Transformation

by Transformation (lit)

  * * * *

  Maggie woke, groggy and disoriented, her vision fuzzy. Someone had stuffed a gag into her mouth. Ropes chafed her wrists and ankles. She tried to sit up, and sank down again as dizziness washed over her.

  Gradually, her vision cleared enough for her to get a look at her surroundings. She was in the backseat of a moving car, and it was dark outside. She groaned softly, the sound muffled by the gag.

  The driver looked over his shoulder. It was the same man she’d seen earlier, the one in the gray suit, with the dark, mirrored sunglasses. “Awake, are you?” he asked, and smiled, a cold, unpleasant smile. “Just sit tight. This will all be so much easier on you if you don’t resist.”

  * * * *

  Justin stood in the crystalline silence of the night forest, head upraised, eyes closed. His senses--both mental and physical--were much sharper when he was away from civilization.

  He felt her presence again, like the dim flicker of a lighthouse through the fog. He focused in on that light, felt the murmur of her thoughts, felt her fear. His instincts had been right. She was in danger. He had to know more. Like a cougar slipping silently through tall grass, he slipped easily and quietly into her mind, careful not to let her feel his presence. If she knew, whoever threatened her might catch on, as well.

  Her fear and confusion surrounded him like a blazing wildfire, threatening to suffocate him. He forced his mind away from it, struggling to keep his own thoughts separate from hers, even as their senses merged. He could feel her body as if it were his own, feel the ache of muscles contorted into an unnatural position, the roughness of ropes scraping against tender skin. Looking out through her eyes, he could see the inside of a car. The road was bumpy and uneven, and through the windows he caught glimpses of trees, dark leaves silhouetted against a darker sky. Briefly, he glimpsed the flash of an ancient and battered green sign, but couldn’t quite make out what it said. Carefully, he shifted his consciousness within hers, trying to gather more information.

  The driver. He needed to see the driver’s face. But the man was staring at the road ahead.

  Frustration rose within Justin. They could be anywhere, anywhere at all. How could he possibly find her?

  He withdrew, just a bit, from her mind. Her emotions were too overwhelming. He couldn’t think. Back within his own body, he took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts.

  He had seen a sign from the window of the car. What had it said? He concentrated, trying to bring the hazy mental image of the sign into focus. It had started with A. Applebury Road. Yes. That had to be it.

  He knew where that was.

  Justin hastily undressed, casting aside his clothes, and flowed into cougar shape, fur and claws sprouting, muscles shifting and rearranging into a sleek, streamlined body. He took off at a run. There was no time to waste.

  Chapter Six

  The car slowed to a stop and the man got out of the driver’s seat. He opened the door to the back seat and reached out to Maggie, who pulled away. She felt a strong instinct to snap at his hand, but the gag stopped her. Even so, he must have seen the flare of anger and revulsion in her eyes, for his smile dimmed. “Behave,” he said, “or I’ll have to give you another shot.”

  Maggie didn’t want to be drugged again. Drugged, she would have no chance of escape. She forced herself to remain still, though her skin crawled as the man reached out to stroke her cheek with short, damp, pudgy fingers. It wasn’t just the texture of his skin, however, that made her want to recoil. It was the smell, a sickly, sour smell, like something that had been left out to rot in the sun. He looked so normal, so non-threatening, and yet there was something about him that was unspeakably loathsome. “Such a pretty little monster,” he said. “I almost regret having to do this. I could have a lot of fun with you.” He gripped her breast suddenly, twisting and squeezing so hard that she let out a muffled cry of pain through the gag.

  Her heart thundered. She growled through the gag, twisting in her restraints.

  “Oh, yes. We could have a lot of fun, you and I. But there’s no time for that. We have other things to do.” He licked his lips, grinning widely. The expression twisted his face into something resembling a goblin Halloween mask. The light in his eyes was inhuman, almost demonic. “There are a lot of preparations to be made. Now, be a good girl and be very still.” He grabbed her by the hair and shirt-collar and dragged her off the back seat of the car. She hit the ground, and rocks scraped her shoulder.

