by Adam Millard
Lester carefully leaned out over the side of the pickup, his huge bear-like fist gripping the cross bar, and reaching through the window of the cab tapped Bill on the shoulder. Bill looked up to see Lester mime, without much talent, the opening and drinking of a can; this would be the ninth such brew Lester would have consumed in the two hours they had been out driving in the forest. They came out for what they called ‘a drive’ every Saturday night, just as long as it wasn’t raining too heavy. Each would take turns driving Hanks old beat-up Ford while the other two would take up their places in the back with spotlights and rifles. They wouldn’t often find cause to actually fire their weapons, as they preferred to run their prey down with the truck rather than waste precious bullets.
Reaching down into the cooler that sat in the foot-well, he pulled a cold can from the melting ice and water. As he struggled to sit up straight, Bill swerved again to avoid another tree. All three let out a ‘yehaa’ as the truck briefly left the ground and took to the air. On landing, Bill cursed from inside the cab as he bounced from his seat and hit his balding head on the roof. A small trickle of blood started to seep from a cut on the very crown of his shining braincase; it wasn’t a bad cut but even these three less-than-educated men knew a cut on the scalp would bleed more than anywhere else. They had, between them, experienced more than a few cuts and scrapes; many a long night in the local bar had ended in them losing their footing and meeting the ground at a rapid rate. Bill continued to share some very choice language and finally brought the vehicle to a standstill in a small clearing.
The two men jumped down from the back of the Ford. Lester landed with the grace of a dancing rhino on the soft ground and Hank beside him with a landing that showed his slightly more athletic background. He had been in the football team in High School and still traded daily on the small town fame it had given him. Hank following Lester’s earlier lead and leaned into the cab. He pulled, by the plastic rings, three cold brews from the cooler that sat in the foot well of the passenger’s seat.
Cracking the first can open and bringing it to his lips, he threw one at Lester and the other in the direction of Bill.
“Heads up, Baldy” he laughed.
The can flew over the top of the pickup and landed on the ground just beside Bill. He turned and gave Hank a mean glance as he pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket and started to wipe the blood from his forehead and up over the crown of his head.
“…and the horse you rode in on, boy” he uttered under his breath as he continued to wipe the sticky liquid from his face.
Bill leaned down and picked up his can and before opening it he flicked it a few times. This was a trick his Daddy had shown him to settle a shook can. He wasn’t sure it actually worked, but at forty-five years of age it was now an old habit, and they were hard to break. Pulling his threadbare woollen beanie from the back pocket of his dirt-stained pants, he placed it on his head and then threw the keys of the truck to Hank.
“Here ya go, boy; your truck, you can drive.”
Hank was only three years younger than Bill and a full ten years older than Lester but Bill always called him boy; when it had started it used to bother the hell out of him but now it didn’t bother him at all. He reckoned it was just like any other nickname and he had had plenty since being in High School.
Hank jumped into the driving seat and started the engine up. The truck might look like it had seen its best days but the engine purred like a kitten; and so it should. Hank spent many of his leisure hours under the hood of that particular vehicle. The other two, as best they could, swung themselves up and into the back of the Ford just as Hank put it in gear and started out of the clearing.
As they rounded the bend of a dry stream they were now following, they spotted a movement in the brush just off to their left. Even after nine cans Lester was still pretty fast to swing the spotlight they had mounted on the bar in the direction of the movement.
“Hey guys that’s a biggun,” Bill shouted over the roaring of the engine. “Plenty of eating on that one; get after him”
Hank, now in control of the truck, showed that the beers he had drunk tonight had not diminished his driving ability, and quickly spun the wheel and it rose up out of the dry bed and onto the bank. Lester managed to hold on with one hand and steer the spotlight to stay in line with Hank’s steering of the truck. Both passengers had now dropped their half-empty cans into the sticky black blood that covered the inside of the pickup's flatbed. They no longer felt the need to drink; they were deep into the chase. The Ford left the ground again as it left the forest and landed on the hard surface of a paved road. Looking left and right to get his bearings, Hank shouted from the cab,
“This is the U.S. 20 guys; did ya see which way it went?”
Before either of his passengers could answer the whole world seemed to rock, at least that’s the way it seemed to Hank from inside the truck. Turning he looked behind him and saw that Bill was no longer in the back; turning the engine off slowly he placed his hand on the handle of the door and swung it open.
Stepping out he looked down at the road beside the Ford's rear wheel, and felt a hot burning sensation rise up in his throat as he saw what was left of Bill. His blood-soaked beanie now lay in an expanding puddle of blood that leaked from where his head used to be connected to his neck. One hand still twitched and the face of his watch clinked against the hard tarmac, echoing in the now silent cold night air. Hank couldn’t see Bill's head anywhere and retched as he looked further down his friend’s body to see his innards bursting out of his chest and stomach onto the dark road surface.
