The Wolf of Dorian Gray - A Werewolf Spawned by the Evil of Man

by Brian S. Ference

  Later, as they quickly dressed, Dorian was filled with a most vicious, doubting regret. He vowed silently to correct this transgression and meet his gentleman’s obligation, with the quick purchase of a ring and a formal proposal through Sibyl’s mother. Until then, he swore her to a secrecy she agreed to most easily—as it was an incredibly romantic and dramatic thing, more vivid and forbidden than all the times she had played out the love between Romeo and Juliet on stage.

  Chapter 8.

  The Theatre

  A week later, Lady Helena and Sage met with Dorian at the prescribed time. The three proceeded to the theatre with Dorian excited that his two friends would finally see Sibyl in all her glory and artistry as he had so many times before. As they were guided into his usual box, Dorian beamed with pride and anticipation. Finally, they would meet his lady love and see her for the brilliant actress that she was.

  That night the house was as crowded as an overfilled barrel, its sides bursting with people. Laughter and voices filled the theatre with a discordant sound that made understanding each other quite difficult. Lady Helena was forced to raise her voice to be heard. “What a strange place to encounter a divine beauty that could capture your heart!”

  Dorian re-examined their surroundings as if for the first time. “Oh, yes, it is a coarse and common place, but it is here that I found her. For even the finest gems are found among the rock and grit of the earth. How the crowd responds when she is on stage. They laugh and cry at her command and the audience is but her instrument, as the violin to the orchestra.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Dorian,” Sage intoned. “Any girl who can capture your heart must be marvelously talented and beautiful beyond description. If this Miss Vane of yours can truly make the common people forget the struggle of their lives but for a moment, if she can transcend selfishness and sorrow, if she can deliver beauty to their lives, then she is truly worthy of you.”

  The crowd hushed as the orchestra began to play. The great curtain, stained and threadbare in a few places, rose moments later. To thunderous applause, Sibyl Vane took the stage. She was certainly beautiful. In that moment Dorian was sure he was looking at one of the most hauntingly lovely creatures that he had ever seen. Sibyl made an apt Juliet as she took up the dance in the hall of the Capulet’s house. Her body moved finely, with curves flowing like water, displaying an unworldly grace.

  Despite that, her face seemed strangely distracted. Her eyes were listless and no joy could be found there. She seemed preoccupied as she scanned the crowd and delivered her lines strangely. Unlike her previous performances, her voice now carried an artificial tone. Her passion for her on-stage Romeo seemed forced and the inflection of her declarations of love rang hollow. Dorian grew puzzled and confused as he watched her cavort and frolic around the stage. His friends grew suddenly silent as if they dared not say a word. With horror, he began to sense their disappointment at Sibyl’s performance and in her as his love interest. Dorian began to sweat. Perhaps she was ill—yes that was it. Undoubtedly some malady had befallen her, causing this result. There was something wrong but surely, surely her performance at the balcony scene in the second act would ring true. It was the climax of the play and any actress playing Juliet would certainly marshal her reserves for that scene.

  Sibyl appeared on the tall balcony in the ivory moonlight. She looked the part perfectly. Her hair was adorned with a flowery wreath of the brightest flowers. Her figure was draped in delicate imported silk that matched the color of the moon. She was beautiful to behold. But again, her forced delivery was unbearably artificial and her gestures absurdly overemphasized. It was if she had been replaced by some school-girl understudy with imprecise emphasis and poor elocution. There was no meaning, no passion in her performance. It was a hollow and meaningless thing and simply bad art.

  Even the uneducated paupers in the pit began to lose interest. They quickly became rowdy, talking and whispering amongst themselves and milling about. As the play progressed, harsh hissing and boorish laughter could be heard. The owner of the theatre swore and threw his cigar to the ground in disgust. Terror crept into Dorian’s mind. Her performance was dreadful. How could this be happening?

  Lady Helena gathered her things and put on her coat briskly, pausing to look Dorian straight in the eyes. “She is a beauty Mr. Gray—but she cannot act. Come let us go.”

