The next morning the sun was shedding its first few rays on the village of Baskerville. Even this early in the morning there were already people up and working. The bakery was just putting its freshly baked bread in the window. The milkman was out to make his deliveries. The newspaper boy just came back from his rounds. The first farmers got ready to set out for a day in the fields. It would still take a few little hours before the school bell would ring, beckoning all the children to come like a certain piper did in a different country, for a different purpose. All in all the village did a good job trying to survive. Comparing it to a city would make it obvious that ‘modern’ times were not quite there yet, but except for the price of the milk it didn’t matter much. Sure, there were a few business man who took it upon themselves to travel to the city to work. They, of course, needed to talk about politics, economics and other difficult words that not even their wives cared about. All could be so well in Baskerville. The friendly butcher would even take care of your chicken in case you would want to eat it. It could all be so nice. It could be.<br/>Sadly such a thing as reality exists. In a village were except for the daily work and chores there isn’t much to do, people will look for something to do. Especially housewives, they don’t seem to have anything else to do as to gather in small groups and make up stories and spread them around. Did you see miss Anderson’s new dress? Isn’t that way too short? I heard she went shopping in London. She isn’t married yet, so how did she get the money to buy something so expensive? Maybe she does some “extra work” on the streets of London for it... Still, life would be great if gossiping housewives were the only matter at hand in Baskerville. After all, you got those everywhere. However what you don’t get everywhere is the subject that the men are talking about in the evenings in the village’s only bar. Just like they did the evening before.<br/>“I thank God for every night that it doesn’t appear,” a farmer lamented. “That night last year where it ripped all my sheep apart had cost me a fortune.”<br/>“Don’t be so disrespectful,” the baker said. He would be the first one to leave the round as he had to get up early to bake bread. “Think about the child of the Johnsons. Losing a few sheep is nothing against losing your child.” The baker as well as the farmer both had children of their own.<br/>“I wonder why that beast is going after our village,” the bartender thought aloud before he shrugged. “I guess we can be happy that it only appeared four times since last year and it doesn’t haunt us every night. That beast. That Hellhound.”<br/>The other man could only nod in consent. As always their discussion never resulted in anything, but men also needed to be able to talk and exchange stories just like women did. After the first few attacks, they did gather and tried to hunt the Hellhound, but they didn’t even find a trace. After a few tries they were forced to give up since their normal jobs required their energy. The last attack was one months ago. No human was harmed this time but a cow was ripped apart and half eaten. Four months ago nobody was harmed but the Hellhound was seen in the moonlight close to the village. Six months ago was the time that the child of the Johnson family was killed by the beast. The time before that, about a year ago, was the first time that the Hellhound appeared, the first deed was ripping about six sheep apart in a big massacre. During the day nobody seemed to even lose a word about the Hellhound as if they were afraid that it would hear them and come after them.<br/>With the first rays of the sun, Chris also woke up. It has been more than a year already since he had moved to Baskerville. One year two months and a few days to be more precise. Indeed, he was not a ‘native’ to the village and the villagers didn’t like outsiders that much. But by now they were getting used to him. He was also quite helpful in his ‘job’. Chris didn’t have a fixed job, instead he could be hired for £0,50 per hour for just about anything. He didn’t charge extra for harder jobs, nor did he give a discount for easy stuff. The villagers have already accepted this, those that didn’t just wouldn’t hire him. It was enough to keep him over water. Today he already had a task to do. He quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth. After just a small breakfast he went on his way to the house of an old lady. She was called Marian and after her husband had died a few years ago she lived alone. Together with her neighbour, Chris would help fix her roof which seemed to be leaking.