by Stead, Nick
“I’m pregnant,” she said, her sapphire eyes hard and cold. “I thought you should know.”
I looked at her, confused. “Do I know you?”
She sighed with impatience. “Don’t you remember any of it? February fifteenth, we met outside a nightclub. You were obviously drunk from the way you were acting. You fought with my boyfriend and then we went back to my place. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the rest.”
“Oh God,” I moaned.
“Oh God is right. I checked the dates. You’re the father.”
“Are you sure you’re pregnant?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t!”
“Then you’ve got to have an abortion.”
She looked at me with disgust. “This is our child we’re talking about. I’m not killing it!”
“You have to. Trust me on this. If that monster is allowed into the world innocent people will die. You have to kill it!” I knew I sounded crazy, but the thought of all the added carnage it would bring terrified me. “Please, you have to kill it before it’s too late!”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about or why you’re talking like this but I’m not murdering an innocent child and that’s final! I don’t know why I bothered telling you. You’re all the same; you only want one thing! Then when you get it you want nothing more to do with us.” She gave me a final look of disgust and stomped off.
“Please, don’t do this!” I called after her. “You’ll regret it! You think you’ll be able to love it? You’ll hate it. You have to kill it!”
She shot me the finger and disappeared around the corner. I was left staring after her, unable to believe the wolf had picked someone in school. It couldn’t have picked a complete stranger, someone I would never see again. I could have been blissfully unaware of the thing growing in her womb.
I realised I’d blown it. If I hadn’t panicked, maybe the conversation would have gone differently, or maybe not. There was no way of knowing. But calling the baby a monster had been stupid. Anyone who didn’t know the truth wouldn’t understand why I was calling it that.
“Shit!” I said, punching the wall in frustration. And just when I didn’t want them to, a teacher appeared.
Needless to say my language didn’t go down too well, and coupled with the botched injection, it was enough to land me straight in isolation. I followed the teacher up to the isolation room, where I was sat in one of the cubicles and given some work to do.
The time passed slowly, my mind on the girl and the monster I’d spawned. I realised I didn’t even know her name. Not that it mattered; the thing she was carrying was all that was important. I had to find a way to get rid of it before it was born, but if she refused to have an abortion how could I kill it? I could see no way to force her without showing her what I really was, which was suicidal if I didn’t want the Slayers to find me. And now I had something to live for, I wasn’t going to let them get to me first. I had to kill that baby somehow. But if I left it until after the thing was born, it would be virtually impossible – there’d be too many people looking out for it. Unless the Slayers would do it for me, but could I really rely on them? If it wasn’t discovered until the first few bodies started turning up, it would already be too late. No, I had to take care of this myself.
That left only one other option: kill the girl before the pregnancy could reach full term and the unborn baby would die with her. It was something I knew I couldn’t do.
Unable to see how to resolve the problem, I decided to follow her over the next nine months, and then if no other way presented itself I’d be forced to kill her and the monster we had created. Or at least, I’d try.
My mind made up, I went in search of her as soon as I got out of isolation. But she was nowhere to be found on the school grounds and I couldn’t remember the way to her house. I tried sniffing the area as discreetly as I could manage, searching for any smells I might recognise. It was no use. Without any lupine instincts guiding me, I still didn’t know how to pick out a single scent amongst the hundreds of others. There was nothing for it but to go home.
The three thirty bell went and I wandered the grounds, scanning the usual sea of faces for a glimpse of Jenny, that blonde beauty carrying our bestial child. Weeks had passed, and I was no closer to finding a solution for what to do about my monstrous spawn. Stalking her had already become pointless, but I kept on with it anyway – it felt better than just doing nothing.
I spotted her rushing through the gates, my gaze dropping to the huge bump beneath her top. The rate at which it had become noticeable was worrying. Was the baby developing quicker than a human? It seemed like it. My dread had grown with that bump, too afraid of what would be born to feel much in the way of guilt over my own monstrous killings during the latest full moon. Or maybe I was just too distanced from the pain to care. Even now, I’m not sure which it was.
Jenny continued down the street, going as fast as her condition allowed and doing her best to avoid me. She’d already threatened me with the police once, and I was careful to trail behind at enough of a distance that she wouldn’t notice me in the throng filtering down the road, but close enough to keep her in sight.
She reached the end of the street and disappeared but I wasn’t worried – I knew she’d be turning right. I did the same.
The crowd began to thin as our peers started to split off, down side streets and into their homes. I must have been walking for a good five minutes before I realised Jenny had vanished, and I cursed, scanning my surroundings for any hint of where she might have gone. Had she realised I was following again?
I turned in a full circle but there was no sign of her anywhere. Then it came to me. There was an alley not far back – she must have slipped down it without me noticing, but if I hurried I shouldn’t have any trouble catching her up.
