Simon Morley, an indigent and lonely clock mender was subjected to a vastly repetitious and tedious life. As a result of his dull, arid profession of handling chronometers and dial all day, he hadnÃÂt stepped out into the open for countless days and nights. This was what had caused MorleyÃÂs alteration of his tolerant individual tendency to an unforbearing character. At this present moment in time he considered he needed regeneration to his life. Morley made a courageous determination to set out for an undirected journey along the game trails of the valley.
Morley hadnÃÂt much to take along with him but a small awning, inadequate amounts of food and a bow and set of arrows that his father Joseph, a bow and arrow prodigy had left him. After gathering these in his torn rucksack, Morley awaited the coming of dawn to embark on his new journey.
Perhaps this chronicle should be told in anticipation---Once a month in the dead of the night, the skies are blackened with a dark malevolence, with but the full moon abroad to light ones way.
It is on this night once a month, and every month for so long as one could remember, that the eyes of the wolf, shine like a candle flame, a yellowish, red, radiating with an unnatural wickedness. It was on this night, under the full moons luminosity, that the werewolves were abroad, praying on small towns and villages, seeking out the flesh of man. But as every story becomes over time the werewolf has become but a myth and has long since been feared by the human man.
Morley awoke to the suns luminescence upon the valley in a bright conflagration of red and yellow. The air was fresh, still and very cool, sending small chills throughout his body...