  “I will see the play to its conclusion.” Dorian’s voice grew bitter. “I am sorry to have wasted your evening. I apologize profusely to you both.”

  Sage felt helpless. She tried to reassure him. “Dorian, I am quite sure Miss Vane was merely ill. She is certainly very beautiful. Perhaps we will come again on a different night when she is feeling better.”

  Dorian’s voice shook and he appeared quite distraught. “I wish it was an illness, but it seems more than that. She has been entirely changed from the great artist I saw last week. This evening she is but mediocre and commonplace. Please leave me alone for tonight. I must think on this. My heart is completely broken.” His face felt hot and flush with embarrassment, so he hid it with his hands and bowed his head.

  Lady Helena tried to display some tenderness, but it only came off as pity. “There, there. Maybe the girl was simply nervous. Let us go to the club, Sage.” The two swept out of the room together, leaving Dorian alone.

  Dorian turned his pale face back towards the stage with a look of indifferent resolve. The play dragged on for what seemed an age. Half of the audience had left. The final act was greeted with nearly empty benches. The very moment the curtain fell, Dorian rushed backstage as quickly as he could. He burst into the back room to find Sibyl seated alone and looking at herself in a mirror. Upon seeing him in the mirror’s reflection, her eyes lit with the fire of the sun and a golden radiance poured from her face. Her red lips smiled in a pouting way, as though with a hidden secret. All of the joy mysteriously absent from her performance suddenly flooded back into her gaze.

  Sibyl laughed, apparently without any hint of the mortification Dorian keenly felt. “How badly I acted tonight, my Prince Charming.”

  “Horribly! Are you ill? You must tell me immediately and we will call for a physician. Why did you go on if you felt so poorly?”

  Her smile faded slowly. “I suppose it is a form of illness, though not one that can be cured by any simple physician. It is the reason I was so bad tonight and why I will never act well again.”

  Dorian shook his head slowly from side to side. “Then you are ill. You should not perform in such a state. You make yourself and me seem ridiculous. I told you I was bringing my friends by this evening to see you. My friends were bored—I was bored. But what is this you mean by never acting well again?”

  Sibyl didn’t seem to be listening. She stared into his face before speaking. “Before I knew you, acting was my whole life. It was the reason I lived and the meaning for getting out of bed every morning. I came alive in the many roles I played. The joys of Beatrice and the sorrows of Cordelia were my own. The scenes and the ever-changing stage were my entire world. But then you came into my world! My beautiful love, you freed my soul and you have become my whole life. You are the new reason that I now live. You have taught me what true joy is and that acting is but a hollow sham when compared to the grace and passion of our love. The pale moonlight on this dingy stage is false. The lines I deliver are not my own. They are but a reflection of the depths of reality.”

  Sibyl moved closer to Dorian until their faces were only a few inches away. “My Prince Charming! You are so much more than these small shadows of life. For the first time, I understood how perfect love can be. The hissing and boos of the audience meant less than nothing to me! Take me away with you, my Prince Charming. Take me away from this horrible stage where passion is but mimicked and affection is as ashes compared to the fiery heat of love burning for you.”

  Dorian flung himself back and turned his face away from her. “You have killed my love.”

  Sibyl looked at him unbelievingl
y and laughed with a nervous titter. She approached him again, touching his hair and grasping at his hand. Dorian drew away from her with a shudder.

  His perfect, chiseled jaw hardened as he moved towards the door. “Yes, you have killed my love. It was your acting that stirred my imagination, but now you do not even stir my curiosity. I loved you because you were exceptional. It was your genius while acting on the stage and because you shared my dreams of the great poets of our time. You gave shape to the substance of their art. Now you have thrown it all away. How stupid and shallow of you.”

