... Or a waking nightmare
Ylva flew along the paved path, her husband ahead of her. He had already disappeared around the side of the house by the time she was half way there. His yells, her son's screams, all seemed muffled in her mind, as though she were hearing them through a thick glass wall. Louder in her ears was the rasping of her own breath, the beating of her own heart. Please let my baby be alive.
She rounded the corner and stopped dead. She gasped: Involuntarily fell back a step: Froze. Her gaze swept the scene in three seconds but it took so much longer for her to comprehend what lay before her. Her baby; her little boy lay prostrate on the ground. His right arm was twisted at a bad angle. His hair was matted with blood. He was bleeding so much! Arms, legs, face all marred by glittering trails, turned black in the moonlight. Please not dead. Not dead. Please...
Ylva glanced down and saw the remains of her son's slippers lying tattered and chewed at her feet. But only when the growling finally broke past the seeming block in her hearing, did she comprehend the rest of the scene.
A wolf circled, pacing back and forth around her son's body. It's eyes were fixed on her husband who stood, wand drawn, near the house wall. This was not a gray wolf, as she had often glimpsed from afar in the winter. This wolf was a reddish brown, with a peculiar snout and unusually large paws. But it was the eyes that sent alarm bells ringing in Ylva's ears. Eyes that were yellow and glowing. Werewolf.
A sob escaped Ylva, and immediately the wolf reacted. It turned from Connor toward her, and under it's yellow gaze she quailed. It would surely smell her fear. Oh why had she not picked up her wand from the bench? She stood uselessly, hands at sides as the wolf took a deliberate step toward her.
"INCENDIO!" Connor's voice erupted into the night. It carried with it a flare of blue-white flames. The flames shot toward the wolf but the creature dodged. Quick as a flash it leapt at Connor, and Ylva gasped again as he raised his wand in defense. But there was not time for him to call a spell. The wolf's jaws yawned ready to bite his neck, to kill. But something found its way between them. The wolf's jaws snapped shut around the mahogany wand and with an earsplitting crack the wand was snapped clean in half.
But the creature's momentum would not be stayed. It planted its forepaws firmly on Connor's chest and he stumbled back against the house wall. Claws dug deep and Ylva sobbed again, raised her hands to her mouth to stifle the sound.
It was then that she remembered the cutlery. Knife and fork, metal, shining silver in the moonlight. A vague memory stirred from Ylva's school days, a defense lesson she thought she'd never have occasion to need.
"CONNOR!" She screamed as the wolf towered over her husband. His eyes darted her way and she threw the knife, handle first so as not to stab him. Merlin knew how he caught it but he did. He stabbed, slashing at the wolf's snout and eyes.
A ghostly howl of pain and sorrow responded and the wolf withdrew, returned to his circling. But he wasn't beaten. He wasn't really that hurt at all. Blood dribbled from the wounds to his snout but any moment he would attack again. Ylva and Connor traded momentary confused glanced. The knife should have done it. Silver bullets killed werewolves. Surely silver alone would injure.
Ylva saw Conner glance down at the knife and then back up at her, fear in his eyes.
"It's stainless steel Ylva!" Ylva could only sob again. The wolf lunged once more. Again Connor slashed but this time the wolf paid not mind. Again it bowled him over with it's strength and stood ready to tear out his throat.
Ylva glanced away, down. The wolf had killed her son. It was about to kill her husband. And then it would be her. She could not bear to look.
The fork caught her eye. More exactly, something emblazoned on the bottom of the fork: a detail she had neglected to notice. It was a crest, the crest of her family. It was of the set her mother had bequeathed to her. But where it had come from did not matter. That cutlery set was pure silver!
Without thinking, Ylva dashed forward. Her fear was gone. Her heart was pumping. Her breath came fast in her lungs. She would not lose both son and husband. She stabbed at the wolf's flank. Once, twice, three times. The unearthly howl erupted through the night again, but Ylva paid not mind. She stabbed a fourth time, and felt the fork wrenched from her grip.
The wolf fled, fork still stuck in its side, and Ylva crumpled to the ground, weeping. She waas dimly aware of Connor moving. He had got to his feet and walked a short way away. Perhaps he wanted to make sure the wolf would not come back. She didn't know. At least he was alive.
"Ylva," His voice was harsh, soft and hushed, "Ylva, come quickly. He's alive-..."
To be continued...