Three days before the doom-hour, evening drew to a close upon the village. In the home of Chungrum Dunbut, a Muzhenghaaki householder, the dining table was set for dinner. Chungrani, his wife, served pickled yak meat. The howling of the Werewolf could be heard in the distant hills, but this was a normal occurrence at evening-time, one that the Dunbut family habitually ignored.
“Food!” cried Chungrum. “We must have food on the table! Where will we get it? We ate all the dogs; there is no more bark. Do you hear the bark anywhere?”
“We have killed the bark,” Chungrani replied, “and we have killed the birds. No more twitter and tweet. Food for our bellies…just food for our bellies…”
Chungrum smiled. “We have posted signs on the highway saying: fantastic garage sale! Fantastic yard sale! So perhaps we catch a passing traveler and boil him alive!”
They chuckled.
As the meal began, Chungrum’s son, Yvgevny, arrived and seated himself at the table. Chungrum asked him if he’d brought wood for the fire, but Yvgevny replied he hadn’t. There was no wood to be gathered from the land.
Chungrum was enraged. “No wood?” he screamed. “But I must burn my fire in my fireplace in house of mine!”
“You already have a fire burning in your fireplace, father.”
“Fire! It must burn brighter!” Chungrum retorted. “My neighbor, Mr. U.B. Quickroi, has a fire roaring in his house, and I, Chungrum Dunbut, will not be out-done, by damn!”
Chungrani was delighted by Chungrum’s remark. She clapped her fat hands and sang: “It would be a fine thing to burn the house down, smoke and ashes and all! Why should we care? We cannot die, and besides, the fool insurance companies would be giving us ghoors of gold to build a bigger house!”
They chuckled again and ate their dinner.
As they finished, Yvgevny’s lover, Simoom, appeared in the snow-filled doorway, wearing her white overcoat. She was carrying a large book with her; it was the dreaded holy Book of Ghirke. With mixed feelings, they invited her to sit at the table. Urgently, Simoom read them the ominous prophecy from her book, describing the time of the end, almost at hand.
In Chungrum’s opinion, he did not care about the Book and did not believe in the end time, an old-wife’s tale.
“Have you forgotten?” Simoom reproached him. “Have you wallowed so much in the mud of the land that you are not aware of the hand of doom upon us? Do you not hear the wailing of the beast, night after night, waiting to claim its sweet blood? Do you not see its eyes at our windows?”
Condescendingly, Chungrum waived his hand and asked her to interpret some writings for them. She read more passages from her book, written a thousand years ago, describing the agreement made by the Muzhenghaakis with the White Werewolf, foretelling the time when the contract would be terminated and all would be destroyed.
“I remember! I remember!” Chungrani swooned, having a recollection of the day the ancient agreement was made.
Slowly, Chungrum, too, came to his senses and remembered how it was, long, long ago. “House, my family and house! Land, my wealth and land! Horses, my stables and horses,” Chungrum grumbled. “Taken away from me, it will all be taken away! No more will I know! No more!”
Yvgevny embraced Simoom, his love life for a thousand years, swearing he would be by her side when the end comes.
Abruptly, the door flew open and Chungrum’s neighbor, U.B. Quickroi, charged into the parlor with snow boots on, interrupting their morbid chat. “Mister Dunbut!” he complained,” the horse I traded from you is sick!”
“Mister Quickroi!” Chungrum responded, “the axe I traded from you for the horse won’t cut!”
“Mister Dunbut! That’s because the saw I traded from you for the axe is rusty!”
“Mister Quickroi! That’s because the nails I traded from you for the saw are bent!”
“Mister Dunbut! That’s because the hammer I traded you for the nails is busted.”
“Mr. Quickroi! That’s because the horse-carriage I traded you for the hammer has a wheel falling off!”
“Mr. Dunbut! That’s because the horse-reins I traded you for the horse-carriage are broken!”