  Maggie looked around. She was in a forest. Where, she had no idea. All forests looked the same to her. But she saw the same trees--oaks and maples, mostly--that populated the forest where she’d met Justin.

  Perhaps twenty feet away, at the end of a long, gravel driveway, was a dingy little house that looked as though it had been abandoned decades ago. The windows were dirty and dark, the white paint faded to a dull, washed-out gray. A foul stink emanated from that house, like the smell that clung to the man’s body, but stronger. Maggie gagged, bile rising into her throat. She knew with a heavy, cold certainty that the man was taking her into that house, and that something horrible awaited her there.

  She wriggled her wrists, trying to work them free of the coarse ropes. The ropes scraped her skin, leaving it raw and tender, but she ignored the pain. She had to get away.

  The man crouched, watching her. “You really think you can escape?” He chuckled. “No. I know what you are. I’ve dealt with your kind before.”

  Maggie’s jaw tightened. She glared at him.

  “Oh, my. Such defiant eyes.” He licked his lips again. “I look forward to seeing the look in those eyes at the exact moment your spirit snaps. And you will break. Make no mistake about that. They all break.” He rubbed his hands together. “Ah, but we’re wasting time.” He stood. With one hand, he grabbed the rope binding her ankles and dragged her toward the house. He seemed unusually strong for a man his size. He should have been puffing for breath by the time he reached the door, but he showed no signs of exertion. He was still smiling as he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, and pushed the door open.

  Maggie flinched as the stench assaulted her nose. It was like a wave rolling over her. Bile rose in her throat again, hot and sour, and she choked it down. She didn’t want to see what was inside, didn’t want to know what was causing that horrible smell.

  But she knew what it was, in some dark and primal place beneath her conscious mind--the stink of death.

  The man dragged her through the doorway, onto the peeling, splintered wood floor. Slowly, he pulled the door shut, leaving them both enveloped in a dense, impenetrable gloom. The darkness was broken only by the dim flicker of an oil-lamp in the corner. Maggie was still, holding her breath. Her pounding heartbeat filled her ears as her eyes adjusted.

  They were in a room, about the size of an ordinary living room, with dirty walls that had once been white. Iron cages--each big enough to hold a large dog--lined one wall. On a rickety-looking table sat a bowl which looked as though it had been carved out of ivory, or very pale wood. It was covered with strange designs, like runes. Next to it lay a long, gleaming knife.

  The walls and floor were spattered with something dull and brown. It took Maggie a moment to recognize it as old blood. On one wall, behind the cages, was a bloody handprint.

  A low moan escaped her throat.

  The man giggled, a bizarrely high-pitched, childish sound.

  A burst of fear gave Maggie sudden strength. She wriggled toward the door, pushing herself along with her knees and shoulders. The man didn’t try to stop her. He simply watched, still giggling, as she rose up onto her knees and shoved her shoulder against the door, trying to force it open. “Go ahead,” he said. “Beat your head bloody against it, if you like. You can’t get through.”

  Maggie turned to look at him. Rage burned through her veins, making her head hot, incinerating the fear. This vile little man held her prisoner, laughed at her struggles, for
his own sadistic pleasure.

  He must have seen something in her eyes that unsettled him, for the smile faded. “Don’t make me give you another shot,” he said.

  Maggie felt something sharp in her mouth. It took her a moment to realize her teeth were growing, lengthening into fangs. Her hands flexed and clenched, and she felt thorn-like claws sprouting from the tips of her fingers, pressing into her palms.

  The man’s eyes widened. “No,” he said, “no, you’re too young, too new. You shouldn’t know how to change at will.”

  Twinges of pain shot through Maggie’s muscles as she felt them growing, stretching, but the pain didn’t bother her. A surge of triumph made her smile through the gag.

