I should be back in a week or two with another story (maybe sooner), I'm picking back up the pace with the writing.
Predictably, the moon was full and set high in the crisp autumn sky the night I found my family murdered, mutilated, torn to pieces. Something had crashed through the front picture window and began to tear them apart one by one. The gas lamps were out, snuffed by the drafty gale rushing in through the shattered window. I entered my home hurriedly, kicking the door open with my boot, illuminating the front room with my lantern. Shadows grew long and flickered in the lamp’s firelight. It was the remains of my wife I saw first. I was grateful that the light was so poor because the carnage was too great for me to bear, even in the dim light.
A low creak in the wood up the stairs snapped my attention in that direction. I felt a cold rush as the blood drained away from my skin, I must have been a pale white from fear, but with that fear, my resolve grew. I raised my pistol up to my hip, leveling it toward the noise. I hoped and prayed that it wasn't necessary to have smelted the six silver bullets that occupied each chamber of my revolver, but if they were indeed required to rid the world of this monster, then, by God, I would be prepared. Aiming the light as best I could toward the stairs. I took slow, careful steps in that direction. Another SNAP and a KLUNK stopped me in my tracks. I wished so badly to stop, to turn around to leave this problem to someone else, someone much braver than I, but I knew that wasn't possible. Choking down my fear, I gulped hard and took another step forward.
And another.
And another.
One foot in front the other, each one in front of the next. Each step closer to the stairs got my heart racing faster. Each step I took up the staircase raised my pulse to match my ascent. I'd worried so much about getting to the stairs and up them that I almost didn't notice the remains of my daughter intermingled with what was left of my wife's body. I didn't realize that hot, salty tears had been streaming from my eyes. It was a completely automatic response; I had to put my grief out of my conscious mind until I'd dispatched this grievous creature.
Finally, I'd reached the top of the stairs, either by overcoming my fear or being overcome by it. I couldn't tell which. Keeping the lantern raised in my left hand and the pistol aimed ahead in my right, I swiveled back and forth, looking for a sign of which hallway to direct my search.
I scanned the floor for any clue or indication, a bloody paw print, a scrap of flesh, anything that could give me an edge. I'd need any and every advantage I could obtain in order to get the drop on the monster. Unfortunately, no sign presented itself, so I stopped, trying my hardest to listen carefully for any audible giveaway. Sadly, I was winded so severely in fright, all I could hear was the wheeze of my own labored breathing and a rattle deep in my chest. It was obvious I was just going to have to simply pick a direction in hopes that my instincts proved accurate. My mind raced though worst case scenarios and my mind flashed instantly to my young boy, aged eight years old. IT would make a grim sort of sense that the beast would come up the stairs hoping for an easy snack to go with the main course he made of the rest of my family downstairs. With that in my mind, I turned to the left, down the corridor my son's room resided.
The lantern light swung back and forth down the hallway as I used that arm to wipe the sweat and tears from my cheek and brow.
Down the hall, I could see the door to my boys bedroom was ajar. No sign of light could be seen through the sliver of bedroom between the door and the jam, only the black of night. This made me nervous. Still I could hear little but the rusty creaks of the lantern shaking in my fist and my still belabored respiration. I crept forward, praying both that I'd guessed right and that my son had hidden away, out of reach of the jaws and claws of the feral beast. I counted slowly to myself down from three, working hard to compress and contain my overwhelming sense of dread. As I got to "one", I banished all the cowardice I could from my mind and body and quickly nudged the door open with my pistol arm. And behind the door, there he was!
I caught only a glimpse of him, his head snapped around, his blood red eyes took me in. His snout full of sharp teeth snarled at me, the low growl he was emitting was interrupted only by the loud report of my pistol as I squeezed off two quick shots, each missing its mark. Sensing the danger, the bipedal wolf turned quickly away from me and leapt desperately through the second story window, scattering glass across the lawn and shrubs beneath him. Following up to the window, I caught sight of him, hitting the earth on all fours, scrambling into the deep thicket that surrounded my once peaceful and lovely country home.
"Damn!" I shouted before I turned, wondering at the ultimate fate of my son. "Jonathon," I called out to him.
No response.
"Johnathon…?" I called out once more to no reply.
I took a glance around the room, pointing at dark corners with my lamp and seeing nothing, neither my boy, nor what could be his desecrated remains. I could not decide if I should have more worried or relieved when I heard a stirring from the closet. A hopeful sign, to be certain, but I still had to be cautious. I set the lantern on the bureau and watched my shadow shrink further and further as I got closer and closer to the closet door, my hand wavering over the doors knob, aiming my silver loaded gun chest-high toward the closet. With a whoosh, I swung the door open violently to see my boy standing amidst the clothes and various linens. The blood had left his face and he was a clutching a kitchen knife longer than his forearm. Upon the opening of the door, he lunged at me with the serrated instrument. It was fortunate that instead of firing one of the few precious silver bullets left at the boy, that I sidestepped and grabbed his wrist, forcing the knife from his grasp. As the knife fell, realization hit him and he understood that his father was there. God willing, I'd be able to protect him, by God I'd do my best.