  His face turned into a scowl and his eyes flashed with anger. “My God! What a fool I was to love you! How mad I must have been. You are nothing to me now and I will never see you again. Nor will I think of you, or ever mention you again. I wish I had never laid eyes upon your accursed face. I would have made you famous and the world would have worshipped you. You would even have borne my name in time. Now you will be nothing more than a third-rate actress with a pretty face.”

  She trembled and turned a chalky shade of white. “You are not serious? You can’t be. It is an act. Tell me this is all an act.”

  His tone became sarcastic and his face filled with a bitter grimace. “Acting! Ha, I leave that to you since you do it so well.”

  A look of sharp pain entered her face and she reached out to him while gazing searchingly into his eyes. But he only thrust her back. “Don’t touch me!”

  A straggled moan escaped her delicate throat and she wilted to the floor like a trampled flower. “No! Don’t leave me. I am sorry I didn’t act well. I was only thinking of you the whole time. I will try. Yes, I will do better. I can remember a time before we kissed, before we—came together as one. Kiss me again my love. We are engaged remember? We were to announce the news to everyone. You mustn’t leave me. I couldn’t bear it. Can’t you just forgive me for tonight’s mistake? I will work hard to improve and do whatever you say. Please do not be so cruel, I love you more than anything in the world. This is the first time I haven’t pleased you. It was foolish and I couldn’t help it. Just don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.” Her pleas became inaudible with a sobbing that choked off her voice.

  Dorian looked down at her as she crouched on the floor and saw only a wounded creature, like a pitiful wolf cub. But instead of compassion or pity, his perfect lips curled upward into a look of disdain. How absurdly melodramatic and annoying her flowing tears and hiccupping sobs were to him. How had he ever loved a woman such as this? He had ceased to love her entirely.

  His voice was unbearably calm and even. “I am going. I can no longer see you anymore. You have disappointed me.”

  She continued to weep as she stretched her hands out to him imploringly, but made no other reply. Dorian turned sharply on his heel and strode quickly from the room and out of the theatre forever.

  When he arrived home, Dorian went straight to his Library to pen a note of apology for wasting the time of Lady Helena and Sage. As he sat down to write, he paused to look at his portrait which he had hung on the wall. His face was full of joy and beauty as ever. With a start, he looked at the wolf cub. It must be his imagination. The wolf seemed much older than the cub had been when it was painted. The eyes were too cunning and the face smiled at him disdainfully. Impossible. He disregarded the thought and bent to compose his letter.

  Chapter 9.

  The Wolf

  Early the next morning, Dorian called upon Sage at her home. Their visits had grown less frequent as of late, but now he sought to rekindle their friendship in order to take his mind off of recent events. The wolf had thrived and was now nearly to adulthood. Ample food and exercise had filled out the wolf and added strong muscles spread beneath the shiny grey coat. A new look of intelligence and cunning had replaced the once innocent and playful face. Although significantly larger, the animal still took cuts of meat straight from Dorian’s hand. Sage had cared for the wolf for most of its life and he usually took meat from her hand as well, but today the offer was met with a stark refusal. The privilege now seemed reserved only for Dorian.

  Sage once again attempted to feed the wolf a small choice cut of beef from her proffered hand. “Dorian, why doesn’t he like me?”

  “I am sure he likes you just fine my dear. He owes you so much, but perhaps he is just tired of you forcing your attentions on him in such a manner.”

  “Where did my little, baby wolf cub go? How did my tiny Dorian Grey grow up so fast?”

  For the briefest of moments, Dorian was offended—until he remembered that Sage insisted on referring to the beast as his namesake.

  “That is the very problem, Sage. You treat him still as the young lapdog that he was, instead of the dangerous predator he has become. Maybe if you coddled him less, he would respond to you more.”

  “Dangerous? Why, no one holding the name Dorian could ever be dangerous to anyone,” said Sage as she reached one hand towards the wolf’s ear and the other hand again offered up the bloody piece of meat towards the sharp teeth.

  As if to refute her statement, at that very moment the wolf snarled and snapped at the beef with needlelike teeth. His teeth sunk into the meat along with the more delicate flesh of Sage’s hand.

