26th November 1939

Ashland, Maine, USA

George Waggner sat before the hearth in his modest house, deep in thought he run his fingers over the pointed pendant. The last month had been a real struggle, with the death of his friends and the police attention. Even now he knew they watched outside his home waiting for the monster he was to emerge. He had spent the month working, going about his business as usual with the exception of not visiting the bar. The lack of drinking had made the month longer and harder than it needed to be. The ghosts of the dead haunted his dreams again and for the first time in many years he allowed himself to think of his wife.

Behind him the chained cellar door rose a little and the dirty face of what was an otherwise beautiful woman peered out the gap. For the most part she had remained silent, choosing to coax him only when she thought him weakest. Nothing but support and kind words had come from the monster but still he could not bring himself to forgive her sins.

"Are you planning to join me in here tonight?" Her words stung him from his thoughts.

"Every time I think of releasing you the faces of the dead people haunt me." George replied somberly.

"It's not your fault you realize. It's the curse, it's why we don't belong here and it's why. We should go far away." She coaxed some more.

"I keep seeing the face of the woman I killed and her two children. Every day I think of the harm I've done and the harm I could do... And it freezes me cold." George allowed himself to wallow

"You can't see those faces." Evelyn spoke softly. "They are not yours to see."

The meaning of the words taking their time to sink in before he understood their meaning fully.

"You did it!" He accused her loudly while raising from his chair. "But why, why did you choose them? You went to their house and you knew, you knew what would happen." He had to keep from letting his voice raise into a shout. It was the evening of the full moon and the last thing he wanted was the police in here now.

"Their faces are mine to pine over, you have your own to carry." She continued on almost mournfully. "And I only finished what you started! Why was she alone that night? On the edge of the wild with two young children?"

George glared at her with such an intense fury he thought the wolf might break forth early. That the woman would make the victim to blame sickened him.

"Why was it her you chose to help with chores?" She goaded.

It hit him sudden and with such force he collapsed back into his chair. The relief he felt from not having done the deed himself mixed with the fury at her, for her part in the sin. When it all boiled away it still rest on him, memories came floating back, with a face he had pushed to the very bottom of his mind, drowning it there with liquor. The sub conscious guilt that drove him to her house, to offer his services when he heard of her predicament. The face of her husband terrified in the forest that night, the blood and his broken body on the forest floor. The town had searched but turned up nothing, deep down he had known, deep down he had to have, why else would he have visit her offering condolences and free labour. She had passed off his helpfulness as kindness or maybe even a chance to start again. A woman alone on the edge of the wilderness, with two young children and a large empty house. Who would blame her for taking another so soon after her husband. Many thought he run off, shirking the responsibilities to his family, but he hadn't somewhere in the woods he lay broken amongst the undergrowth. George sat slumped as the hour grew later and the light began to dwindle, the words of the gypsy lady reverberating in his head as he fingered the talisman again. She was right! They didn't stay dead and their deaths were never the end, only to be followed by more and more after that. The talisman was never meant to control the beast he could see that now, it was something he told himself to make it bearable . It was meant to destroy the beast forever, to break the chain.

Under his shirt the skin began to itch, as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled and a deep ache began in his jaw. Turning to the cellar he glared at the woman, her face pale in the gloom as canines protruded and her eyes took on an animal look. Working quickly he took the chain with the silver trinket from his neck but kept it clasped tight in his ever increasingly hairy hand, he would need it yet. Talking a key from the mantle he unlocked the padlock holding the chain in place. The chain rattled loud and violently as he pulled it clear, letting the half formed wolf woman claw her way from under the hatch. Standing free of constraints, hairs quickly consuming her nakedness as she eyed the silver spearhead in his hand.

"Do it!" Evelyn snarled "...and remember the next scream you hear may be your own."

"I'm ending it here." George snarled back still in his shirt and pants but fully covered with hair.

They both moved at the same time colliding in an embrace, blood drops hitting the floor between them. Blood ran along hairs from gashes in George's arm, before dripping from his elbow. Slowly Evelyn slumped to the ground, hair shrinking exposing her soft pale skin. The silver piercing her heart forever banishing the wolf and at the same time sucking her life away. George collapsed to his knees as the door swung open and two men with pistols drawn, entered the room to stand dumb struck.

Chaney didn't believe what he was seeing, as the last of the receding hair left the dead woman naked. Crouching over her corpse stood a monster in a mans cloths. The woman Evelyn's chest torn open, a chain attached the the base of a pendant protruding just enough to be seen. Leveling his gun at the beast he risked a glance to Siodmak, looking for guidance. Carl wore only a slightly less shocked look, having seen such a sight once before and only then for a glimpse. The Wolfman lifted its head, eyes betraying just a glimpse of the human underneath as it let out a tortured howl. Standing it stepped forth, face a contorted mess of emotion and animal. The pistol shot was a deafening roar in the small room as the silver bullet ripped through his chest sending him down again. With great strength the man beast looked heavenward tearing his shirt open, exposing the smoking wound. Siodmak stepped forward and swung the cane, burying the head of the cane into its chest.

With horror they watched as the hair receded and George the man finally lay at rest.