Wolf Worm

Paint blobbed on the paper in front of me. I cursed and blotted at it, trying to stop it from running into the part that I’d already completed and ruining all my hard work.

My attempts were only partially successful. The first wash hadn’t been completely dry and so it had sucked pigment from the fly’s body into the head, turning the carefully rendered eyes into muddy pools.

I flung the damp blotter away and rubbed my face. It was one of those mornings when nothing seemed to be going right. I could not settle at anything and my thoughts ran in all directions, like a flock of pigeons scattered by a dog.

There was no mystery as to why, of course. I could not stop thinking about Halder’s trip to the woods last night. I had never seen the man leave his room before, let alone go tromping through the woods. And what was that building he had visited? And why?