The Curse of the Eberbachs

He must have slept a restless sleep, lulled by the steady drone of the engine – with some wild dreams about a huge gold-coloured dog and some wolves – when the slam of the truck door woke him. The truck had stopped, and there were voices. He recognised Spike's voice as one of them.

Steps heading away from the truck, while other steps rounded it. Someone was whistling.

Twenty years later, when Spike was laid off because of a bad back, and forced into an early retirement, he would still tell his grandchildren about that delivery to Ashford and his stowaway passenger.

"I lift that flap, and out it comes, like the Devil 'imself, or like one of them beasts in those werewolf flicks! A huge black beast, all teeth, and growlin' like the pits of 'ell!"

At this point of the story, Old Spike knew that he exaggerated, but it was so hard to resist.

"It tried to, luv, but I 'ad a huge wrench in me 'and – I swung it upward – and the beast jumped out, right over me 'ead, would you believe it?"

The Major jumped indeed, and then he ran, and he was sure he had never run like this in his entire life. In human form, he used to run long distances to keep himself in shape, and he found that his dog body was in good shape as well.

As far as he could make out, he was in a middle-sized town which he could only assume was Ashford. When he felt he had put a safe distance between himself and the truck driver, he slowed down.

A small park was just up ahead to his right, with a lake and ducks swimming around. He was thirsty, so he went down to the lake and lapped some water. The ducks near the shore fled, quacking angrily, some of them flew up, only to land on the water again, a distance away. Something in his brain clicked ...

He came to again when everything left of the unfortunate duck were a few feathers flying around in the bushes, where he had taken his kill to devour it. He had been hungry as well ...

Bleagh. His human mind shied away from how he had just sated his hunger. Not the hunt and the kill, but eating the bird raw ... Well, that was perfectly normal for a dog, wasn't it? They were descendants of wolves after all. And deep inside, there was a nagging thought: What if his dog instincts would take over more and more – which would most probably mean he would lose his mind?

Nonsense, von dem Eberbach. Better concentrate on how to reach your destination.

He trotted on, until he reached a region which looked somehow familiar. There was a big roundabout, and he remembered having passed through it in his car one day. So this was the town of Ashford after all. The direction he had to keep to was Faversham, and then midway turning left, going West. He would not be able to walk alongside the main road, of course, though he decided to stay as close to it as possible.

On your feet, von dem Eberbach. Or should I better say: paws? he thought grimly. Anyway –

Trotting along at a brisk, steady pace, he found he was craving a smoke very much.

Strange, he thought, my stomach doesn't mind the dirty water of the lake, nor the raw duck. A smoke would probably smell terrible to me now, and yet I'm dying for a fag ... Shit.

When he had left the town behind and reached the open landscape, he felt an overpowering urge to run, over the green meadows, through the small patches of wood, to chase the sheep grazing peacefully at a distance, to hunt some rabbits maybe ... and he called himself strictly to order. He would not allow his dog instincts to get the better of him.

Close to Ashford – Faversham road, he thought. Major Klaus von dem Eberbach in attempt to find refuge to get human form back to continue with assignment to locate scientist Patrick Retty. Time: about noon. Weather: fair.

He ignored the stink from the cars on the nearby road and also the very interesting smells of mice, rabbits, foxes and what not, and tried to keep out of sight.