So I ran down the street and turned onto the little path between the rows of houses, to find her bent over in agony. I came to a stop, staring in horror. It had begun.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Baptised in Blood
Panic taking over, I knelt beside her, both hating and pitying her in that moment. Hating her for putting us both through this, pitying because she probably didn’t even know what was happening to her, it had come so soon.
“I think my waters have broken,” she gasped.
I didn’t reply, but I thanked God this was happening somewhere out of sight, sparing me from the terrible act of killing in cold blood. It meant I could stay by her side until she’d birthed the monster, and then I’d get my chance to kill it. And she wouldn’t be able to stop me. I just hoped I had strength enough to do what I had to.
Her screams echoed down the alley. “Please, take me to a hospital, please!”
My pity grew. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do, watching her suffer and not doing a thing to help. But I reminded myself of what was at stake.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“You fucking bastard! I wish we’d never met. I wish you’d never been born!”
It went on for hours. Nothing I said could calm her, and she continued to alternate between cursing me and pleading for my help. She even tried crawling to the end of the alley at one point, but she never made it – the pain was just too much.
It was a miracle no one came to investigate all the screaming. We were well hidden from anyone wandering the streets on either side of the passageway, but if anyone came too close they’d hear her panting and screaming as she strained to bring our baby into the world. Somehow we managed to get through the ordeal without being disturbed though.
I couldn’t believe how long it was taking. The pain looked intense and I wondered how it compared to the transformation. At least my agony only lasted minutes, even though it had often felt like longer. I couldn’t imagine having to endure that for hours. The thought was enough to make me forget my hate as I tried to offer her some comfort, holding her hand and stroking her face.
; “It’ll be okay,” I whispered, as soothing as I could. “It’ll all be over soon and then everything will be okay.”
Night had fallen when finally the contractions were growing shorter and the blood began to flow, blossoming out onto the pavement and soaking into the dirt. Was there meant to be this much blood?
And finally, followed by the river of gore came our offspring. Not one but three, each more hideous than the last. But something was wrong – the girl was still screaming in pain even though they’d been born, and the crimson fluid kept on flowing. She was growing weaker by the second. I could almost feel her life draining from her, could hear her heartbeat slowing, weakening. And then she gave a final shudder and lay still.
I turned back to look at the three scraps of life she had died giving birth to, thinking that her death had been in vain. They lay there in their mother’s blood, small and ugly, and sickening to behold.
Two of them appeared to be almost human, though they were smaller than babies born at the end of a normal nine month pregnancy. This had only lasted sixty three days – the gestation period for most species of wolf. I watched their limbs waving in the air as their lungs sounded a terrible cry for warmth and affection, and their mother’s milk. Almost human, yet still I felt only hate for them. But the third one… He used his legs to crawl through the blood, blind and deaf to the world around him and sounding the most pitiful squeaking noises from his stunted muzzle, just like any other wolf pup. It was hard to believe that muzzle would grow into the same deadly maw as mine in wolf form, but I wasn’t fooled. He was the most monstrous of the three in my eyes.
And yet, even knowing what they would become, I couldn’t bring myself to kill them after all. So I left them to their fate, knowing they’d never survive on their own. It was slightly easier on my conscience that way, even though some part of me knew it was crueller than the quick end I should have given them.
Leaving the scenes of death behind me, I headed for home, the horror already fading as I walked. I didn’t feel much else after that, as if the guilt that had stained my conscience the past few months had finally been lifted. There was a vague sense of relief that at least that particular nightmare was over, that the monsters would die alongside their mother – they would not grow to be killers. Other than that there was nothing, and I wondered if I was becoming even more of a monster than the three I had just condemned to death.
What became of the bodies I don’t know. It was probably in the news, unless the Slayers had hushed it up, but even then I didn’t pay attention to the media.
My prints had to have been on the body of the mother but the police never questioned me. That seemed strange after Mel’s disappearance, given that they probably had my family down as the leading suspects. But I didn’t give it much thought at the time.
Tensions were growing at home. Dad hadn’t been pleased when I’d come back so late after the monstrous births.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing staying out so late? Do you know how worried me and your mum have been? That’s it young man, you’re grounded!”
“You don’t know the half of it! Why can’t you leave me alone?” I’d yelled back at him, suddenly feeling tired, more so than I’d ever felt before. I wasn’t in the mood for his temper tantrums, just because something was bothering him. It was a different excuse every bad year of his cycle; work, stress, boredom. Those were the usual ones.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, son! What’s wrong with you anyway? You’re always going out on your own for no reason while we’re left to slave around in here! It’s time you started to help round the house. If you don’t buck your ideas up soon I’ll–”
I didn’t give him chance to finish.
“You’ll what? You’ll what, Dad? You couldn’t make my life any worse than it is already!”
He mouthed at me wordlessly, but I’d heard enough. I ran off, up to the sanctuary of my room and straight to bed, fuming. Ironic that he used to complain about how much time I spent inside on the computer or the PlayStation, and now he was complaining I spent too much time outside!
