A bright young man name Christopher was strolling through the woods one fine day eating an apple. He was kicking things and throwing sticks like any other boy would do. Cristopher stopped in his tracks when he thought he heard a noise. It was a snapping noise. Christopher was quivering with fear. A wet spot formed on the crotch of his pants, its edges spreading outward. Christopher turned his head and saw it: two passionate eyes staring at him through a large mulberry bush. Christopher dropped his apple with a hard thud and ran. He didn’t turn for a better look; he knew who it was.

“Papa! Papa!” Christopher ran inside his house shouting.

“Your Papa’s not here right now, Chrissy.” a strange man said, standing in front of the fireplace. It was Old Man Quiss, a mysterious expression disguising his face. “Your parents are at a ball game in the city. Now, what’s the matter?”

“Wolfhook! I saw him! In the woods!” Billy gasped.

“Good gracious, boy! Whydn’t you say so?” The Old Man suddenly looked 10 years older, his face paling to a cloudy color. Quiss grabbed his rifle and trotted out the door. Christopher didn’t dare leave the house. He called all his buddies to tell them the terrifying tale. Word spread like The Clap throughout the town and soon everyone had found out about Wolfhook and awaited Old Man Quiss’ return.

Quiss tiptoed through the trees, dried leaves crunching ‘neath his feet. “Come out you monster,” he challenged. Suddenly the Old Man was blinded. The clever wolf was reflecting the sunlight off his hooks into Quiss’ eyes. “Arrrgghhh!!!” he screamed and dropped his rifle. Wolfhook pounced. It was over rather quickly for Quiss. Wolfhook undressed the man, put on his clothers, and picked up his rifle.

The townsfolk all awaited Quiss’ return in anticipation. The Old Man emerged from the woods, a little more hunched over that usual. All was silent until the Old Man spoke up, his voice very scruffy, “No Wolfhook in these parts. That boy… Drunk! I say… …No Wolfhook… …sure o’ that.” The townsfolk sighed in relief and returned to their homes.

Night fell. Christopher’s parents still weren’t home from the ball game. The boy twitched nervously. He found his parents ‘secret stash’ and had a smoke. It calmed his nerves a bit. The cig smoldered down to just a wee filter and Christopher fell asleep.

Christopher’s eyes snapped open. He looked at the alarm clock – 2:00 a.m.. It was late.

“You ever hear about the boy who cried wolf?” a voice filled with the intensity of a madman whispered in Christopher’s ear.

“What the…?” Wolfhook spared Christopher the horror of having to lay his eyes on the wolf once more and hooked out the boys eyeballs.