The Wolf Girl 73

I played my part in many strange events during the years I spent in Greece during World War Two, and in the Greek civil war that was to follow. But with the exception of the events of Friday 3rd September 1948, they were all related to the strangeness of human nature rather than to anything supernatural.

I reach down from my safe the tin containing the mementos of that day; the notebook containing meticulous notes in Joshua's own hand, the copy of the Greek medical examiners report translated into English, the small woven bag containing the carved wolf-stone and the scrawled note from Josh "For God's sake help me Harry. Meet me at the castle taverna at 7pm sharp. Bring your revolver. Josh". The papers are yellowing now and beginning to stiffen with age. The ink is starting to fade like my memories, however the touch of these mementos and the succinct, no-nonsense notes from my own journal conjure back that day in sharp colour.

My journals from those days have a directness and simplicity of style that makes me smile now. My more recent journals are far more prosaic and flowery, a reflection perhaps of the relative lack of excitement when compared with my younger days. Those early journals are the writings of a young man of action to whom every day was an adventure, an optimist unencumbered by the musings and observations that fill out my more recent efforts.

Josh and I were both agents posted to Greece; we had served our respective governments during the German occupation of Greece and then supported the Greek government forces in the civil war that was to follow. Josh was a veteran of the US army whilst my paymasters were the British government.

For young men such as we it was a paradise. The beautiful weather and attentive Greek girls made for a lifestyle outside of our duties that contrasted strongly with the business of war and the ruthlessness of some of our more subtle assignments.

***

Having received his note earlier that day I turned up at the castle taverna at the specified hour to find Josh already several Ouzos worse for wear. He looked uncharacteristically wild as he dragged me to a quiet corner and began to speak urgently.

About his shoulders he had slung a leather satchel which he hoisted over his head and handed to me. He thrust a set of keys into my hand and then proceeded with his narrative.

I knew that Josh was a keen historian and that he was particularly interested in the more unusual and even occult tales. His posting in Greece, a country with a sophisticated history occupying many millennia, provided ample opportunity for indulging his passion. I knew that he and his lovely Greek girlfriend Alena spent their spare time prospecting and exploring the Peloponnese. In that time they had amassed an enviable collection of artefacts.

Were it not for his wild-eyed earnestness and the faith I had in Josh as a practical man of action, I would have dismissed his tale as the ravings of a mad man. Instead I listened as he told me how me had found the wolf-stone and of the experiments he and Alena had worked upon it. I listened as he told me in a whisper about how the stone could be used to bring about the characteristics of the wolf in a human. How at first it had seemed like an easy thing to control, fun even. Then he told me about the appearance of the wolf-mother, and how lately the night brought the uncontrollable beast urges. The murderous hunting, the depraved dog-acts. Poor Alena - how he needed my help to help her!

Impressed by his tale I followed him as he bade, to the house he had been renting with Alena in town. It was an old town house in the French colonial style with outbuildings and a gated courtyard overflowing with flowering shrubs.

Josh unlocked the gate. I followed him in and he locked it again behind us. The last vestiges of sunlight flowed between the flowering hibiscus, lighting the yard with a warm orange glow and casting soft shadows around the edges.

He indicated one of the outbuildings; I could see it had a stout door with a rusting wrought iron grill at the window - designed for decoration but doubtless effective at restraining whomsoever should find themselves inside.

I tiptoed after him to the door and he bade me look through the grill.

As my eyes accustomed to the gloom within I could make out the figure of Alena huddled at the back of the building.

The instinct born from years of conflict and fighting had already propelled my pistol into my hand whilst my sixth-sense nagged at me to notice that something else was wrong.

The door to the outbuilding in which Alena was trapped was only locked from the inside!

At the same instant that this realisation dawned I heard a guttural noise from behind me; wheeling in a fighters crouch, pistol at the ready, I turned to face Josh.

The last rays of sunlight had disappeared and the most terrible change had come over my companion - his mouth was open in a snarl and his eyes were lit as with the flames of hell itself. I am a man hardened to conflict but never have I faced in any foe such open and certain death.

He rushed at me, open jaws making for my throat. My fighters instinct pushed my left arm into his jaws while my right forced the nose of my pistol into his stomach and fired. Once. Twice.

The tearing pain in my left arm brought me to my knees as Josh let forth an ear-rending howl. I didn't rise to my feet but aimed my pistol at the shadow of his form and let fly another six steady shots.

There was no further sound from him and gripping my wounded arm tightly I made my way over to the outbuilding where Alena was imprisoned.

***

Joshua Austin Lynn. Killed in action. 03-Sep-1948.

According to the medical examiners report, only two of the bullets I fired actually hit Joshua. I mentally rebuked myself for my poor aim under pressure. It never entered my mind to feel remorse for killing Josh; there is no doubt in my mind that I would have died that night had I not, and probably Alena too. Furthermore when we discussed the matter afterwards we agreed that Josh had wanted that outcome, that the part of him that was still human battled with the survival instinct of the wolf.

Alena and I briefly took comfort with one another and the event was written off by Josh's superiors as another unfortunate death in that terrible war. Alena disappeared soon after to live in the US and I didn't hear anything for many years.

***

It was 25 years later in 1973 that a mutual acquaintance contacted me to say that Alena had died. In response to my letter he told me that Alena had been killed in an attack by a dog. He asked in return whether he could share my details with Alena's daughter, Helene.

I turn from my journal and look at the letter from Helene, delivered two days previously.

"I know you helped my father - my mother explained everything to me. Now I need your help. For Gods sake help me. Helene"

I run a hand over my old pistol that I somehow never got around to returning and stiffened my resolve to assist Helene. The daughter of my old friend. The wolf-girl of Josh Lynn.