Hornmeister sat in a dark corner of The Admiral Amrabat on Thursday evening. The other villagers did not pay him much attention, but neither did he court it. On the table in front of him sat several empty tankards and a half eaten packet of pork scratchings. After finishing off the last of the crackling, Hornmeister pushed himself up from his seat and headed out of the pub. He turned right down the cobbled street towards his house, which was a little over 100 yards away on the other side of the village square. Hornmeister had felt uneasy all day long, and thought that a visit to the pub would calm his nerves. However, he found that now more than ever he could not shake that feeling. The street ahead of him was quiet and empty, and his footsteps echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings. Hornmeister had lived in the village all of his life. The Moderator, as he was affectionately known, was generally well liked and seemed to be fairly good at keeping the peace. He was the one whom most visited when they had an issue, and he would quietly go about sorting out their problems…for a small fee of course. He had made some enemies this way; his ban hammer had after all been swift and decisive. As he approached the square he could hear the sound of a fountain. Installed last year, the fountain was initially meant to immortalise the local football team’s promotion to the top table of English football. However, in the heat of the summer most of the villagers used it to cool off. As he passed the fountain, Hornmeister heard a low groan. Stopping, he strained his ears. It seemed to be coming from in the fountain. Had the village drunk fallen in again? Hornmeister sighed and walked over to the shallow pool surrounding the centrepiece. The pool was empty. Hornmeister listened again. Nothing. Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. Turning he found himself facing a hideous creature. The beast towered over him. It must have been at least 8ft tall, its muscly frame casting a long shadow in the glaze of the street light. Saliva dripped from its teeth, and slowly it licked its lips. Hornmeister went to speak, but before he could utter a word the wolf swiped at his head. It came clean off. The wolf kicked the body in the chest and it tumbled backwards into the fountain. It didn’t take long for the water to turn red. The wolf looked at the head in its hands and s******ed. He tossed the head into the fountain, and howled into the night sky. In the distance another did the same. The wolves were back!