  She cried out and quickly pulled the hand back. “RaaAhh! How could you do such a thing?”

  Dorian rushed to her side. Already both the tears from her face and blood from her hand were falling. Together they splattered on the floor. He laughed merrily as he started to inspect the wound. “It is but a small hurt, likely to leave only a minor scar. You should have listened to me.” He began to clean the wound as Sage’s shock grew along with the pain in her palm and fingers.

  “My brush-hand! Oh you wretched beast. Perhaps you do need to be free of me and out in the world. Out! Out I say!”

  The wolf had not the decency to look reproached, but instead his eyes gleamed with ferocity and his lips curled up to revel the sharp teeth along with a bloody muzzle. For a moment, it seemed like he might snarl again or even bare his teeth further. Then the animal turned quickly, without so-much-as a backward glance, and bounded across the room and towards the open door.

  “Dorian Grey wait! Don’t leave me like this.” Sage struggled to rise from the floor, between tears and a hand slick with blood. She pressed the puncture marks closed on her hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

  Instead of slowing however, the wolf increased his pace from the house and bounded towards the forest. He sensed the need for freedom beating in his heart. The bloodlust to kill live prey was growing inside of him and he longed for the thrill of the hunt.

  Later that evening, after Sage had been soothed and her hand tended to, Dorian strode from the house and out into the night. He moved towards the ancient, gnarled trees of the darkened forest. His vision was actually quite good in the poor light, aided of course by the bright stars and the waxing moon. How foolish he had once been, to be afraid of the unknown. How childish he had been to fear imagined monsters lurking behind the ancient statues of wood. How naïve he had once been in avoiding the night and all of its wondrous delights.

  As he walked on along the border of the thick shadowy-wood, he suddenly knew that he was no longer alone. “So, you still know who your master is and who it was that saved you years ago from certain death?”

  The wolf whined in response to Dorian’s outstretched hand, quickly covering the distance between the two figures. The animal sat submissively and began panting with an expression of utter devotion. Dorian’s fingers luxuriously scratched out a pattern behind his ears and along his head. In Dorian’s presence the animal was completely tame and obedient. It knew instinctively who was the pack leader and the Alpha male. There was a type of kinship between the two. It was an instinctual understanding about the need for freedom, the thirst for new experiences, and the desire for fresh prey.

  “Off you go. Time to enjoy these prime years of your life far away from the destructive hand of mankind. Better not to be tethered to one such as
Sage Holdsworth, when there is so much more that awaits you in the green forest.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Dorian dismissed the wolf and it ran off into the darkness. Dorian knew that whenever he walked the edge of the dark forest in the future, the beast could be summoned back to him with the ease of a low whistle. In the days that followed, whenever the wolf caught wind of his pack leader’s scent on the air, he would cover the ground quickly in order to be nearby. There he would lurk at the tangled edges of the forest in the blackness, in case he was ever to be summoned by the Master.

  The wolf grew stronger and more confident as time passed in his new domain. He also grew more vicious, much more cunning, and more accustomed to the darkness in his new realm. He learned to avoid detection as he moved about the ancient woods. His first hunt was triggered by the scent of a young fawn that was separated from her mother.

  The small, fallow fawn had wandered into a clearing deep in the forest. Its coat was chestnut with pale spots that ended in a white tale with a black stripe. It was only a few weeks old, but already the large eyes were cautious as it moved around on unsteady feet.

  The wolf gradually stalked his prey, remaining completely unnoticed at first. While repeatedly tasting the air, the slim animal finally sensed the danger. The scent of the young fawn grew thick with fear. The wolf savored the anticipation, the energy of a young fawn’s life, and relished the moment when he finally leapt out and into the view of the budding fawn. It shook in terror and turned to run. It was all too easy for the wolf to overtake the young animal and enthusiastically sink his sharp teeth into her slender neck. With a twist of his jaws he broke the neck. As the hot blood rushed into his mouth, the wolf sank to the forest floor and began to devour his kill.