by Ian Redman
Slowly, a tear ran down Helga’s face. He must be so angry she thought, so very, very angry to have used The Key again. She could feel his fury, hideous, defiant! She could see, right now in her imagination, the terrifying shape rising onto its two hind legs, its jaws wide open, salivating…and the teeth, my God! Helga shivered, yes…she knew he had lost someone special…yes, she knew! Helga Zeist felt slightly sick as she slowly walked back to her office, her thoughts in turmoil as she remembered the past.
The unholy, horrifying past.
Otto Von Kurst had personally designed his specially adapted office several years ago, the same too, at his luxurious castle near Innsbruck and his home in Dusseldorf. For when the wolf raged, the killings would begin. The wolf was a secret only those closest to him knew about. It had to be. There could be no other way! Now, the wolf was alive once again, its savage, spine chilling roar reverberating throughout the office.
Otto Von Kurst’s clothes lay shredded, the full height and body mass of the wolf having ripped them apart. For years he had fought to tame and control the beast, but with the news just received, he knew the raging would begin. Learning of the loss of one his favourites was too much to bear. Gerhard Maas was a true believer in the cause, of the ridding of the Untermenschen. Both he and Jochen Kreutz had been brought into the inner circle of the New Totenkopf as Second Lieutenants. They even knew about the wolf. They were trusted, implicitly. And now…he was gone, cut down in the field of combat. Cut down, by the enemy! God how they would pay! THEY WOULD ALL PAY!
With its thick, bushy tail swishing dementedly, angrily from side to side, the wolf stood on its hind legs and howled, its bestial, magnificent fur laden body rippling with violent, hellish power, its furred arms outstretched, claws reaching out, its blood red eyes…glowing hatred!
The beast smashed at the computer, the filing cabinets and bookshelves. It howled again, then snarled and roared with lethal intensity, wildly thrashing around the office.
Nothing was left intact within the wild, overtly brutal, hellish fury now consuming Otto Von Kurst’s office. By the end of the raging the office would be in pieces, but no one would know.
No one…ever knew!
“SPREAD YOUR LEGS, YOU FUCKING WHORE!”
Lana Franke’s face smashed into the cold white upholstery of the operating table as she grunted under the pressure assaulting her body. Again and again Wilhelm Oratz thrust his penis into her warm, moist chasm whilst savagely pulling her hair back, jolting her neck as if ready to break it. “HA! YOU’RE FUCKING HELPLESS AREN’T YOU, C’MON, SCREAM YOU BITCH!” With her arms handcuffed behind her, Oratz kicked her legs apart, her yelling muffled by the padding on the operating table. She couldn’t move, her white, lingerie-clad form pushed close to the table’s frame as she grunted again and again. “HOW I’VE LONGED TO DO THIS TO YOU, YOU WRETCHED FUCKING WHORE!”
His thrusting was too much for her, his loins battering her flesh as she stiflingly screamed for mercy.
“Yes! Yes! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!” With his tongue licking his thin lips in ecstasy, Oratz climaxed, his seed spraying across his stomach as he sat in the leather chair in his office. He sighed, again and again, his hips rising in spasms of pleasure, his right hand continuing its exquisite manipulation of the muscle between his legs.
The DVD film footage always worked! How good it was to relieve stress by watching a rape scene! The ones from Moscow were always the best. He must remember to thank Vitali for the latest batch. God how those girls must suffer at the hands of their torturers! Oh yes, Oratz thought, his breathing erratic, how satisfying it felt, to climax over the victim’s suffering and the imagined rape of Lana Franke.
Panting heavily, Oratz lay back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling, his eyes half open. One day he would kill her he thought, his tongue once again moistening his lips. It didn’t need to be slow, just a bullet to her brain. That would do! Her powerful, mesmerising hold over Otto would then be finished. Yes, one day, he thought, one fucking day! But now…it was time to clean up, a quick shower, then a walk with Wotan and Wiki.
As Wilhelm Oratz’s breathing slowed to normal, the intensity of his climax having finished, one thing still troubled him. Quickly rising from his chair and switching off the DVD player, he turned his head slowly towards the door and the incessant high-pitched wailing coming from outside on the stairway.
His two friends…were still howling!
Helga Zeist stopped typing on her keyboard, her concentration scrambled, her thoughts, far too jumbled. It’s been over three hours she thought. The e-mails would have to wait. Otto wouldn’t mind, her priority for now was to stay near him. As usual, at this time of day, the building was still a hive of activity. Several telephone calls for VKE’s Managing Director had been put through to her, only for the caller to be told that Mister Von Kurst was unavailable at present. A message was then taken.
Helga sipped at her tea, English tea. She greatly enjoyed the beverage. It reminded her of happy days in London with her former husband, another sip of the pleasant brew making her smile, then frown. How fate can play such terrible tricks on people she thought.
Little had Helga suspected, at that pleasant time in her life, that cancer would later ravage her body and that her marriage would collapse, only to bring about an affair with Otto Von Kurst, one of Europe’s most handsome, wealthy and eligible bachelors. It was to be an affair that would change her life forever.