Gripping the edge of the truck's side panel, he looked up to where Lester stood frozen; both of the younger man’s hands looked as though they were glued to the steel bar they had used to mount the spotlight. Just as Hank was about to speak there was a flash of movement and Lester’s head flew off his shoulders and hit Hank in the centre of his chest. A combination of smells filled the air; the hot metallic scent of blood and the musty smell of sex mingled with the damp aroma of wet matted hair. Not knowing what to do, Hank started to rub furiously at the blood that now covered the front of his shirt. His legs felt weak and the contents of his stomach started to force their way up and out to make a second appearance. Gripping his knees he bent double and released a massive flow of amber liquid that forced its way out of his mouth and nose and mingled with the still-steaming blood that continued to seep from where Bill's head had been.
With a start, Hank stood bolt upright. What had to be the most haunting sound he had heard in his full forty-two years echoed around him. He had heard similar noises in the many horror films he had seen, his favourite being about a nice, American guy being attacked under a full moon in England. But they had only ever been special effects, never real.
He had heard the howl of wolves and roar of bears. This was a sound he had never heard before; an almost guttural combined roar and howl of a creature that sounded lost, alone and in terrible pain.
Turning quickly he left behind the bleeding bodies of his two best friends and headed on down the road towards ‘Wookie Hole’. It was easy to navigate the road tonight; the moon was full and sat high in the cloudless sky. Hank could almost taste the musty sex-like aroma mingled with the sickly metallic smell that he'd first noticed when he was stood back at the truck in the air around him. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement just off to the side of the road. As he approached a bend he stopped, turned his head, and was greeted with the face of a huge beast.
It stood taller than any man he knew with eyes that were a sky blue with an almost black band that encircled the irises. Its pulsating, muscular body was covered with short jet-black hair from its head to the tops of its feet. For what seemed like hours, but actually was only mere seconds, Hank looked the creature up and down. On its broad shoulders was a head that combined both human and wolf-like features. It snarled to show a row of sharp, yellowing teeth; as it opened its mouth to
let out its guttural scream, Hank was almost thrown back by the putrid smell of rotting flesh.
The creature leaned forward towards Hank who now stood frozen in place. Unable to move, all he could do was stand as he felt the warmth of the piss flow down his legs, soaking his pants, and the shit that filled his shorts. The huge beast sniffed at him and, moving gracefully for such a huge frame, started to circle the frozen man. Hank's breathing began to become more and more rapid; tears began to flow down his dirt-stained cheeks leaving tiny pink trails. The creature once more found its way to a position stood directly in front of the quivering man. Hank wondered why it had waited so long; why it had not just torn his head off like it had with Bill and Lester.
Taking one step back the creature straightened its legs and back and stood up; Hank could hear the bones pop as its spine lined up and it now towered over him.
Hank closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable, for the beast to swipe one of its huge claw-tipped hands and strike him down where he stood.
For the first time in his life he was totally, completely aware.
He could smell the musky aroma of the creature but beyond that he could pick out the scent of the surrounding forest. He could feel the cool night air, the soft breeze that flowed over the bare skin of his arms; even the smell of the piss that had flowed down his pants and the shit that had filled his shorts were almost beautiful in their own way.
Finally he laughed, only a small giggle as he realise that in this moment, a moment where he was scared sober and facing certain death, he had never been more alive.
In a moment of acceptance Hank opened his eyes to look at the beast once more. The monster curled its hands into fists and drew its arms into its chest. Placing one leg forward and one back it crouched slightly and turned its face to the moon. Opening its huge mouth wide, it let out a roar that echoed for miles. He expected at any moment to feel the powerful blow of death from this predator.
Hank no longer saw a monstrosity stood in front of him but a powerful and majestic beast. Where he had seen a creature of horror before, he now saw an ancient and amazing part of creation. Although he would not welcome death he was glad it was such a beast that was to take his life. Then with lightning speed the creature turned and bounded back into the tree-line leaving Hank stood, still alive, in the road.
Once again Hank felt the welling up of puke and his knees gave way as he fell to the road. His whole body began to convulse with sobbing as the stress of the last ten minutes flowed out of him in tears. With each passing moment he cried harder and harder, his sobs drowning any sound from around him. He had survived. The relief he felt coursed through his body and he began to laugh. Without any control he continued to shake, but now he shook with the joy of survival. He shook so hard and laughed so loud he failed to hear the approaching truck that came down the US 20 towards him.
Before the driver could react Hank found himself struck by ten tonnes of hard metal and thrown twenty metres down the road. With each bounce on the hard surface, layers of skins and flesh tore from his breaking bones. With one final, loud thud his head hit the tarmac and everything went black.
*
The two women stood in the ‘Wookie Hole Dry Goods and General Store’ and read a copy of the newspaper together as they leaned against the counter. Its headline read:
LOCAL MAN KILLED ON US 20 AFTER SLAUGHTERING HUNTING COMPANIONS.
One of the women, who wore a pale yellow dress, took a deep breath and declared,
“I always knew that Hank Roberts was a bad ‘un. Never trusted him; and his two friends were as bad if you ask me.”
