Episode 2 — The Man Everyone Laughs At
1968 Words
Morning came to Blackpine beneath a gray sky.
Snow had fallen throughout the night, covering the rooftops, roads, and cemetery in a thick white blanket.
Inside The Howling Wolf, Silas Vane slept at a corner table with his head resting on his folded arms.
An empty bottle lay beside him.
The bartender, Thomas Reed, stood behind the counter and watched him with growing irritation.
“Get up.”
Silas didn’t move.
Thomas picked up a wooden spoon and struck the table.
“Get up!”
Silas groaned.
“Five more minutes.”
“You’re not at home.”
Silas slowly lifted his head.
His hair was a mess.
His eyes were half closed.
His shirt was wrinkled.
Thomas placed a cup of water in front of him.
“Drink.”
Silas stared at it.
“Is that whiskey?”
“Water.”
Silas pushed it away.
“Too dangerous.”
Thomas rolled his eyes.
“You’re going to be trouble.”
Silas smiled.
“I’ve been called worse.”
He reached for the bottle beside him.
Thomas grabbed it first.
“Not this early.”
Silas looked genuinely offended.
“You’re a cruel man.”
“Out.”
Silas stood.
He swayed dramatically.
Thomas sighed.
“Just walk.”
Silas staggered toward the door.
Before he could reach it, the door opened.
Clara Bell entered.
She paused when she saw him.
“You survived the night.”
Silas smiled.
“Barely.”
Clara glanced at the empty bottle.
“I’m surprised.”
“I’m difficult to kill.”
The words came naturally.
Too naturally.
Clara studied him.
Silas realized his mistake.
He immediately stumbled against the door.
“Very difficult,” he added drunkenly.
Clara shook her head.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere warm.”
“You have nowhere to stay?”
Silas shrugged.
“I have the entire mountain.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is if you’re homeless.”
Clara sighed.
“There’s an abandoned storage shed behind the old mill. You can stay there for a night or two.”
Silas looked at her.
“Why help me?”
“Because freezing to death isn’t a dignified way to die.”
Silas smiled.
“Kind woman.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
She walked past him.
Silas watched her.
There was something different about Clara.
She hadn’t laughed at him.
She hadn’t looked at him with disgust.
And that made her dangerous.
People who hated him were easy to understand.
People who were curious were not.
By mid morning, Silas had become the entertainment of Blackpine.
He walked through the market square with a bottle in his hand, pretending to stumble every few steps.
People laughed.
Some whispered.
Others simply ignored him.
Silas didn’t care.
He watched everything.
A butcher arguing with a farmer.
Two guards speaking beside the church.
A black carriage belonging to Viktor Rask parked outside the magistrate’s office.
And three men standing near the northern road.
Silas recognized two of them.
They had been present twenty years ago.
Older now.
But not old enough for him to forget.
One was Garrick Holt, the former village hunter.
The other was Edmund Vale, a wealthy merchant.
Silas lowered his head.
His fingers tightened around the bottle.
He wanted to walk toward them.
Instead, he stumbled into a stack of wooden crates.
The crates fell.
A dozen apples rolled across the snow.
Everyone laughed.
Silas raised both hands.
“I’m sorry.”
Garrick Holt looked over.
“Watch where you’re walking, drunk.”
Silas looked at him.
For a moment, something dark passed through his eyes.
Then he grinned.
“My apologies.”
Garrick laughed.
“Look at him. Can’t even stand.”
Edmund Vale joined him.
“Probably won’t survive the winter.”
The men walked away.
Silas crouched and began gathering the apples.
A little girl approached him.
She couldn’t have been more than seven.
She picked up an apple and handed it to him.
“You dropped this.”
Silas accepted it.
“Thank you.”
The girl smiled.
“My mother says you’re dangerous.”
Silas looked at her.
“Does she?”
She nodded.
“She says drunk men are dangerous.”
Silas glanced at the bottle in his hand.
“Your mother is probably very wise.”
The girl giggled.
Then she ran away.
Silas watched her disappear.
His smile faded.
He remembered another little girl.
His younger sister.
She had been six when the fire came.
He could still remember her screaming his name.
Silas closed his eyes.
Not again.
He couldn’t afford to remember.
Not yet.
That afternoon, Silas followed the northern road.
He walked alone.
The village disappeared behind him.
Pine trees surrounded the path.
The wind grew colder.
He stopped beside an old wooden marker.
A faded symbol had been carved into it.
A wolf’s head.
Silas touched the carving.
Someone had scratched a warning beneath it.
TURN BACK.
He looked toward the forest.
“No.”
He continued.
Twenty years earlier, he had run from these woods.
Tonight, he intended to walk through them.
But before he could enter, he heard something.
A branch snapping.
Silas stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
The forest became silent.
He reached beneath his coat.
His fingers closed around the handle of a small knife.
Another sound.
Behind him.
Silas turned.
Nothing.
Then a voice spoke.
“You shouldn’t go in there.”
Silas looked toward the trees.
Clara stepped onto the road.
He sighed.
“You follow everyone into the forest?”
“Only suspicious drunks.”
“I’m flattered.”
She approached.
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking a walk.”
“Into the northern forest?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silas smiled.
“I like trees.”
Clara stared at him.
“You’re a strange man.”
“You’ve noticed.”