  The man’s lips pulled back from his teeth in an ape-like grimace of fear. Then his face twisted in rage, transforming him, momentarily, into a demon. “No!” His hand dove into his pocket as he lunged for her. Maggie saw the gleam of a hypodermic needle a moment before she felt the sting in her neck. Her vision went hazy. Her fangs retracted back into her mouth, becoming human teeth once again, and her claws vanished into her fingertips. She fell, landing in a limp heap on the floor, her consciousness fading in and out.

  “Try that again, and I’ll rip your tongue out, you filthy little whore,” the man said, his voice so thick and distorted with fury that it sounded like a dog’s growl. He shoved her into one of the cages and slammed the door. She heard the click of a lock.

  The cage was slightly too small for a human. She was curled into a fetal ball, and still she felt the bars pressing against her back, her knees, the crown of her head. She squirmed.

  “You can stay there for awhile,” he said. “In the meantime....” He grinned again, his teeth gleaming with spittle. “Perhaps you’d like to see what’s become of your fellow monsters?” He left the room, vanishing through a doorway in the corner. He returned carrying the bloody, decapitated head of a cougar in both hands.

  Maggie recoiled.

  The cougar’s mouth hung open. It was missing one eye. The other stared blindly. There was something strangely familiar about its face. For a horrible moment, she thought it might be Justin ... but no. The eye wasn’t greenish gold, like his, but a duller yellow. So why did it seem as if she had seen that face before?

  She remembered, suddenly, the terror of being pinned beneath a huge pair of paws, the desperation that had pushed her to grab a sharp rock and shove the tip into one blazing yellow eye.

  It was the cougar that had attacked her, the one that had infected her with lycanthropy.

  A faint moan escaped her throat, and tears filled her eyes. Even if he had attacked her, even if he was indirectly responsible for her being in this nightmare, she wouldn’t have wished this on him. She had the horrible feeling that he had not died quickly and cleanly. The eyes were frozen wide open in a horribly human look of terror.

  “There’s an old myth,” said the man, stroking the severed head, “that says a were-creature reverts back to its human shape after death. As you can see, that isn’t true. They remain in whatever shape they happened to be in at the moment the life left their bodies.” He set the head on the table, next to the bowl and knife. “I sell the pelts,” he said, “but the heads, I keep for myself.”

  Gagged, Maggie could only stare at him in silent horror.

  The man walked over to the window, staring up at the sky. “Soon,” he whispered. He turned to her, his face cold. “You want to know why,” he said. “Why am I doing this?” He approached and crouched in front of her, so his face was level with hers. What she saw in the depths of his murky brown eyes terrified her. It was the manic gleam of insanity, but more--a deep, penetrating hatred. “You might not realize it now,” he said, “but I’m doing you a favor. You’re new. Maybe there’s still some humanity left in you. This way, you’ll die before you lose that humanity completely. Maybe your soul will be intact. If I let you live, you’ll become something monstrous. You don’t want to be a monster, do you?”

  Maggie made a muffled noise through the gag. She thought maybe, if he could tell she was trying to speak, he would take it off. Maybe she could reason with him. It was a long shot, but it might be her only hope.

  Instead, he stood and picked up the knife from the table. “Solid silver,” he said, running a finger along its length. “There are some truth to the old legends. A lycanthrope can heal wounds very quickly, but wounds inflicted by silver linger and burn like acid.” Grinning, he gripped the blade tightly in his bare hand until blood oozed between his fingers and ran down his wrist.

  The smell of blood, hot and salty, filled Maggie’s nose.

  He held his palm out to her. “You want my blood, don’t you?” He took a step closer.

  Maggie trembled in her restraints. Something surged within her, something primal and wild. She saw herself lunging from the cage, snapping the bars, tearing the man’s throat open to let his hot lifeblood fill her mouth.