”…Yes, yes,” Chungrani interrupted, “we’ll take the axe and chop the horse’s head off, then we’ll saw it up with the rusty saw and eat the horse’s meat and throw the horse’s ass out the window…”
Mr. Dunbut and Mr. Quickroi argued over the horse trading deal for a moment, and then, seeing the open pages of the holy Book of Ghirke on the table, the mood returned to Simoom’s dire prophecy. Soon, a sense of doom fell over Mr. Quickroi, as well; neither he nor his family would be spared of the bloody slaughter, forewarned so long ago.
“Fireplace of mine, sauna of mine,” Chungrum mumbled, “window by lake of mine…”
“My kitchen! My knitting by the fire! My soft beds of goose-down! My chinaware!” Chungrani mourned. “My baby Mukshentor! I will lose my baby Mukshentor, born a millenium ago!”
Then, all became quiet and only the sound of blizzard was heard. Mr. Quickroi looked about the Dunbut house, littered with garbage and dirty underwear, and he thought of his home, shining and clean. He spoke. He could not accept that he would know his property no more.
Chungrum agreed. His family had laughed at death for a millennium, and he would do everything in his power to keep the grim reaper from his door, even at that hour.
Simoom reminded them of the finality of their contract; their fate was sealed in the holy book.
Chungrum slammed his fist on the table. “Damn that book!” he cried. Who would do this thing to us? We have been such an upstanding people! We have been such a pillar in our community! We have been such a forthright, charitable and hospitable people!”
Simoom was emphatic. “The holy Book can be interpreted many ways,” she said, “but all is weighed in balance and what is written is written.”
All of them cried out again.
Then, Mr. Quickroi took Mr. Dunbut by the arm and they withdrew to the pantry, discussing their problem. Mr. Quickroi had little difficulty convincing Mr. Dunbut of the source of their distress, which was the raging beast in the wilderness. Yet, Mr. Quickroi’s solution left Mr. Dunbut dumbfounded.
“Now, Mr. Dunbut. Think about this possibility. Suppose we remove the one obstacle that keeps us from living forever…”
“Obstacle? Myself, I understand you not, Mr. Quickroi.”
“For god sake Mr. Dunbut! Shake yourself free of your grief for a moment and look at the solution. If we remove the beast…”
“…The beast?”
“Now, you’re thinking, Mr. Dunbut. Suppose we get rid of the beast.”
“Hunt the beast? How do we do that, Mr. Quickroi?”
“No, no, Mr. Dunbut. We cannot hunt. We do not have the expertise.”
“…But you’re saying there’s a hunt? Someone that does the hunt, are you saying that, Mr. Quickroi?”
“Yes, Mr. Dunbut. You’re on the right track…”
“Then we must find him, this beast-eradicator, wherever he is!” Chungrum replied loudly, overheard by the women in the parlor.
“Wait! Wait! Let me finish my plan…”
“Wait no more! I’ve heard enough! It is time we must save our households! We must! We must!”
Chungrani was confused. “Beast-eradicator? Pest exterminator? What is this thing you are making so much talk of?”
“Yes, it’s like a pest exterminator,” Chungrum replied. “We eradicate this beast and we are safe! Our lives are safe!”
The idea disgusted Simoom, but Mr. Quickroi insisted that their lives could be spared. Chungrani was in tears, throwing herself at him, pleading with him to save their families.
Extracting himself from the folds of Chungrani, Mr. Quickroi told them of a master werewolf-hunter, one who dwells in the bustling port city of Shegirkenirk.
This man could be could be trusted with eradication of the beast and could be the key to the safety of their homes and families.
“You are speaking heresy!” Simoom warned. “Our fate is sealed in the holy Book of Ghirke!”
Mr. Quickroi was quick to counter. He had a plan, to go to the port city, get the werewolf-hunter out of retirement, and return with him to Muzhenghaak. They would pay for his labors in gold, since gold speaks the language of all. Mr. Quickroi had three hundred ghoors and Mr. Dunbut had three hundred. Six hundred ghoors was the minimum price for such a task.
