I headed back into the centre of town carrying my purchases in two white plastic carrier bags, and as my flat would be so quiet I decided to stop in a pub I'd been in a couple of times where I could sit in a dark corner and study my purchases alone without actually being, you know, alone.
So with a pint of local ale I opened the bags. I went for the small black book first as I was intrigued by what the book seller had said. It was called 'The Wympyr' and had been published only a few years ago, purporting to be a new English translation of a 17th century Polish book. It seemed like exactly the same type of folk tale I'd read a thousand of in the last few months except that the villain of the piece was a vampire rather than a werewolf. Then I got to an intriguing bit about the genesis of the beast.
According to this book, killing a werewolf whilst in human form, regardless of the method used would allow the Demon side to take control of the corpse - effectively freeing it, and ensuring that it could roam free every night of the year. It would no longer be able to take the form of the large hairy beast, but it would be no less terrible for that.
The pub was a comfortable warm place of polished oak panels with brass hardware, red and blue paisley patterned carpet that was worn-in but not worn-out. The chairs and stools were topped in a red velour and the afternoon sun illuminated everything with a warm glow through the etched glass of the windows.
The barmaid came to greet me as I walked back to the bar. 'Another pint of the Sussex Large please.' I asked.
'I am sorry, it is off.' her English was fine but her accent placed her as being from Eastern Europe, somewhere. 'The barrel is being changed. Can I get you something else?' The staff in there all wore the same uniform; blue jeans and a dark blue branded polo shirt. It looked good on her.
'Oh, if it's being changed, I can wait thanks.' I smiled.
'Yes, I will bring it to you.' she smiled too.
I returned to my table and within a few minutes was completely engrossed in my books again, all of them open at various points and spread across the table, comparing apparent eye-witness accounts of the beasts mostly between the 16th and 18th century.
I found a woodcut reprinted in one of the books that looked uncannily like the beast I saw on that mountain-top; thick in the chest, long powerful forearms that ended in hand-like paws with long claws - it stood on its hind legs, one rear paw on an eviscerated victim - another victim held aloft so that the man's blood ran over the thing’s short muzzle into its mouth. I thought the artist must have seen a beast the same as I had - it really was too similar to be a coincidence.
'Vulkodlak.' The barmaid said leaning over the engraving for a better look.
‘Sorry?’ I asked.
She smiled. 'That is how we say in Serbia. Vulkodlak. In English you say... Vampire I think. No?'
'Werewolf.' I said.
'Yes. Werewolf, Vampire. Same thing.' She nodded as if she'd been a great help to me, smiled a dazzling smile and then returned to the bar, leaving my fresh pint for me.
So with a pint of local ale I opened the bags. I went for the small black book first as I was intrigued by what the book seller had said. It was called 'The Wympyr' and had been published only a few years ago, purporting to be a new English translation of a 17th century Polish book. It seemed like exactly the same type of folk tale I'd read a thousand of in the last few months except that the villain of the piece was a vampire rather than a werewolf. Then I got to an intriguing bit about the genesis of the beast.
According to this book, killing a werewolf whilst in human form, regardless of the method used would allow the Demon side to take control of the corpse - effectively freeing it, and ensuring that it could roam free every night of the year. It would no longer be able to take the form of the large hairy beast, but it would be no less terrible for that.
The pub was a comfortable warm place of polished oak panels with brass hardware, red and blue paisley patterned carpet that was worn-in but not worn-out. The chairs and stools were topped in a red velour and the afternoon sun illuminated everything with a warm glow through the etched glass of the windows.
The barmaid came to greet me as I walked back to the bar. 'Another pint of the Sussex Large please.' I asked.
'I am sorry, it is off.' her English was fine but her accent placed her as being from Eastern Europe, somewhere. 'The barrel is being changed. Can I get you something else?' The staff in there all wore the same uniform; blue jeans and a dark blue branded polo shirt. It looked good on her.
'Oh, if it's being changed, I can wait thanks.' I smiled.
'Yes, I will bring it to you.' she smiled too.
I returned to my table and within a few minutes was completely engrossed in my books again, all of them open at various points and spread across the table, comparing apparent eye-witness accounts of the beasts mostly between the 16th and 18th century.
I found a woodcut reprinted in one of the books that looked uncannily like the beast I saw on that mountain-top; thick in the chest, long powerful forearms that ended in hand-like paws with long claws - it stood on its hind legs, one rear paw on an eviscerated victim - another victim held aloft so that the man's blood ran over the thing’s short muzzle into its mouth. I thought the artist must have seen a beast the same as I had - it really was too similar to be a coincidence.
'Vulkodlak.' The barmaid said leaning over the engraving for a better look.
‘Sorry?’ I asked.
She smiled. 'That is how we say in Serbia. Vulkodlak. In English you say... Vampire I think. No?'
'Werewolf.' I said.
'Yes. Werewolf, Vampire. Same thing.' She nodded as if she'd been a great help to me, smiled a dazzling smile and then returned to the bar, leaving my fresh pint for me.
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