  “Yes,” he hissed. His hand tightened on the hilt of the knife. “You really are a beast. A menace. And I’m going to exterminate you. Tomorrow, when the moon rises.” He slid the blade of the knife through the bars and pressed the edge against her throat. “There’s a little something you might not know,” he said. “It’s a bit of legend I stumbled across by accident a long time ago, but it turned out to be true. The legend says that if you kill a lycanthrope by the light of the moon, with a silver knife, and drink its blood from the cap of a human skull, you can absorb the creature’s life energy. Not only will you gain some of their strength, but you can actually extend your own life. Fascinating, isn’t it? I didn’t believe it at first. But now....” His grin widened, and he leaned forward. “How old would you say I am, hmm? Forty-four, maybe? Forty-five?” He paused. “I’m eighty-seven. I’ve absorbed the life-energy from over fifty monsters over the years. A pity I didn’t start when I was younger, eh? I’d still have all my hair.” He giggled, reached through the bars, and toyed with a lock of Maggie’s hair, twisting it around his fingers ... then yanked, hard. She winced. “You might think my motives are selfish,” he said, “but it’s not all for me. You see, the longer I live, the more monsters I can kill. I seem to be one of the few people left who believes that the monsters exist. I’m the only one who can do it, you see?” There was a strange urgency in his voice, as if he desperately wanted her to believe him. “I’m all that stands between the monsters and the humans.”

  Maggie moaned softly. He was truly insane.

  And she was at his mercy.

  * * * *

  A sleek, bronze cougar bounded through the forest. He paused, head upraised, ears and nostrils twitching as he tested the air.

  She was close. He felt it.

  A burst of anger and desperation leant strength to his muscles as powerful legs propelled him forward. He reached out with his mind again, slipped easily into Maggie’s consciousness. He felt her fear, but unless he focused completely on her, he couldn’t see her surroundings clearly. He saw only dim, hazy shapes. No matter. He no longer had to rely on his knowledge to guide him to her. When they were linked, he felt himself pulled toward her by some invisible force, something guided him. What, he didn’t know. He just kept running, knowing he had to reach her before....

  Before what?

  Something terrible was about to happen. And he was running out of time.

  He was getting closer. A smell hung in the air, so thick and strong he nearly gagged on it. He slowed, crouching low, and crept forward, nostrils twitching. He recognized that smell all too well. It was a mixture of old, stale blood and fear.

  Ahead, a building stood. It was a house, ancient and faded, its paint peeling and cracked.

  There. She was in there.

  He had to resist the powerful urge to charge forward and try to knock down the door. Hasty actions might get him killed. Worse, they might get Maggie killed. He had to be cautious.

  Crouching low, hidden by foliage and shadows, he closed his eyes and reached out once again. She was ver
y close now. The connection snapped instantly into place, clear and strong. He was looking through her eyes, inside her skin. He almost was her.

  She was in a cage, bound with coarse ropes that scratched and rubbed her skin painfully. And beyond the bars, he saw a man sitting at a rickety wooden table. The man held a silver knife, which he was sharpening with a whetstone. He paused every so often to hold the blade up to the light, turning it this way and that, admiring it. He glanced down at Maggie and smiled.

  Justin felt the instinctive urge to growl.

  “Few people can really appreciate the work I do,” said the man. His voice was oddly casual, as if he were simply making conversation with a stranger on the bus, instead of a bound and gagged prisoner. “It’s an art, really. Everything has to be just right. One detail amiss, and the spell could go totally wrong ... and then who knows what could happen? But I’ve always done it right.” He licked the edge of the knife. “I have a gift.”

  Maggie made a muffled noise through the gag.

  “What do you want?” He approached and reached into the cage, untying the back of the gag and letting it slip free.

  Maggie bit his hand, hard, her teeth sinking into soft flesh.

  The man screamed. He backhanded her, hard, across the face, and Maggie released him, falling backwards. Her vision blurred.

  Justin slid backwards, out of her mind. He was quivering with rage, his lips twitching as he struggled not to snarl.

  He would kill the bastard.

  Forgetting his resolve to be cautious, he ran toward the house’s small window, heart burning with the desire to rip the human into bloody strips. He leapt, his front paws cannoning through the glass, shattering it into a thousand glittering fragments.

  He landed inside the house, panting.

  The man, still cradling his injured hand, looked up in surprise. “Another one?” He backed away, groping for the silver knife on the table. “If you’ve come to save her, you’re too late.”