Pennsylvanian Frontier

The virgin forests the Pennsylvania frontier softly swayed in the breeze. The light buzz of insects and song of birds only was silenced only by the limited passing of man. Not many people remaining along the border between the Pennsylvania Colony and New France. For two months now, something had been attacking settlers, English and French, what or whoever it was had no distinction between the two warring powers. Some English settlers blame local native but several villages in the area lay abandoned. What ever it was, it had a fondness for attacking women, ripping their throats out and then eating some of the internal organs. Any men it killed, it simply ripping them apart and scattered the pieces around in a small area.

However, reports have been pouring in, from the few survivors or the people that find the unlucky soul that got attacked of a huge beast, covered in reddish hair and with a horrendous stench hanging about it. As more and more reports of missing settlers or bodies pour into English and French authorities, action is demanded. Both the governor of Pennsylvania and the Police Chief-director of Louisiana placed a bounty for the head of this beast. They also arranged for patrols of made up of local militia and soldiers, to keep an eye on things, encase this was just some Indian trick.

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Young Molly Stark clutched her shawl around her shoulders tightly, despite the warm air of the late spring. The birds sung in the trees, crying out in their joy of chicks growing in the shell. It should have been a happy and light hearted time for the sixteen year old lass but the tales of the beast had been told so many times in her home, that she was loathed in leaving the safe walls. In fact, she never would have gone outside but for the fact that her papa was on a trip to Philadelphia, to meet with some bankers and her mother was bed bound with a child due soon.

She stooped from time to time, collecting ripening berries in a small basket. A feeling of general dread was slowly growing strong and making the girl want to run back home and cower beneath a blanket. Then, the stench of rotten meat assaulted her nose and a low growl teased her ears.

Swallowing and biting her lower lip in fear, Molly Stark slowly turned. Not twenty feet behind was a sight that caused the girl to pale in fear. A massive wolf-like beast stood on the path behind her, covered in thick, red-brown fur. It’s mouth was filled with long, sharp teeth and it’s yellow eyes looked at her with hunger or was it cruelty?

Slowly the beast crept forwards, the panicking girl could see long, sharp claws scratching the ground. At least, she tore herself from the beast gaze and screamed. She could swear that the beast smiled as she did. Yanking up her skirt, Molly turned and fled down the path, racing towards the Starks closest neighbor, her legs pumping with a speed born of fear. The beast’s heavy footfalls grew closer and closer behind her. Soon she could feel the hot, putrid breath on the back of her legs.

With luck or the beast’s playing with her, Molly burst from the woods, into Farmer Wickliff’s pasture. As she raced across green fields towards the rough farm house, the back of her left leg burned with a sharp pain, as the beast took a swipe at her legs, raking the back of her left leg. She collapsed onto the sweet smelling grass. The beast placed on paw on her back, pushing her young body into the earth and keeping her from trying to wiggle away. It's hot and rancid breath seemed to pour over the back of her neck, as a little drool dripped down in globs over her smooth skin and into her rich brown hair.

As the end drew near for the young colonial woman, it would seem that she would need an act of God to save her and one seemed to appear. One of Wickliff’s two oxen, a big black Gloucester bull, with his horns filled down, bellowed and charged at the beast, head lowered. If Molly had her wits about her, she might have wondered why a normally docile ox was attacking such a beast but the thought didn’t resister.

The charging bull caught the right side of the large beast with his blunt horns and tossed it away. Landing on it’s feet, the beast issued a challenging snarl and disappeared into the woods. The big ox stood over the bleeding girl, until Bill Wickliff, the farmer’s unmarried son, came to see what had upset the farm’s animals.

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Ross Barr leaned back in his chair, a long stemmed pipe between his teeth, tobacco smoke curling around his head. He, like many in the Backwoodsmen tavern, was heading out in the morning for the Pennsylvania border, only a few hours march away. A tankard sat on the small table in front of him, half full of the local brew. it wasn't too bad, he had drunk worse and at least the beer had a good head on it. The stew on the other hand, had been lacking in flavor but the bowl he had been served was empty and the remaining brow had been soaked up with a hunk of bread.