It was during the sixteenth century that an Austrian village known as Neffer was attacked and destroyed by a gigantic werewolf. This werewolf was so big that when he walked through the forest that bordered the village, he loomed above the trees – watching for his prey below.
It was one very lucky woodcutter that was out in the forest one day chopping some trees down so that he could sell the wood to the townsfolk. He heard a huge crash a little ways behind him and he looked back to see only darkness. But when he looked up, up, up, that’s when he saw – the gigantic beast. The werewolf seemed to be walking on its tip-toes, and had its hands outstretched, reaching for the woodcutter. But, most fearsome of all, was the huge and evil grin spread across its face.
The woodcutter started to run for his life – and he did so for hours, all the while hearing the sound of crashing trees and huge, stomping feet behind him. When he finally emerged from the vast forest, he was ten miles away from his village, and from the point of entry where he came into the forest. He fell onto the grass gasping, and sat for a moment trying to catch his breath. He listened very hard but could no longer hear the sound of trees falling. What he did hear though, were murderous screams coming from far away in the distance.
Not wanting to venture back into the deadly forest, the woodcutter took the long way back to his village of Neffer by walking far outside the edge of the woods. When he got back to Neffer, there wasn’t much to see. All of the buildings had been demolished. And the bodies of his family, friends, and all of the townsfolk were left where they lay, bloody and gory, and in the condition the huge werewolf had left them in after he had brutally murdered them.