The truth hurts (a Dark Claw excerpt)

Boosting this up!

A Wolf's Tale

The old colonial house, a relic from the nineteenth century, creaked when you walked on the floorboards. It creaked when you opened doors and windows. Even walking up the stairs was loud. I hated it when I was a child. Storms turned the house into a creaking and howling entity. I used to hide in the cupboard until the storm was over. Mat, our old gardener, said that the house was haunted, by the many British soldiers slain during the Japanese Occupation. He said it so confidently that I believed him. He was a harimau, a were-tiger. Of course, he knew.

Father strode down the corridor while I followed quietly like the obedient prodigal son I was. Father’s study was on the right, right next to the “war-room” (my term for his meeting room). The door, like all the doors in the house, was a rich mahogany. Father unlocked the…

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