Werewolf Stories to Tell in the Dark Read Online Free PDF

conditions were deteriorating rapidly each day. Winter was closing in and the war around us was getting worse. Supplies were dwindling, and we were so hungry that we thought about food all the time. We used to have these fantasy conversations where we each planned our favourite meal and then described it to the others. It was a kind of torture really, but it was a torture that we just couldn’t avoid inflicting on each other.
    Then, one day, Father took me aside. Our mother had died the year before and none of our relatives was in the camp. Father was the only one Ela and I had left.
    â€˜Andros,’ he said. ‘Something has happened.’
    â€˜We’re going to be freed?’ I asked. ‘Allowed to go back home?’ That was the one thought and prayer we all had. But Father shook his head.
    â€˜I’m afraid we’re stuck here – and could be for some time.’
    â€˜We’re starving.’
    â€˜Not any more.’
    â€˜Why?’ I demanded urgently. Short-term, food was everything; it even masked the thought of returning home.
    â€˜A man has arrived – a man I used to know. His name is Fidov Levant. He’s a sort of hermit and has lived in the forest for years – and he’s bought in some supplies.’
    â€˜What kind of supplies?’ I gasped eagerly. ‘Nuts? Fruit?’
    â€˜Meat,’ replied Father slowly.
    â€˜Meat?’ I stared at him, almost salivating at the mention of the word.
    â€˜Yes. But it’s a limited supply. The adults will get a few morsels but we’ve decided to give most of it to the children.’
    â€˜You can’t do that. You’ll die,’ I protested. In spite of the constant pangs of terrible hunger I knew I couldn’t let my father starve – and neither would Ela. ‘We’ve got to share alike.’
    â€˜No, Andros. There isn’t enough.’
    Father was adamant that the plan would go ahead, and no amount of arguing on my part could do anything to dissuade him.
    â€˜Where did you get the meat?’ I asked Fidov. He was old, with a gaunt, leather-skinned face, but perhaps because of his height and lean figure he looked fit despite his age.
    â€˜International Red Cross,’ he said. ‘There was a surplus requirement on the border and I managed to persuade them to bring it back here. They agreed – because there’s so little. I’m sorry – it’s all I could do.’
    That night, fires were lit in the compound, and the smoke drifted up towards the high, snow-covered mountains that surrounded the camp. We had often heard what we thought was the howling of wolves out there, and although we knew they had all died now, I hadthe feeling that these ghostly animals were our real gaolers, far more so than the protective guards and the wired-in compound.
    That night the unaccustomed activity, the bustle of stoking the fires and cutting up the meat, made me feel anxious and unsettled. Somehow, the more I thought about it, I couldn’t help suspecting Fidov. Was he really telling the truth? Would the Red Cross entrust precious food, however small the consignment, to this wild-looking hermit? And would a hermit be on negotiating terms with the Red Cross, or anyone else for that matter? It did seem unlikely. Nevertheless, the thought of eating meat gradually obscured not only my father’s self-sacrifice but also the source of supply. I didn’t really care whether he had stolen it or not. Greed had me in its grip.
    The meat was cooked on the fires and smelt utterly delicious. Once it was ready and cut up with a little bread that we had made from the last of the flour, the aroma was so amazing that Ela and I could hardly wait for our turn, and I knew that if I had been denied my portion I would have fought to the death for it. I was repelled at my thoughts, but could still hardly wait to bite into the succulent flesh.
    But when the meat came, it wasn’t