Mr. Dunbut was agreeable to the plan, even if it meant sacrificing his entire life savings. He offered his best horses for the journey, but Mr. Quickroi cautioned him not to take horses, due to the Werewolf’s appetite for animals. They must go on foot.
The sudden scope of the task bewildered Chungrum. How could they cross the Plain of Aurigainia and get to Shegirkenirk in blizzard and ice? How could they accomplish that in two days? Only a fortnight remained, as Simoom reminded them, before the unspeakable calamity.
Mr. Quickroi reaffirmed the dire necessity of his idea. “I am a resourceful traveler!” he boasted, “and I will see to our safe return! I promise, on the nose of the Goddess! So I promise!”
“Save us!” Chungrani cried. “Get the wolf-slayer! Do anything! Please!”
Yvgevny offered help, but Simoom warned him there would be no time to help; they must prepare for doom in two days.
After thinking awhile, Mr. Dunbut announced that he’d made up his mind and was somewhat resolved in favor the Quickroi plan. “I’ve heard enough,” he said, “and I know Yvgevny is a brave young lad, so I’ll take him along, too.” He raised his fist as if to cheer. “To get the werewolf hunter I’ll go!” he shouted. “To Shegirkenirk I’ll go! With son and Quickroi! Let’s get the gold, provisions and depart! Without delay!”
“Well said!” muttered Mr. Quickroi as he slammed the door and scurried home.
Amid much pleading and crying from Chungrani, Mr. Dunbut secured gold and provisions.
“Let it be said,” Chungrum asserted, “that this Dunbut conquers the snowy expanse!”
When all was ready, father and son buckled gold-belts on their waists, donned their all-weather parkas, laced up their snow-boots, strapped gear on their backs and opened the front door. Declaring himself conqueror of the blizzard, Chungrum stepped outside into the snow. They met up with Mr. Quickroi and disappeared in the flurry. The trio left the village of Muzhenghaak while Simoom stood alone in the warm Dunbut home, brooding over her holy book.
“Those fools will be meat before two nights are out,” Simoom said to herself with glee.
Off they went, into the windy, snowy Plain of Aurigainia, stumbling now and then, picking themselves up, holding each other as they trudged onward, ever onward. In two days, without sleep, they transversed the frozen expanse and arrived at the National Highway. They were picked up as hitchhikers and reached Shegirkenirk, fifty kilometers away, by evening of the second day.
In the bustling port city, obese merchants gathered in local taverns, eating broiled yak meat and watching State television. The image of the National Leader, Selgirk the First appeared onscreen, ranting about military and taxes, his face turning green with bad reception.
Meanwhile, the trio from Muzhenghaak stumbled into the main street of the city, exhausted and hungry. To their left was the marketplace and to their right was the busy waterside, vessels loading in the harbor. Chungrum and Yvgevny confidently followed the footsteps of Mr. Quickroi wherever he went, trusting that he knew the location of the werewolf hunter’s home; they were strangers in the city and had no other choice.
Then, Mr. Quickroi had a daring idea. “Werewolves cannot swim the sea,” he observed. “Therefore, why not board passage on one of the ships, heading for the land of Whang Whock, far across the ocean? Our families will be devoured in their homes at Muzhenghaak, but who cares? Why not leave them there?”
He stood on a gangplank. Emphatically, he argued, “Who gives a damn if we flush them down the toilet? With only a few hours left, we could never return in time to solve that stupid crisis, so why not let them die and we three will live forever!”
Mr. Dunbut debated with Mr. Quickroi. Chungrum would hear none of the last-minute scheme; he and his son were pledged to fight for the lives of their family and loved ones. They were resolute.
Mr. Quickroi called them fools. He threw half his gold at Mr. Dunbut, secured the other half around his waist, then boarded a ship that was embarking for the land of Whang Whock. With Mr. Quickroi laughing in the stern, the ship upped anchor, sailed out of the harbor and was gone. Chungrum and Yvgevny were left to their own resources, with little knowledge of the city and its people, searching for the home of the retired werewolf-hunter.
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