And it only went downhill from there. We were now in May. Dad was finding more excuses to shout at me than ever. His favourite one was spending too much time on the computer. He’d even restricted me to an hour a day! That really pissed me off when I hadn’t been spending half as much time on it as I used to. Just recently games had been helping to take my mind off everything, and I didn’t know what I’d do without them. An hour was hardly enough. Then one day Mum stood up for me, unable to watch me suffer any longer, and I was more grateful than she ever knew.
“Why do you always have to take the kids’ side, Emma?”
Mum’s own temper snapped. “I don’t at all. I agree with you – he shouldn’t spend too much time on the computer; it’s not good for him. But I’m sure longer than an hour a day won’t harm if he has a break between each session. You go about things the wrong way, John. He’s just lost his friend and he needs our help to get through this. You shouldn’t be so hard on him all the time – it will only turn him against you and make him more rebellious.”
“That was half a year ago! I don’t have to listen to this, Emma. He’ll do as he’s told, and he should be grateful he’s allowed on it at all, the way he’s acting.”
The bastard wouldn’t leave me alone from then on. Everything I did was wrong in his eyes, one way or another. He hated the way I spoke, the way I dressed, the way I ate. He hated it when I used slang, snapping at me to “Speak properly!” every two minutes. If they took me out for a meal I was never dressed up enough for him. He always wanted me to wear my smart shirt and trousers we’d bought for someone’s wedding, even though he went in jeans and a t-shirt. I ended up looking overdressed. And when I ate, I’d developed a tendency to rip into meat with my hands and teeth rather than using a knife and fork, and he usually ended up sending me to my room because I wasn’t civilised enough. He even shouted at me once for singing! I could tell you countless incidents about the arguments we had, most of them petty. Now I look back at it, it all seems so pathetic and childish, but that’s what he was like.
Another full moon came and went, but the horror and the guilt were completely gone. For a short time I felt nothing at all, more of an empty shell than ever. Then the arguments started and rekindled feelings that had lain dormant. Admittedly the anger and the hate were nothing new, but in the past few months every emotion I’d felt had been directed at the wolf. Now old feelings were awakened, feelings toward the bastard who dared call himself my father.
Somewhere around the start of May, the anger stirred whenever he was being completely unreasonable. Then it reared its ugly head every time he shouted. By the end of May, it had begun to claw its way out of the dark pit of despair it had briefly been trapped in.
It was the weekend and I was sat reading while Mum cooked dinner.
“Put your book down, Nick. It’s rude when we’ve got guests,” Dad said, his eyes on the TV screen, reading Teletext.
“Let me finish my page then,” I growled, wanting to point out the fact he was also reading and Amy was on the net. I’d already sat with my grandparents for a bit, what more did he want?
“That’s not good enough, Nick. You’ll do as you’re told. Put the book down.”
“Yeah, when I’ve reached the end of the page.”
“Put it down now and go see your grandparents.”
I always thought of eyes narrowing in anger, but his dark eyes seemed to widen with it. The look on his face was close to madness, and the hatred I felt for him whenever he pulled that expression was more than words can describe.
“Are you deaf or are you stupid? I said when I’ve finished the fucking page.”
“That’s it, go to your room and you’ll do without any tea tonight!”
I closed the book and stood, shaking. It took all my self-control not to punch him, but I settled for turning my back and walking away. This time he’d gone too far. He’d
already forbidden me to play on the computer or any kind of console games whenever we had guests, but he couldn’t expect me to just sit there while they talked about grown up stuff for hours on end. I was damn sure he wouldn’t have done so when he was my age. He was probably out playing with his mates, and wasn’t that worse? At least I was still in the house with them. So I went to my room, stomping up the stairs as loud as I could and slamming the door behind me.
I stood seething for a moment. Something drew my gaze to my bookshelf and I glared at it. There was a photo album on one of the shelves, and rage drove me to grab it and go through the pictures. Every time I came to one of him, I ripped it up. It helped vent the anger.
It was almost free, that anger. It had reached the top of the pit and found the final barrier it had to overcome before it ruled me. My self-control had all but withered. After everything I’d done, what did it matter if I killed more? There was no going back now. I felt distanced from the pain. When I looked in the mirror, cold, dead eyes stared back at me, almost completely emotionless except when anger flared up in them. The eyes of a killer. There was no point fighting it. I’d lost. I was more of a monster now than I had been when I’d killed Fiona. The only thing I had left was the anger, and once it was free I knew I would be unstoppable. The last of my self-control was in place for my family’s sake, because the last remnants of my fear said that if I unleashed the anger, I might not care who I killed.
The bastard wasn’t helping matters. I was sick of the way he treated us, sick of his stupid rules, which half the time didn’t even apply to him. I challenged him every time he gave me a bollocking and in turn that made him angry. So far we’d avoided a physical confrontation, but the rage was building between us and it was only a matter of time before it exploded.
CHAPTER TWENTY