"It got mother," was the only thing the boy could eek out in his stupor of deep shock.
"It's all right, my boy," I assured him, "I'll take care of him. I'll kill him dead."
I clutched the boy to my chest, holding him close, rough but tenderly. He was the most dear possession left to me in this world and I wished that I could have stayed longer to comfort him. But I had to give chase to the beast once more. "Stay here," I told my dear boy, "Hide in the wardrobe, stay there until I come to get you."
The boy nodded his understanding.
"If you don't hear from me, do not leave until the morning light. Do you understand?"
The boy said nothing as I guided him back to the mess of cloth. "Do you understand?" I repeated. I had to be sure he understood the danger he was in.
"Yes, father," he said meekly.
He sat in the closet, retrieved his knife and looked up at me. His face was sad, void of colour and any other shade of emotion. As I closed the door on him, I told him things would be all right and I silently hoped that this wouldn't be the last time he ever saw his father alive.
With that, I shut him back into what I prayed would not become his tomb and raced down the stairs and out the door of my home.
The woods seemed dead, the evening breeze had given way to the still of night and it made my spine shiver and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on their end. Once again, I began by creeping slowly in the direction I last saw the monstrosity heading. From the boy's window, he seemed to be heading due east, the direction the sun would be coming from and end him if I couldn't before hand.
Gathering my resolve, I set out toward the East.
Usually, it was a refreshing thing to come out here in the thicket in the evenings and listen to the nightingale sing and the crickets chirp, but tonight, the woods were filled with terror.
It may have been my imagination, but I thought that I could hear it breathing, hot and heavy, down my neck behind me. I turned on my heels and fired twice in the direction I was certain the beast was in, only to find that I'd fired two of my rare bullets into the empty knot of a hollow tree that splintered open upon impact. No sooner had my ears finished ringing from the sound of the gunshot, could I feel the beast rushing behind me in the opposite direction. I was left no time to marvel at how fast he was, I simply had to turn as quickly as I could in hopes of catching it with a bullet.
But no sooner had I turned, the creature had vanished into the night air like so much vapor and mist.
Once more, I wiped the sweat from my brow with my lantern arm, the shadows were much more menacing in the changing light from all of the gnarled tree branches and dense foliage in the wooded area. As I had the lantern hanging high and my bicep absorbing my perspiration, that's when it hit me.
Square in the back, I got it with all the force of his weight.
I could feel the pads of its feet and the claws toes jam into my back, knocking me off balance. I lost my grip on both the lantern and the pistol and I could perceive them skittering off in front of me into the thick, matted grass of the forest floor. The lantern spilled open, leaking fire onto the ground, brightening the scene more and more as it burned more and more dead branches. If I couldn't extricate myself soon, this whole region would be consumed in flame.
But first I had to deal with the beast.
I could feel the hot scratches deep into my skin as the creature dragged his paws and claws across my back. My shoulder grew hot, I could feel my blood spilling…
I knew if I was to survive, I had to do something drastic, but I was pinned. I tried hard to rotate to my right, to no avail, and then to my left, but the monster had me, dead to rights. I groaned under the strain and tried to leverage the wolf-man over me and that didn't work either.
His hairy digits we're reaching around my throat when I heard him squeal and whelp as though he'd been hurt, though clearly not at my hand, and then his grasp around my neck went limp. His weight no longer borne on me in its entirety, I was able to crawl a few feet away, putting me within arms reach of my pistol. Having no idea what was going on, I could tell that something had at least hurt the beast, because it was alternating between wailing in pain and snarling…
Finally, I was able to grab the gun and contort my body around, hoping to get a good shot, but the only thing staring back at me was my boy.
I coiled around to see the demon fleeing into the woods, the knife I left my boy with was sticking out of its back, it bled profusely all the while. My boy must have come out here, hoping to save me, and did.
He succeeded. But more than saving my life, he succeeded in making me forgetful of the torch burning down the forest.
We were left with only one course of action: to flee. Pursuit of the werewolf would have to wait.
Tonight, we would watch our old family home and surroundings burn to the ground under the light of the full moon and tomorrow the boy and I would begin our training. We would avenge our family and make sure the werewolf didn't live to see another night like this.
He was wounded and we'd be sure to discover his true identity in the morning light that was creeping up over the crackling fire. Oh yes, we would have our revenge.
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