Howl

The shepherd woke up, startled. From afar, he could hear the bone-chilling howl. It was time to leave the
mountain. From the rocky summits surrounding the hut, fog and dark clouds swirled menacingly, blanketing the
paths.

He called the dogs to him. The three beasts came, fright in their gentle eyes. They had heard the howl, too. Deep
inside the forest, the wild pack waited.

The smaller dogs started running around the sheep, guiding them, as the shepherd made his way behind the
flock. The three black dogs followed him. The howl rose again, closer.

He entered the gloomy forest. The white flock stretched in front of him on the narrow, winding dirt path. The
howl started again and surrounded them. Through the thick fog, shapes loomed nearby.

Black mist drowned the forest as the first wolf attacked.

The shepherd opened his eyes with difficulty. He laid on the edge of the dark forest, surrounded by his sheep.
His black dogs guarded him. He felt his bite marks gingerly. Dried up blood obscured his vision. The flock was
almost intact. Only three sheep were missing. The mountain had saved him again, on the last day before the
howling winds descended. They were safe for another year.
by Corina Gruber
 Curse
The feverish child tossed and turned in his mother’s arms, crying with no tears. The man watched him, concern
in his eyes.
“We must call her, there is no other way,” he said in a soft voice.
The woman looked at him, frightened.
“The priest forbade us to speak to her. Says her soul is sold to The Dark One.”
“The priest is not here, is he? And the child is worse by the hour.”
The man put dressed in his huge wool coat and left the small house. Outside, the wind drifted the snow around
the houses. Everything was white, shining frozen in the moonlight.
Sometime later, the woman heard steps crunching the snow outside. The man entered the house, followed by a
hooded small figure. She took her scarf down and revealed black, long hair and shiny eyes.
“Where is he, Ioana? Where is your boy?” asked the newcomer.
The mother pointed to the crib where the child laid, a fever in his eyes. The woman looked at him and touched
his forehead.
“Give me water,” she said.
The father brought her a cup of cold water from a jug on the table. She lit a wooden stick and put it out in the
water, all the time whispering something. She lit 12 more and tossed them in the cup. Then, she dipped her
finger in the water and touched the boy’s lips and forehead, where she drew a cross.
The mother picked up the child.
“He doesn’t burn anymore,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “Thank you!”
“Be warned by this,” said the woman. “It will happen again. He has the mark on him. Put this on his hand.” She
handed her a red string from which a silver coin dangled. “Only that can protect him. I can only help him once. If
the curse touches him again, he will change.”
by Corina Gruber