Watching the well-dressed Mr. Cokes through the window of his dining room, the curtain of which he’d so callously left undrawn, I could not help but ponder upon the man. As he carefully arranged a place setting for one, himself, had he any idea that in the shadows outside of his home lurked the man, or I suppose to him I was in some fashion a beast, that would take his life on this very night? As had become my custom I had done exhaustive research on the fellow. His father had been an Englishman, a travelling salesman. His mother, a French lady’s maid.

I found myself not privy to every detail of precisely how things worked within the world of unnatural creatures and I supposed that either, or perhaps even both parents could have been of the Loup-Garou variety, but the fact that the mother was French and that the father had passed away of natural causes at the relatively young age of only forty seven, indicated to me exactly from whom he had inherited his peculiar condition.

Cokes was also a perfectionist. His home and his personal appearance, as well as his criminal record, immaculate. I supposed that if one were to be a vicious creature that preyed upon ordinary folk that it should be only be prudent to try to present the most respectable of airs, so as to avoid suspicion. The neighborhood in which the house resided was not, after all, the cleanest nor safest in the city. Its surroundings had slowly given way to a more industrial character since it had been built; some one hundred years ago or more by the look of the place. Not the state of it mind you, as it was flawless and eloquently decorated, but it is the architecture that I speak of when I date the structure.

I watched as the man took his place at the empty table. I had studied the habits of those who boarded with Mr. Cokes and knew that Wednesday evening was the only night that all four of them would be absent until at least ten o’clock. It was only half past seven. That provided me with plenty of time to do what had to be done and to remove any evidence of the act before they returned. Being the charitable sort I had gone through the trouble of locating a copy of Cokes’ last will and testament, a document which left the house and property to what I presumed to be a relative living in France. As luck would have it, however, the solicitor who’d drawn up the papers had since passed away of consumption, leaving me free to alter the document, and thereby bequeathing the estate instead to the victims of Mr. Cokes’ crimes. A repayment for the time which he had stolen from them. It was only just, I felt.

There it was. A sip from the wine glass. I would permit him a few more moments to allow the beverage to relax his muscles and dull his wits before I made my move. I’d been very lucky with the first Loup-Garou I’d encountered. Experience over the last few years taught me not to be so self-assured. To date I had encountered, and in the course of events, killed, twenty three beasts of the night. Some I had taken by surprise, but with others I’d not been so fortunate. I now bore the scars, primarily on my back, flanks and arms to prove just how deadly a cornered monster could be. The fingers of my right hand slid into my overcoat, caressed the silver spike that hung there from one of the concealed leather harnesses that held my weapons. Gloved, so as not to leave behind any finger marks, my right hand closed around the grip.

Being a none too heavily populated area I had only minor trouble finding a moment when no one was walking by in which to make my move. Taking one last glance around to verify my solitude I pulled the weapon free, its blade resonating with a sound slightly akin to that of a tuning fork, as it cleared my coat and touched the cool night air. In a dash I rushed forward, careful not to be seen through the open front window. Then, once I was standing on the front porch, I snuffed out the gas lamp that illuminated it before bringing my right boot up and kicking in the door. Wood splintered as the frame gave way and immediately the sound of a chair being slid back across the floor of the dining room could be heard coming from inside. Wasting not a single moment I burst through the entryway and confronted my quarry as he ran into the hall.

“Not another step Mr. Cokes!” I exclaimed, brandishing my weapon for him to see.

Being somewhat dark in the passage I believe my blade to have caught a glint of light, for his eyes darted directly to it.

“What do you want?” he implored, then lifted his gaze to meet mine, at which he jumped with quite visible alarm, “My God! What are you?!”

Seemingly terrified he turned for the back door, at the far end of the hallway, and took off in a sprint I would not have thought him capable of. I gave chase and managed, albeit barely, to catch him just before he reached it, sending us both crashing through its wood and glass and tumbling onto the paving stones in the garden at the back of the house. The blade dropped from my hand as I reached out to brace myself, lest my head be struck upon one of the stones. The fall stunned us both, but only for the slightest of intervals. I groped desperately for my weapon, in the general direction which I had seen it fall, when I heard the howl behind me and the painful sting of Mr. Cokes’ claws as they dug into the back of my right thigh. Pain is only a damage signal sent from the brain to alert one to injury, it could be blocked out. The dagger, I needed the dagger!

Finally my hand touched metal and with a jerking motion I spun around onto my back, swinging the blade as I went. The Loup-Garou anticipated my move, swatted the dagger away before it could plunge into his shoulder, and sent it clattering onto some hard surface many feet away. Staring up at his form, illuminated by the dim gas lamps of the garden, he was a genuinely terrifying visage to behold. The mild mannered landlord, now in his true form, sported fur as black as coal, eyes that glowed an intense reddish-orange, and he bore more scars than any Loup-Garou I had ever encountered. He was an old one.

Barely dodging the downward attack of his snarling muzzle, which I could only presume was destined for my throat, I managed to wriggle myself free and roll to the side, into the damp grass. I looked up but with a quick backhand he sent me spinning what was likely two or three yards, right into a birdbath, which collapsed as I struck it and covered me in icy cold water. He was old indeed; stronger than the others and quite intelligent to boot. He deftly dodged the fistful of pepper that I attempted to toss into his eyes and sensitive canine nose.

Pausing for only the slightest moment to roar at me, a sound that sent chills down my spine despite having heard such cries before on several occasions, he lunged forward again with paws swinging wildly. Thinking quickly I brought up the heavy bowl of the fallen bird bath. Chips of cement flew as his powerful claws struck its surface repeatedly. Pulling my left leg into my chest I then summoned my full strength and forced my boot up into his sternum. Cokes yowled and fell back several steps, providing me the opportunity to get to my feet.

Though I had never met another who shared my vocation I was struck by the thought that if this particular Loup-Garou had lived long enough that surely he had encountered other persons like myself at one time or another. There must have been those who’d wished to put his evil to an end. Or were the scars he bore instead from battles with others of his own kind? Or perhaps from other types of creatures altogether? Interesting, yes, but those were thoughts for another time. Of one thing I was virtually certain, he had never chanced upon another quite as clever as myself. For, unbeknownst to him, holstered at my hip, lay a miniature crossbow that held a silver-tipped bolt.

In a flash I whipped my coat open. He sprang forward with jaw wide open for a killing blow but just in time my weapon came to bear and fired its projectile straight into his heart. I grunted as the entire heft of the beast, curiously more than that of any normal man, fell upon me. I managed to remain standing, but only just. His final breath issued into my ear and I rolled the corpse off of me. It produced a moist thud as it fell to the ground.

If they remained in their monstrous state after death, which most seemed to do, then why did no examples of them exist in museums? It could be posited that killing these types of creatures was simply a very difficult and rare occurrence, but then what of the lore? Someone had written down the methods with which to kill such things, so it had undoubtedly been done before. Then again I was not, myself, in the business of delivering these carcasses to the royal museum or the university. Had I stumbled upon something more than just the notion that our world was inhabited by strange beasts? Was there some code of conduct, honored amongst those who slay monsters, that I was unaware of? My thoughts were interrupted by the familiar ratcheting clicks of a service revolver.