She glanced at the warning marker.
“People don’t go there.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Silas looked at her.
“I’ve been here one day.”
“You’ve heard the stories.”
“Stories are usually exaggerated.”
“Not these.”
Silas’s expression became serious.
“What happened?”
Clara hesitated.
“People disappear.”
“People disappear everywhere.”
“Not like this.”
Silas waited.
She lowered her voice.
“Animals have been found torn apart. Hunters have gone missing. Sometimes people hear howling.”
Silas looked into the trees.
“Wolves?”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“And what do you say?”
Clara studied him.
“I say wolves don’t leave footprints shaped like human feet.”
Silas slowly turned toward her.
Interesting.
Before he could answer, a gunshot echoed from deep within the forest.
Clara jumped.
Silas didn’t.
His entire body became still.
A second shot followed.
Then silence.
Clara whispered, “What was that?”
Silas looked toward the trees.
“Someone hunting.”
“You think?”
He started walking.
Clara grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To see.”
“It’s dangerous.”
Silas looked down at her hand.
Then at her face.
“Stay here.”
“You’re drunk.”
Silas smiled.
“Yes.”
Then he disappeared into the trees.
Clara stared after him.
For the first time, she was certain.
Silas Vane wasn’t drunk.
At least not now.
Silas moved silently through the forest.
No stumbling.
No swaying.
No wasted movement.
He followed the smell of gunpowder.
Then blood.
Fresh.
He reached a clearing.
A man lay beside a fallen tree.
His hunting rifle was several feet away.
Silas crouched beside him.
The man was alive.
Barely.
His chest was covered in blood.
Silas looked at the ground.
There were footprints in the snow.
Human.
Then something else.
Large.
Four-legged.
The tracks crossed over one another.
Silas followed them with his eyes.
The creature had circled the hunter.
But it hadn’t killed him.
Something else had.
Silas looked at the man’s throat.
A knife wound.
Not claws.
A human had attacked him.
Silas heard movement behind the trees.
He immediately stood.
“Come out.”
Nothing.
Silas’s hand moved toward his knife.
Then a figure ran between the trees.
Silas chased it.
He moved with astonishing speed.
The figure disappeared around a bend.
Silas stopped.
There was nobody there.
Only a piece of black fabric caught on a branch.
Silas pulled it free.
He recognized the material.
A magistrate’s coat.
Viktor Rask.
Silas stared at it.
His expression became cold.
Behind him, a howl echoed through the forest.
Silas turned.
The sound came from somewhere beyond the trees.
He looked down at the fabric in his hand.
Then toward the darkness.
“This isn’t your work.”
The forest remained silent.
Silas whispered:
“So what are you?”
When Silas returned to the clearing, Clara was already there.
She had followed him.
She knelt beside the injured hunter.
“You were gone too long.”
Silas handed her the torn piece of black fabric.
Clara looked at it.
“Where did you get this?”
“Found it.”
She examined the cloth.
“That’s expensive.”
Silas shrugged.
“Then someone rich lost it.”
Clara looked toward the injured man.
“He’s alive.”
“Barely.”
“Help me carry him.”
Silas lifted the man effortlessly.
Clara stared.
“You’re not drunk.”
Silas looked at her.
He smiled.
Then deliberately stumbled.
“Very drunk.”
Clara frowned.
“You’re impossible.”
“That’s what people say.”
They carried the hunter toward the village.
Neither noticed the figure watching them from high among the trees.
A pair of pale eyes followed Silas.
Then disappeared into the darkness.
That evening, Viktor Rask stood inside his office.
A fire burned behind him.
Garrick Holt stood across the room.
“You said nobody would find him.”
Viktor’s expression was calm.
“Nobody has.”
“The hunter saw something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Viktor turned toward the window.
Snow fell over Blackpine.
“What about the stranger?”
Garrick hesitated.
“The drunk?”
“Yes.”
“He’s nothing.”
Viktor remained silent.
After a moment, he asked:
“Where did he come from?”
“No one knows.”
“Find out.”
Garrick nodded.
He turned toward the door.
“Garrick.”
The hunter stopped.
Viktor’s voice became colder.
“If the stranger asks questions about the Vane family, I want to know immediately.”
Garrick looked back.
“You think he knows something?”
Viktor stared at the snowy village.
“I think Blackpine has been quiet for twenty years.”
He paused.
“And quiet things have a way of making noise when they wake up.”
Late that night, Silas sat alone inside the abandoned shed behind the mill.
The bottle beside him was untouched.
He stared at the piece of black fabric he had found in the forest.
Then he pulled the silver wolf pendant from beneath his shirt.
The symbol on the pendant seemed almost black in the candlelight.
Silas whispered:
“Viktor.”
His hand tightened around the fabric.
Twenty years of waiting had taught him patience.
But patience had limits.
Outside, something moved through the snow.
Silas slowly raised his head.
A low growl came from beyond the door.
He stood.
The candle flame flickered.
Another growl.
Closer.
Silas opened the door.
Nothing stood outside.
Only snow.
Only trees.
Only darkness.
Then he looked down.
Four enormous paw prints marked the snow.
They stopped directly outside his door.
Silas stared at them.
His face became unreadable.
The wolf had found him.
And somewhere in Blackpine, something had begun hunting again.
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