually the name of a place adjacent to the police station which was at the rear entrance to the original facility which has since been moved - twice I believe.

5) I made sure that the The Victoria Cross was extant at the time this story takes place having been instituted by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1856.

6) The Shropshire Hills, and Burway Hill specifically, are real places located in Wales.

7) We assume Thomas Albert Helms claimed encounter with the apparition took place the month before his interview by Sir Charles. Since we know the date of the incident involving Sir Charles and his colleagues we can find the date of the previous full moon in the lunar logs. If you research this you will find that the day of the full moon prior to the interview _was _in fact a Wednesday as little Tommy stated. In all probability little Tommy _did_, in fact, go upon the moor to catch a frog. The rest of his story was the result of a creative imagination.

8 ) The Black Sword - When certain metals oxidize over a long period of time their surface skin may change color. Copper, when it oxidizes turns blue; iron, red (rust); bronze, green .... and silver, black.

9) The London Times was in fact called_ The London Times _when this story takes place.

10) Yes, there actually was a soda for the scotch and soda, though despite my efforts I was unable to find out if the gaseous element was referred to by this metonym (soda) as it is today. Perhaps it was called "scotch and gas" or "aerated scotch". A device called a gasogene was extant at this time in history. This was a device which created carbonated water. You may have already encountered this term in a Sherlock Holmes story which takes place at about the same period of the 19th century as my story.

*MISTAKES*:

1) Unfortunately, calling the weapon you pointed out a Webley Bulldog was incorrect. The gun did not receive the moniker "Bulldog" until 1872. Though this may have been correctly described as being in advance of the setting of Sir Charles' narrative, which takes place in 1874, we may assume that it was long after his military experiences since the narrative takes place only two years after the designation of the name. This only came to my attention after I had released the story.

2) Also, despite the best efforts of my later research, I have found no incidence of the Coldstream Guards ever having fought at the Khyber Pass.

EDIT:
Added 8/21/15 per critique of Olly Buckle
3) The Shropshire Hills, though very close, are actually not located in Wales. (This has been corrected).


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## bluemidget (Aug 19, 2015)

Wow, I thoroughly enjoyed this! I doff my cap to you sir! I have tried and failed to write in this style - this is how it's done. More adventures of Sir Charles and his cronies please!


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## Tbird0000 (Aug 19, 2015)

Yes, agreed. The length took a backseat once the words flowed through my mind. Seldom can I sit and read the long passages on the site (do most of my reading while I'm at work, shhhhhh!) ***Side note, unrelated: I have updated S.Paralysis if you want to take a read at it.***


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## Olly Buckle (Aug 20, 2015)

A couple of points and some suggestions



> and teeming metropolis of London to the Shropshire Hills where they might live surrounded by the peace, beauty, and serenity of the Welsh countryside.


Shropshire borders Wales, but it is an English county.



> "In the late afternoon of the day which is the focus of my narrative the three of us set out on foot for we could persuade no one to drive us by cart or wagon to the location of the ruins which was the object of our journey


. I have taken a sentence out, but I am talking about things which occur throughout "set out on foot (comma) for we could persuade no one to drive us by cart or wagon (comma) to". commas round sub clauses, imagine if you take it out, the thing still makes sense, it qualifies it and has a slight pause before and after. Less is more "we could persuade no one to drive us by cart or wagon", try 'we could persuade no one to provide us with transport'. By not specifying it becomes all inclusive, and it is shorter. Adding length is not good in itself, try and avoid tautology or explicitly stating that which can be easily inferred.



> Investigators which had arrived before us had combed the area for evidence but found nothing.


investigators who.

Regarding your query about the 'Englishness', the English are extremely class concious, even more so in those days. The conversation between the steward and the gent at the end is fairly possible,they are alone and colluding, as an officer he probably did the same with his sergeant privately. Over the matter of his whiskey and asking him to  leave the room I would expect it to be much more premonitory, he would issue orders to a servant without discussion, especially if he was also ex-army and in the company of his equals, it would give a bit of contrast, and thus significance, to the later dialogue too.

(an example of a sub-clause I nearly missed punctuating ,,, contrast, and thus significance, to the...)

I reckon you could keep your 1800's vocabulary, but still  lose a fair bit,

*Late upon a* {One} rainy, winter evening in 1874, in keeping with their weekly custom, a group of eleven distinguished friends *were* gathered at the Junior Carlton Club for gentlemen *at*{,} 30 Pall Mall, London. Numbered among them was a former lieutenant of calvary, now a retired colonel, who had participated in the storied charge at Balaclava and *had* lived to tell of it. There were also present a current member of Parliament; a widely acclaimed playwright; a former*, English, world* sculling champion and the standing commissioner of Scotland Yard, Sir Charles Amberway. The assembled men were *all* *deeply bonded and devoted*{ friends for  years  says that} friends through years *of association*.

Take out the 'bolded' bits and you don't lose anything I can see.


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## bdcharles (Aug 21, 2015)

Hi,

You had me at the notion of a gentlemen's club or guild of adventurers vibe, with the precise and clipped tones of the narrator. The dialogue was fantastic throughout, needing very little attention.I did think you might expound a little on the details, and have more showing rather than telling - have some of them interact with features in the club to belie their mood, perhaps, or have some of the others interject during the monologue depicting the backstory to break it up and avoid infodumping. I did also end up wondering where this would go, with me being set up for a werewolf story only to find it is about anarchists and misdirection. 

One other: I believe the official secrets act didn't exist till 1889 - but could be wrong. Also - pick one out of the OSA or the gentlemens code for the repeating of secrets, as a reason to not repeat the story. This might help the character be more consistent.