The affair itself had been brief, lasting for eight wonderful months. Helga had been in Von Kurst’s employ for just over five years when her husband left her. She never found out why. She was still very attractive for her age, pleasant and sharp witted. But most of all, she was a very loving, caring person. Perhaps she had given her former husband too much love? No, she thought, no one can ever have too much love.
As her thoughts continued to race through her head, a smile ran slowly across Helga’s kind, gentle face, her eyes wide and bright with emotion. Was it just pity Otto had felt for her, or had he, just for those few months, really loved her? That question, she knew, would never be answered, for his love was now totally committed to Doctor Franke.
With a long sigh, the smile vanishing quickly, Helga looked down at the carpet and wiped another tear from her eye. Once again, memories came flooding back. Dark memories, telling of frightening yet overtly sensual times. She owed her life to Otto Von Kurst and to his dark, terrifying secret, a secret she had amazingly only discovered, because of his incredible sense of smell.
“Have you seen a doctor lately Helga?” The question had taken her completely by surprise.
They were at his castle, on the outskirts of Innsbruck. The skiing had been magical, the schnapps, tantalising and the love between them, perfect. She had even remembered the exact time of the question as they lay naked by the glowing embers of the lounge’s log fire, caressing each other on a sheepskin rug. With the asking of the question, came the glance at the clock on the wall. Quarter to midnight! “No Otto, why do you ask, my love?” She had drawn close to his ruggedly handsome face, his silver grey hair glistening like the full moon as the embers of the fire crackled and glowed, dancing ethereally in the dimmed light.
“You have sickness inside you Helga. You need to see a doctor.” There had been silence, a deafening silence. “It is important to do so!”
How her stomach had knotted, Von Kurst wrapping his arms around her, kissing her gently on the forehead, then her lips. She remembered looking into his eyes. “What do you mean Otto? I feel fine.”
“Trust me Helga. I can smell sickness inside you.”
And he was so right, for she had not noticed the small lump on the underside of her left breast. Angry at her forgetfulness, she realised she had not examined herself for several months. She had completely forgotten! How foolish, how utterly foolish! Upon gaining the appointment with Otto’s doctor, her worst fears were confirmed…breast cancer, and it had travelled aggressively throughout her body.
The diagnosi
s was bleak! Removal of her breast, chemotherapy and possible removal of her spleen. She had cried, her tears falling in torrents onto Otto’s shirtsleeve, his strong, powerful form enveloping her upon the diagnosis, his arms feeling particularly strong at that time…holding her close.
“I’m sorry Ms Zeist, I am so sorry.” The doctor had meant well. It must have been as hard for him to tell her the truth, as it was for her to accept it.
The journey to Otto’s house in Dusseldorf had been etched in sadness. He had not spoken a word; she knew his mind was on other matters. He was like that; very quiet when in deep concentration. It was only during the final kilometre or so of the rain soaked drive back to his house that Otto Von Kurst spoke. Slowly, in a hushed tone.
“Helga…” she turned her tear stained face towards his, “I can help you.”
She remembered the lightning, its powerful, forked magnificence, lighting up the inside of the car, illuminating Otto’s cold, intense face. The appearance and timing of the lightning seemed so strange, just after her lover had uttered his kind words. “No one can help me Otto, no one,” she had sobbed, the thunder, so loud, his hand sliding from the gear stick, gently holding hers.
“I can definitely help you my love,” he had said, his tone so very low, almost a growl, “but you must be prepared to change your life…forever.”
That fateful, terrifying night, Helga Zeist’s soul had moved from the deepest, darkest depths of despair, to a feeling of joy, exhilaration and most importantly, hope. Otto had told her of the risk. The blood cells in the injection would, most probably over a period of time, change hers. Eventually she would become like the man she loved.
Von Kurst had told her the truth, about his childhood and his father whom he admired so much. But most significantly, he spoke about the life changing injection, given to him by his father before he committed suicide. It was only then that Otto Von Kurst allowed the beast to appear.
She had screamed. Oh, how she had screamed at the nightmare vision of the wolf, its terrifying blood red eyes, the low rumbling growl issuing from its vocal chords, its fur-laden, magnificent body rising up on its hind legs, towering over her as if it were a God. Then, as she shivered, the lightning and thunder still weaving a powerful spell of all things inhuman, the wolf changed back to Otto Von Kurst, now naked and as sexually predatorial as ever.
The truth behind the man now standing naked in front of her was both shocking and horrific! Otto’s father had lived with the beast since the end of the Second World War. His had been a dark world of frightening power, of carnivorous death, brutality and bloodshed. For many years, whilst still trying to build the family business, Karl Von Kurst had endured the power of the beast inside him, and so too, when the beast called, he endured its lust for blood and flesh. But eventually, the beast had to be controlled…and controlled it was!