“Oh my dear,” replied the other woman who wore a blue dress. “I could not agree more”
From behind the counter the two women heard a tut tut, and both turned to see where it came from. Stood in front of them was a young girl with the blackest hair that flowed down over slim, strong shoulders. Her beautiful eyes were a pure sky-blue with an almost-black band that encircled the irises. She winked and said:
“Now ladies; you don’t want to believe everything you read in the newspapers.”
FOR OUR SINS: A FABLE
By Brent Abell
“Do you think the wolf can see us?” the priestess said to her handmaiden.
“My lady, why do you spy on the wolf so? For three nights you sit here on the balcony and follow every move it makes.”
“Look at him, watch the way the muscles move beneath the fur, and how his eyes shine in the moon,” the priestess said as her wanting burned down to her core.
The handmaiden squinted into the night and found the wolf. She turned to the priestess, “My dear Katharine, I see not what you see in that mongrel beast!”
“Do you know how hard it is that I can never know the touch of another so I can remain pure and virginal? I only wish to feel the loving touch of another.”
“Are you not pure of the mind?”
Katharine giggled, “Oh no, my Danni, my mind is not pure!”
“Well I’m going to bed. You better hope that the High Priest doesn’t find out what thoughts go through your head,” Danni said, exiting the room and pulling the door shut behind her.
Katharine listened for Danni’s footfalls and when they ended she untied her robe and let it fall to the floor. Stepping out of it, she perched back on the balcony, her alabaster flesh naked in the moonbeams. In the moonlight filtering through the treetops, she could see the silver refractions of his eyes. She gently caressed her fingers over her body and a small moan escaped her lips. She prayed in her mind that the high priest didn’t barge in. Her situation would be seen as unfortunate and the punishment scared her.
*
Out in the night the wolf paced around the forest’s edge, watching the tower where soft candle light silhouetted a figure on the balcony. He hungered and the knot deep in his gut kept bringing him to the edge of his pack’s hunting grounds looking for food. The local villagers decimated the deer, rabbits, and squirrels leaving him, the alpha, unable to provide for the pack. Gazing back up at the human, he felt the rush in his belly like at the start of a hunt. Alas, it was impossible to hunt humans. The wolf god, Hemming, forbade the wolves from hunting and consuming the man-flesh. His stomach grumbled again. The alpha raised his head to the full moon and howled a prayer to Hemming.
In the heavens, Hemming heard the troubled cry of his beloved alpha wolf. He paced the clouds and like his wolves, he too grew tired of the blood oath between him and the earth-goddess, Demeter. The pact kept the humans from being feasted upon by the wolves. The virgin sacrifice every four years to Hemming grew increasingly less and less fulfilling to him. Hemming, like his wolves, wanted to taste man-flesh again. He hadn’t partaken of a human in over four hundred and twelve years. He looked back down at the alpha that invoked him and noticed he paced on the outskirts of Demeter’s temple complex.
Then he heard the silent longings from the priestess and he smiled. Thinking for a moment, he found his way to break the oath.
*
Katharine sat on the balcony floor panting and sweating. She watched the wolf trot back into the forest and sat down to gather her thoughts before she put her robe on for bed. Her trembling hands gripped the ledge and she pulled herself up and, bending over, grabbed her robe from the floor. The cool silk felt good on her sweat slickened skin. Katharine began to tie her robe when someone cleared their throat behind her.
A man dressed in peasant garb stood on the balcony where she stood a few moments ago. He looked caked in dirt and stank like the waste pit behind the temple. A wolf-pelt covered his shoulders.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Katharine uttered in surprise.
“I only want to answer your prayers, the ones your so-called goddess refuses to grant you an answer to.”
“Answer me true or I shall summon the guards.”
Hemming stroked his chin and smiled, exposing the tips of his fangs. “I can give you what you desire.”
&nb
sp; “How do you know what I desire?”
“The cries from your soul reached me, so I brought you a gift,” he said, removing the pelt from his shoulders. “This can give you your heart’s desire, the love you yearn for.”
“What will the wolf pelt do for love?” She asked reaching out for it.
“On the next full moon, when the wolf appears, go to the temple gardens and place the pelt on your naked body. The pelt will then grant you your desires.”
“How do you know what my heart desires? You appear in my chambers and presume to know what I want?”
He turned with a grin, “Oh my dear vestal virgin, the gods can hear all. I have heard your call and I am here to help you.”
Katharine took the pelt from his outstretched hands and rubbed the fur against her soft cheek. She wrapped the pelt around her shoulders and pulled it in tight around her body to ward off the cool breeze blowing in from the open windows. Turning back around to thank the man, she found him no longer standing in her room, but on the balcony. He winked at her and jumped off into the night. Rushing over, she screamed and found nothing on the ground where he would have landed, but she swore she could still hear him laughing.
Thunderous footsteps echoed in the hall outside her room. Katharine quickly pulled her robe on and kicked the pelt under her bed as the door came crashing in and three guards rushed in.
“What is going on? Are you alright?” asked the High Priest, pushing through the guards blocking the door.
“Nothing, Iden, I thought I heard something on the balcony and I found only a big spider.”