It was 1926, John Logie Baird was beginning the journey that would bring the world the television set and Martial law was being declared in Great Britain
because of a national general strike. The United States Congress would be passing the Air Commerce Act that sought pilots and planes to be licensed and
Al Capone would dodge another attempt on his life from his rivals.
But in a quiet region of England, a young man was digging amongst the peat bogs around where he lived and searching for that find that would enhance
his place in the field of archaeology. Langrick Fen -a small village in Lincolnshire on the east coast and not far from the hamlet Dogdyke, was where this
keen archaeologist ferreted through the damp earth seeking the ancient remains of the Viking community that had once inhabited the region.
With his trowel striking something harder that the damp organic material that the Fens are known for, the unnamed digger may have dreamt of a jewelled
sword or a chest of riches taken by the marauding seafarers. However, it was a bone and carefully moving the peat from around the water-stained ossein,
he discovered a whole human skeleton with a unique difference to the other remains sometimes unearthed in the Lincolnshire marshes.
This one had a wolf's skull.
Gathering up his peat-sullied revelation, the young archaeologist took them to his cottage and placed it on a table for further examination. Perusing the
odd make-up of the skeleton in a little room where he kept his excavated finds, he looked for signs of chicanery where the head met the neck and found
none. It didn't make sense and yet here it was, a grotesque monster that should belong on one of those garish posters at the carnivals that sometimes
passed through Langrick Fen.
He was certain the lupine skull belonged to the human skeleton and even though he was well aware of the Cardiff Stone Giant ruse back in 1869, this
discovery seemed perfectly random without any cajoling from exterior forces. Confounded with the weird puzzle on his table, the young chap decided
to call it a day and retire to bed.
But sleep didn't arrive to ease his aching back and perplexed thoughts, his recent exhumation seemed to call to him and demand he solved this riddle.
Then, a noise from the room where he kept his archaeological cache drew his slumber-avoiding introspections from his concern and not bothering to light
a candle, the young man got up to investigate.
Surreptitiously moving through the darkness of his house, the wary amateur-archaeologist passed a window on his route to his hobby room and as he did
so, something rat-tat-tatted on the thin pane beside him. There was no interior illumination to cause a reflection and maybe -for the wide-eyed digger, that
was a good sign, but through the slim sheet of glass he saw a dark being looking at him and the shaggy features told him it was a tall wolf knocking on his
window. As his strength drained, the young man gazed at the ferocious beast staring at him and it was only when the wolfen-faced monster snarled and
raised an arm to smash the fragile barrier between them, did his ability to move return and he fled to the kitchen.
A crash sounded behind him and he wasted no time in locking and barring the door and erecting a barricade of furniture against it. Alone in the dark and
with an otherworldly creature softly padding the floor outside his kitchen, the archaeologist thought again about what he may have really dug out of those
barren fenlands.
Shivering in the cold, the faint harbinger of dawn was a welcoming sight and with the faint light, the sounds of a waiting monster walking around his kitchen
door abated. Cautiously dismantling his makeshift defence, he found the house was just as he'd left it before retiring to bed. Nothing... except the broken
window. However, the room where he'd placed the skeleton was in disarray, the bone fragments were scattered on the floor and the table was on its side.
As the previous night's haunting spurred his weary needs, the young man collected up his unwanted uncanny find and raced out to the spot on the marshes
where he'd first discovered them. Under several layers of peat, the bones of whatever had temporarily guested itself in the archaeologist's home were interred
and the location consciously and intentionally forgotten.
They say there are no wolves that walk upright and we're assured that all the monsters are slain. But if you hear that tippity-tap on your window just before
the Witching Hour, who will you believe?
(Edit: I just noticed that this weird encounter occurred in the same year as The Owlman Of Mawnan incident!)
![[Image: attachment.php?aid=11494]](http://rogue-nation3.com/attachment.php?aid=11494)
because of a national general strike. The United States Congress would be passing the Air Commerce Act that sought pilots and planes to be licensed and
Al Capone would dodge another attempt on his life from his rivals.
But in a quiet region of England, a young man was digging amongst the peat bogs around where he lived and searching for that find that would enhance
his place in the field of archaeology. Langrick Fen -a small village in Lincolnshire on the east coast and not far from the hamlet Dogdyke, was where this
keen archaeologist ferreted through the damp earth seeking the ancient remains of the Viking community that had once inhabited the region.
With his trowel striking something harder that the damp organic material that the Fens are known for, the unnamed digger may have dreamt of a jewelled
sword or a chest of riches taken by the marauding seafarers. However, it was a bone and carefully moving the peat from around the water-stained ossein,
he discovered a whole human skeleton with a unique difference to the other remains sometimes unearthed in the Lincolnshire marshes.
This one had a wolf's skull.
Gathering up his peat-sullied revelation, the young archaeologist took them to his cottage and placed it on a table for further examination. Perusing the
odd make-up of the skeleton in a little room where he kept his excavated finds, he looked for signs of chicanery where the head met the neck and found
none. It didn't make sense and yet here it was, a grotesque monster that should belong on one of those garish posters at the carnivals that sometimes
passed through Langrick Fen.
He was certain the lupine skull belonged to the human skeleton and even though he was well aware of the Cardiff Stone Giant ruse back in 1869, this
discovery seemed perfectly random without any cajoling from exterior forces. Confounded with the weird puzzle on his table, the young chap decided
to call it a day and retire to bed.
But sleep didn't arrive to ease his aching back and perplexed thoughts, his recent exhumation seemed to call to him and demand he solved this riddle.
Then, a noise from the room where he kept his archaeological cache drew his slumber-avoiding introspections from his concern and not bothering to light
a candle, the young man got up to investigate.
Surreptitiously moving through the darkness of his house, the wary amateur-archaeologist passed a window on his route to his hobby room and as he did
so, something rat-tat-tatted on the thin pane beside him. There was no interior illumination to cause a reflection and maybe -for the wide-eyed digger, that
was a good sign, but through the slim sheet of glass he saw a dark being looking at him and the shaggy features told him it was a tall wolf knocking on his
window. As his strength drained, the young man gazed at the ferocious beast staring at him and it was only when the wolfen-faced monster snarled and
raised an arm to smash the fragile barrier between them, did his ability to move return and he fled to the kitchen.
A crash sounded behind him and he wasted no time in locking and barring the door and erecting a barricade of furniture against it. Alone in the dark and
with an otherworldly creature softly padding the floor outside his kitchen, the archaeologist thought again about what he may have really dug out of those
barren fenlands.
Shivering in the cold, the faint harbinger of dawn was a welcoming sight and with the faint light, the sounds of a waiting monster walking around his kitchen
door abated. Cautiously dismantling his makeshift defence, he found the house was just as he'd left it before retiring to bed. Nothing... except the broken
window. However, the room where he'd placed the skeleton was in disarray, the bone fragments were scattered on the floor and the table was on its side.
As the previous night's haunting spurred his weary needs, the young man collected up his unwanted uncanny find and raced out to the spot on the marshes
where he'd first discovered them. Under several layers of peat, the bones of whatever had temporarily guested itself in the archaeologist's home were interred
and the location consciously and intentionally forgotten.
They say there are no wolves that walk upright and we're assured that all the monsters are slain. But if you hear that tippity-tap on your window just before
the Witching Hour, who will you believe?
(Edit: I just noticed that this weird encounter occurred in the same year as The Owlman Of Mawnan incident!)
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.