“I apologize Mr. Holmes, Lestrade was not available, but I hope to be assisting”, the stern faced woman explained. “And your name, madam?”Completely baffled by the woman’s mannerisms and body language. A slender female with a square set jaw. Holding a pistol in her left hand, ready for action, charged with adrenaline. “Miller, doctor, Victoria Miller” “Pleasure, Miss Miller” Holmes responded dryly. I wasn’t very sure of trusting our just arrived unfriendly guest.
It was unfortunately too late to ask questions let alone have them answered. I took a side ward glance at Holmes who seemed to be transfixed on the solitary dwelling. The three of us crouching behind the lush bushes, “not a peep till we hit the moor, understand?”Said Holmes. We both nodded and scurried across the path to where the Stapletons lived, careful to maintain a cautious distance.
It was a dreadful night, icy cold with the weight of the dense fog baring upon us .The trees looked charred in the desolate night, hanging like ghouls . And then we heard it, the woeful cry of the foul creature, the bloodcurdling moan. For a moment I sat there, knuckles white and face pale from fright. On my right, an anxious Miss Miller was no better. However, the great Holmes sat intrigued, the side of his mouth twitching.
“I propose now is the time to unveil your plans, Mr Holmes?” Holmes and I looked at each other, the expression of absolute enthrallment as we charged towards the house, pistols cocked in our hands. The night grew more dismal as the harsh cry silenced the emptiness of the dawn.
And then we saw it, the silhouette of the humongous fiend. The beast whose fangs bared in the lonely night. Enchanting my imagination and for the first time believing the folklore of the moor, I was excited. It was the strongest, most enormous hell-hound mankind would ever set his eyes upon. His eyes blazing like catching fire and his face giving the aura of fear.
At once Victoria stormed, with great precision; she aimed at the advancing hound. Unsuccessful. Victoria gasped for what I thought as fright. My lungs burning and my heart not pumping enough oxygen, I struggled for air.
However, the thrill, no matter how daring compelled me to go further.
The Beast was advancing for the woods already have attacked the victim. Holmes hurled a few curses under his breath with his unrelenting chase to follow the brute.
While Victoria and I were attending Sir Henry who seemed to be petrified, unable to speak, diminishing the hope of his very survival, Holmes was nowhere to be seen.
From out of nowhere came the blasting gunshot and then the figure, the looming shadow, Holmes.
We went to the spot where the corpse of the unexpected victim lay. The black tweed of the naturalist was unmistakably recognizable. “Stapleton?” “Yes” .It seemed that the master had been threatened by its own creation. There lay Stapleton on his back a pool of red gushing out from his body.
There lay the two resting souls on the damp ground. The creation and the creator, the last threat to the old kin to reside upon the moor.