The She-Wolf Page #2

"The She-Wolf" by Hector Hugh Munro, also known by his pen name Saki, is a short story that explores themes of isolation, survival, and the complexities of human nature. Set against the backdrop of a harsh winter landscape, the narrative follows a woman, a widow named Mrs. Cresswell, who finds herself in a challenging situation when she becomes trapped in a remote cottage due to heavy snowfall. As she grapples with her circumstances, the appearance of a menacing wolf adds an element of danger and existential reflection. Saki's characteristic wit and keen observations of social conventions shine through, making this tale an engaging exploration of human instincts and the wildness that exists within.

• Short story

								

into a wolf.”

As she said this she was lost to view behind a clump of azaleas.

“Mrs. Hampton—” began Leonard with increased solemnity, but he got no
further.  A breath of chill air seemed to rush across the room, and at
the same time the macaws broke forth into ear-splitting screams.

“What on earth is the matter with those confounded birds, Mary?”
exclaimed Colonel Hampton; at the same moment an even more piercing
scream from Mavis Pellington stampeded the entire company from their
seats.  In various attitudes of helpless horror or instinctive defence
they confronted the evil-looking grey beast that was peering at them from
amid a setting of fern and azalea.

Mrs. Hoops was the first to recover from the general chaos of fright and
bewilderment.

“Leonard!” she screamed shrilly to her nephew, “turn it back into Mrs.
Hampton at once!  It may fly at us at any moment.  Turn it back!”

“I—I don’t know how to,” faltered Leonard, who looked more scared and
horrified than anyone.

“What!” shouted Colonel Hampton, “you’ve taken the abominable liberty of
turning my wife into a wolf, and now you stand there calmly and say you
can’t turn her back again!”

To do strict justice to Leonard, calmness was not a distinguishing
feature of his attitude at the moment.

“I assure you I didn’t turn Mrs. Hampton into a wolf; nothing was farther
from my intentions,” he protested.

“Then where is she, and how came that animal into the conservatory?”
demanded the Colonel.

“Of course we must accept your assurance that you didn’t turn Mrs.
Hampton into a wolf,” said Clovis politely, “but you will agree that
appearances are against you.”

“Are we to have all these recriminations with that beast standing there
ready to tear us to pieces?” wailed Mavis indignantly.

“Lord Pabham, you know a good deal about wild beasts—” suggested Colonel
Hampton.

“The wild beasts that I have been accustomed to,” said Lord Pabham, “have
come with proper credentials from well-known dealers, or have been bred
in my own menagerie.  I’ve never before been confronted with an animal
that walks unconcernedly out of an azalea bush, leaving a charming and
popular hostess unaccounted for.  As far as one can judge from outward
characteristics,” he continued, “it has the appearance of a well-grown
female of the North American timber-wolf, a variety of the common species
canis lupus.”

“Oh, never mind its Latin name,” screamed Mavis, as the beast came a step
or two further into the room; “can’t you entice it away with food, and
shut it up where it can’t do any harm?”

“If it is really Mrs. Hampton, who has just had a very good dinner, I
don’t suppose food will appeal to it very strongly,” said Clovis.

“Leonard,” beseeched Mrs. Hoops tearfully, “even if this is none of your
doing can’t you use your great powers to turn this dreadful beast into
something harmless before it bites us all—a rabbit or something?”

“I don’t suppose Colonel Hampton would care to have his wife turned into
a succession of fancy animals as though we were playing a round game with
her,” interposed Clovis.

“I absolutely forbid it,” thundered the Colonel.

“Most wolves that I’ve had anything to do with have been inordinately
fond of sugar,” said Lord Pabham; “if you like I’ll try the effect on
this one.”

He took a piece of sugar from the saucer of his coffee cup and flung it
to the expectant Louisa, who snapped it in mid-air.  There was a sigh of
relief from the company; a wolf that ate sugar when it might at the least
have been employed in tearing macaws to pieces had already shed some of
its terrors.  The sigh deepened to a gasp of thanks-giving when Lord
Pabham decoyed the animal out of the room by a pretended largesse of
further sugar.  There was an instant rush to the vacated conservatory.
There was no trace of Mrs. Hampton except the plate containing the
macaws’ supper.

“The door is locked on the inside!” exclaimed Clovis, who had deftly
turned the key as he affected to test it.

Everyone turned towards Bilsiter.

“If you haven’t turned my wife into a wolf,” said Colonel Hampton, “will
you kindly explain where she has disappeared to, since she obviously
could not have gone through a locked door?  I will not press you for an
explanation of how a North American timber-wolf suddenly appeared in the
conservatory, but I think I have some right to inquire what has become of
Mrs. Hampton.”

Bilsiter’s reiterated disclaimer was met with a general murmur of
impatient disbelief.

“I refuse to stay another hour under this roof,” declared Mavis
Pellington.

“If our hostess has really vanished out of human form,” said Mrs. Hoops,
“none of the ladies of the party can very well remain.  I absolutely
decline to be chaperoned by a wolf!”

“It’s a she-wolf,” said Clovis soothingly.

The correct etiquette to be observed under the unusual circumstances
received no further elucidation.  The sudden entry of Mary Hampton
deprived the discussion of its immediate interest.

“Some one has mesmerised me,” she exclaimed crossly; “I found myself in
the game larder, of all places, being fed with sugar by Lord Pabham.  I
hate being mesmerised, and the doctor has forbidden me to touch sugar.”

The situation was explained to her, as far as it permitted of anything
that could be called explanation.

“Then you really did turn me into a wolf, Mr. Bilsiter?” she exclaimed
excitedly.

But Leonard had burned the boat in which he might now have embarked on a
sea of glory.  He could only shake his head feebly.

“It was I who took that liberty,” said Clovis; “you see, I happen to have
lived for a couple of years in North-Eastern Russia, and I have more than
a tourist’s acquaintance with the magic craft of that region.  One does
not care to speak about these strange powers, but once in a way, when one
hears a lot of nonsense being talked about them, one is tempted to show
what Siberian magic can accomplish in the hands of someone who really
understands it.  I yielded to that temptation.  May I have some brandy?
the effort has left me rather faint.”

If Leonard Bilsiter could at that moment have transformed Clovis into a
cockroach and then have stepped on him he would gladly have performed
both operations.
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