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Poetry/Short Stories

Dead Wolf

by RacerKey

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 victim’s 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 me?"

"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.

Story continued below


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 stopped bleeding.

"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 ya.