The Mother of a Monster

There indeed was a woman with disheveled hair holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with running. When she saw my face at the window she threw herself forward and shouted in a voice laden with menace. Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower I heard the voice of the count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many minutes surpassed a pack of them poured like a pent up dam when liberated through the wide entrance into the courtyard. There was no cry from the woman, but theHowling of the wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away, singly, licking their