Yolande Waddington walked to the Six Bells Pub for a pack of cigarettes around 10 p.m., slipping in before last call. It was Friday, the week before Halloween, 1966. Outside, the moon was a fat pearl. Inside, drinkers sipped pints at the polished wood bar.
The village parish of Beenham is located some 50 miles southwest of
London, surrounded by sheep-freckled fields and stands of skeletal
hawthorne trees. It is a storybook town: quaint brick houses with
windowsills frosted in white; one pub; one primary school; one medieval
church that was rebuilt after being torched by lightning. Today, as in
1966, Beenham is the sort of place where you know your neighbor, and you
know who is new.
Yolande was new. She was 17-years-old and had arrived a few days
earlier to start work as a farmhouse nanny. Photographs show her with
dark swoops of eyebrows and a long plaid skirt. I do not know if she
drank a pint or had a laugh or brought a book. I do know that she wore a
sweater and a white headband. I know that some 30 minutes after
arriving, she left the pub and stepped into a cool night. I know that
after that night, Yolande was never heard from again. ... [mehr] http://lithub.com/why-do-we-fear-wolves/