It was August 5, 1950.
The night air was unusually warm; it was over 90
degrees easy, even the breeze was warm. I pulled
my old car to a stop at the side of the road. I had
reached my destination. I climbed out of my old car
and walked into the night. Their was a small hill
just a few feet from the road, just as the letter
in my pocket indicated. I could see a small house
in the distance, a few trees scattered here and there,
and a set of headlights coming toward me. The car
came to a stop behind my own auto. A tall dark figure
stepped out and joined me at the top of the hill.
"Your early, that's good." It was hard to make out
the man's face in the darkness. What I could tell was that he
was jittering. His hands and shoulders would shudder and twist
every few seconds very violently. He didn't say anything else
until the rest of the Klan arrived. Simon was always soft spoken;
his actions were anything but soft though. His mind and body
were not quiet on the same page. That night I would see him go
bizerk on one of the grey skins, his hands lashing out with a
knife at an inhuman speed. The darn thing was dead five times
over even before it hit the ground but Simon kept cutting and
slashing until all his energy was gone. He also always insisted
on drinking some of his victims blood. Human, monster,
animal, it made no difference to him. To this day I don't know
why, I killed him before I had the chance to ask him.
A truck pulled up and stopped, another tall figure stepped out
and walked toward the hill. The man had a cowboy hat on and carried
a shotgun. I could tell from his voice he was an older man.
"Evening Bruce." Simon said
in a low voice.
"Did you make up those shells for
"Yep," Simon handed Bruce two
shotgun shells, which he promptly inserted into his gun. They
were not filled with buckshot; they were filled with dimes.
A dollar eighty sure did a number on anything that got in its
way, I learned the hard way to never be in front of Bruce when
his gun was loaded.
The third and final car pulled up and parked behind the others.
Two men appeared from inside. One carried a large gasoline container
the other carried a bible. It was father Meynard and one of his
pupils. The gasoline was to burn any evidence of our work; the
bible had a different use.
"Did you bring your gun like I asked?" I
reached into my jacket and pulled out my pistol. The thing
was so old I didn't know it would shoot, luckily it did or
I would not be alive today.
"I'm not sure what good its going
to do its kinda..."
"Just give me the bullets my son." I
pulled the six tiny bullets from the revolver and handed them
to the priest. He set the slugs on his Bible and blessed them.
"Bless these o lord so that they will protect us during
our time of trial." He handed the bullets back to me. I
reloaded my revolver. "Remember son you must not let the
creatures bite you, if you are bit you are as good as dead to
us, I will kill you myself if I have to."
"I understand, I just hope this old
thing will shoot."
"The lord is on our side son, it will work fine." The
group began to walk toward the house. It was a small brick house;
we slowly crept up to one of the windows and peered inside. Three
werewolves sat at a small table eating a deer. The deer was not
cooked; they simply ripped off chunks of the animal and devoured
it, skin and all. Father Meynard had described the creatures
very accurately to me, but the sight of them was still amazing.
Their arms looked kinda human, they had hands with thumbs, but
each finger had an inch long claw on it. Besides that they were
pure werewolf. Wolf muzzle, wolf legs (hinged on the way a dogs
legs are), and wolf body which was Full of fur and full of muscle.
"This is bad, were is the fourth?" Bruce
turned to Father Meynard.
"Are you sure there was four?"
"HOLY FA..!!" It was the fourth
werewolf. She had snuck up behind us and grabbed Father Meynard's
pupil. She was now on top of him chewing away at his arm; his
cries for help turned to screams of pain. In one swift motion
Simon unsheathed a large hunting knife from his boot, and lunged
at the beast. The two rolled over in the grass snarling and
growling all the way, much of the snarling came from Simon.
The other wolves heard the noise and quickly bounded put the
door of the little house. Bruce answered the first two wolves
with his shotgun, the wolves were sent flying backward as if
a truck had hit them. The third wolf turned and lunged at me,
I pulled the trigger on my gun, more out of fear then skill.
The bullet struck him and he crashed to the ground. I turned
and saw Simon cut the she wolf to shreds, he was even more
vicious then the beast. Soon the werewolf was dead, he knelt
down and took his customary drink. It was all over in a matter
of seconds. Brother Meynard walked over to his pupil, who was
still on the ground and bleeding heavily from his arm.
"Forgive me lord, for I am going to sin." He then
produced a small pistol from his coat and shot the boy in the
head, he jittered for a few seconds and then lay still. " I'm
sorry you had to see that Matt, be he was bit, I had little choice." At
the time, I thought he was putting a dying boy out of his misery,
I was dead wrong
In the next few hours we dragged the bodies inside and set the
little house on fire. We made our way back to our cars. Simon
and Bruce drove off, they both had to work the next day and need
as much rest as they could get. Father Meynard had to work to;
he stopped to talk to me before he left.
"You did good tonight, I am glad you choose to help us." With
that he drove off, I was alone; at least I thought so. I was
opening the door to my car when I heard the growling. I turned
and saw a werewolf only a few feet from me in the tall grass
alongside the road. I reached into my coat and began to draw
my gun, it was much too late. I one swift roaring lunge the beast
was on top of me, he clamped his teeth around my wrist. My hands
tensed up and dropped the pistol, I screamed as loud as I could
as the pain shot down my arm to my head. It didn't matter though;
there was none for miles. I began to struggle with all my might,
but I was no match for the beast. Soon I was too tired to fight
back, I just lay on the ground out of breath, with the wolf firmly
in control of me. I looked at the beast; he looked like he was
ready to laugh or something.
"Well what are you waiting for?" I shouted with all
the strength I had left. "Kill me if that's what you want!"
"Indeed, I do want you dead." I was amazed, the father
never told me that the creatures could talk, maybe he didn't
know. "But why work so hard?" He grinned at me, "After
all your already dead!" He released me and scampered out
into the night, I never saw him again. It took me awhile to get
the air back into my lungs. I pulled myself to my feet. I crawled
into my car and flicked the interior light on. My hand had already
"Maybe I'll live through this yet." I
drove myself home, bandaged my hand, and went to bed. I woke
late the next day, I felt very sick. I was in the bathroom
tending to my hand when I saw what I didn't want to see. I
looked into the mirror and saw a face that was not my own.
My eyes were not the dark brown that I was born with, they
were yellow! Thin strands of grey fur sprouted from behind
my ears. It was then that I realized what the wolf had meant.
I left town that day, and I never looked back. The only thoughts
in my mind played over again and again.
"Your as good as dead!"
"...You are as good as dead to us,
I will kill you myself if I have to.."
How was it reader? I am always looking for feedback on my
stories. If you have any rants, raves, or ideas Id like to
hear them! I'm not proud so don't be afraid to criticize. Drop
me a line at Racerkey@aol.com.
And make the subject name kinda obvious so I don't toss it
out with the tons of junk mail I get. Id love to hear from