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## DATo (Aug 28, 2015)

bdcharles,

Oh my, you are quite correct but it is even worse than you point out. It isn't 1889 but 1989. How in the wide, wide world of sports did I get myself convinced that it originated in the 19th century? I could swear that I validated a date for this (Official Secrets Act) but it is all too apparent that I either did not or was in error.

Can't thank you enough for pointing this out. I will have to make a serious amendment to the text.


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## TipGrundlefunk (Aug 28, 2015)

Hello DATo,

I read this but I'll be honest and say it was a mixed bag for me. It didn't quite feel authentic, it felt a little forced into a particular idiom that is born more of modern, transatlantic version of Victorian England. I can see you have spent a lot of time researching the facts but the language is not right in the dialogue. I'm with Olly Buckle on that one, the superfluous use of 'upon' and 'within' is far more suited to the poetics of Byron and Shelley and is not really indicative of how Victorians actually spoke. To help you in the future here's a little tip, being 'well spoken' (upper-class British) as some of these characters would have been, does not come from the use of poetic language but from the use of precise language from a broad lexicon, spoken confidently. 

On a side note, 'scotch and soda' really ought to be 'whiskey and water', and no self-respecting British whiskey drinker would add bitters to their drink. It's the little details like this that burst the bubble for me. Rather than a dialogue on bitters why not make it about Sir Charles' preference for single malt whiskey, like an Islay, Highland or Spey side (the latter being my personal favourite). 

The facts are spot on, I love that November 19 1869 was actually a Friday, I appreciate this sort of accuracy immensely. Victorian dialogue is a little tricky why not try taking a quick look at the dialogue in Charles Dickens' books, they are contemporary so it's a great resource for authenticity in this kind of writing (there are plenty of Dickens' works available free on the net).

The character of Johnny also comes across as too subservient, people in service were not necessarily servants, there is a big difference. Someone working in that position in a private club would almost certainly be middle class not working class - who would not be allowed to mix with the clientele. There would also be an implied trust in someone in Johnny's position, it would not need to be stated, that would be seen as crass. It would serve the story better if you found a device to show the implied trust rather than exposition through dialogue, which to be honest is unrealistic.

All that aside there were some really good sections. I enjoyed the fight scene, it was well paced and plenty of action to keep me engaged, you have a skill for action, maybe consider expanding that section?

Interesting  twist at the end but I didn't really buy into the motive. To make up an elaborate story just to see how long it takes to get into a newspaper, he could have done that with the truth, which would have been equally as shocking to his audience? I doesn't quite hold together for me, perhaps I'm missing something?

I can see a tremendous amount of craft went into this and that really holds the story up for the reader. 

Tip


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## DATo (Oct 11, 2015)

TipGrundlefunk said:


> Hello DATo,
> 
> I read this but I'll be honest and say it was a mixed bag for me. It didn't quite feel authentic, it felt a little forced into a particular idiom that is born more of modern, transatlantic version of Victorian England. I can see you have spent a lot of time researching the facts but the language is not right in the dialogue. I'm with Olly Buckle on that one, the superfluous use of 'upon' and 'within' is far more suited to the poetics of Byron and Shelley and is not really indicative of how Victorians actually spoke. To help you in the future here's a little tip, being 'well spoken' (upper-class British) as some of these characters would have been, does not come from the use of poetic language but from the use of precise language from a broad lexicon, spoken confidently.
> 
> ...



Greetings Grundle, and my apologies for taking so long to respond. I can't imagine how I missed your response to this thread when you originally posted it but apparently I did.

First of all thank you for your response, criticism and kind words. You must understand that I am a Yank who has never before (unfortunately) visited England. My total understanding of what we across The Pond refer to as "British dialect" has been garnered from BBC telecasts which we receive here on our PBS station and the writings of British authors. I had hoped that I would have been more accurate in my treatment of the style regarding the conversations, but apparently I have not succeeded. Just one more example of _fools rushing in where angels fear to tread. _With regard to your suggestion: actually I have read a lot of Dickens but my model for the language was greatly influenced directly by the writings of Arthur Conan Dolye.When I was a young man my first knowledge of the word "bitters", with regard to alcoholic beverages, was heard from a character in a British play, I therefore thought this word would figure accurately in the description of Sir Charles' drink. Perhaps my error was in assuming that this condiment was applicable to whiskey drinks?

On this next point I must disagree with you. I am aware that the detritus of a chauvinistic class system (remember, I'm a Yank *LOL*) still exists in England; however, the "subservience" you speak is meant to be interpreted as the deferment paid by a young man to a much older man who has been knighted, the recipient of the Victoria Cross, and a current high official in British law enforcement.

I am genuinely sorry that you did not like the twist. Americans who've read it, so far to date, have been delighted with it. The whole point is that Sir Charles has known that the members of his club were anxious to know the actual story but, with what I may again be misperceiving as typical British propriety were hesitant to bring to the fore. Sir Charles was, obviously, using this excellent opportunity which only presented itself by chance, to play a little joke on them. As far as actually telling them the REAL events ... they already knew them for they had been told to the public as stated early in Sir Charles' narration.

Once again, many thanks for your comments !


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## Abishai100 (Oct 28, 2015)

I'm a big fan of werewolf stories, and I found this story to be nicely representative of humanism and English concerns as well as spook-story curiosity.

What is it about the werewolf that draws out human fascination?  I myself am working on a story about a Halloween Eve serial killer.

I agree that your story has a Sherlock Holmes edge to it, and I appreciated the details about human traffic.


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## DATo (Oct 28, 2015)

Many thanks Abishai100. I have always been a fan of the werewolf legends and I am happy to find that I am not alone. The story is far from perfect but I wrote it mainly in one sitting - a long one to be sure *LOL*


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