For the young Otto Von Kurst, the days of being alone with his mother had been days of troublesome thoughts. Why did his father leave them at certain times of the year, as if to vanish, sometimes for weeks at a time and always with the other two men who came for him? His questions to his mother had always been painstakingly searching. Eventually, sick and tired of the lies she had told her son, his mother relented, then, so too…did his father.
And so came the truth about the wolf, and most of all…the wolf’s power! And with the truth, came young Otto’s decision. His father was sick and tired of the killing, the misery and despair he wrought upon helpless humans. Men, women and children! So he controlled the wolf with injections, from a formula, which he alone had invented.
But the feeling for the bloodhunt was always there, always lying dormant, waiting for that telltale sign of weakness within Karl Von Kurst’s soul.
But for the young Otto, now working with his father, the wolf was a sign of immense power, a power that to the young, handsome, upcoming businessman, could not be ignored. The request to have the beast placed inside his own veins came soon enough…the request to have his father’s blood running freely throughout his own athletic body.
And so Helga learned the truth. Of the young Otto Von Kurst taking his father’s place at Von Kurst Electronics and of the power of the wolf inside him, a power that was so inhuman and yet so tantalisingly resplendent in its own natural, powerful magnificence.
Yes, she would accept the wolf inside her own body…her own, sickening body! At that time, the time that God himself seemed to bestow upon her, all she wanted was life, a way to overcome the disease now ravaging her body. How she remembered the image of Otto drawing his blood through the small syringe, the smell of iodine and the prick of the needle into her vein.
“To you my dear Helga…” he had whispered, his eyes blood red, terrifying in their intensity, and yet, seemingly at one with nature itself, “…I give you the gift of life…and death.” The plunger moved swiftly, her lover’s blood flowing into her body. It was over in seconds, her thoughts suddenly realising the immensity of the situation she now found herself in. From now on, there was no going back! For Helga Zeist, her body was now…the wolf’s. “I will always love you Otto,” she had whispered, “…always.” The injection finished, they had kissed passionately and made love on the kitchen table, the lightning still flashing and the thunder still echoing across Dusseldorf.
“Is Mister Von Kurst busy Helga?”
It was Maria from the Marketing department who brought Helga Zeist quickly back from her tortured thoughts, her emotions snapping promptly back to reality. “Err…yes, yes Maria, he is very busy at the moment, you know what he is like.” Maria walked across to Helga’s desk, “these reports need to be signed off. It’s more information regarding the new project.” Maria smiled and giggled, “oh Helga, the cocktail party should be so exciting, are you going?”
“Of course Maria, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” With a bright smile now sat radiantly on her face, Helga took the paperwork from her colleague. “I’ll see if Mister Von Kurst needs some refreshment, so I’ll take these through for you.”
“Thank you Helga,” said Maria, quickly exiting the office.
Another forty minutes passed by, the phone to her right, still silent. When it finally did ring, Helga snatched at the handset and brought it close to her ear. She knew there was no need to speak.
“Helga, your assistance please.” The voice of Otto Von Kurst was flat, monotone.
Helga Zeist breathed a huge sigh of relief as she replaced the receiver. Moving briskly from her chair, she walked down the corridor, leading to the main office of VKE’s Managing Director as two members of staff strode by, giving casual greeting in the process. Quickly, she passed the large oak doors, unlocked and lifted the small flap, her petite fingers removing The Key, the bolts to the doors unlocking somewhat noisily. As always, when the raging had ceased, the ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ sign was left switched on.
Slowly, hesitantly, Helga opened the main door into Otto Von Kurst’s office. She gasped, not in horror, but amazement, for the once neat, tidy office had now become a confined war zone. Everything in the room was smashed to pieces, broken, twisted…destroyed. Closing the door and locking it from the inside, Helga slowly walked towards the naked man sat at the desk, his head lowered into his arms. He was breathing heavily.
“Clothing Helga, my clothing.” The voice was more relaxed. The deep resonating, monotoned growl having vanished. Otto Von Kurst was himself again.
Without speaking Helga undid the package she had brought from her office. A spare set of clothing. Business suit, shirt, tie, underwear, socks and shoes, the scenario itself having been acted out several times before. Ever so neatly, Helga placed everything on Von Kurst’s desk. Then she noticed the marks. Claw marks, ingrained deeply into the wood. She looked around at the battered, smashed room. The decorators would have to be called in, new equipment installed and of course, a french polisher would have to be found, to work on the desk.
No questions would be asked. They never were.
The computer moni
tor, keyboard and hard drive were in pieces, but that did not worry her. Otto Von Kurst always backed up all his important work. There would be no loss of information.
“That will be all Helga.” The Managing Director of Von Kurst Electronics looked up, his eyes still heavily bloodshot. But there was no smile. Something was on his mind.
“How are you feeling?” Helga was worried; she couldn’t help it.
“I am fine. I will work from home for the next few days or so. I need the office refurbishing.”
“Of course Mister Von Kurst.” Helga smiled warmly at her ex lover, but to no avail. Something terrifying and deeply troubling was etched into Otto Von Kurst’s face. She had seen that look before.
The stick flew through the air with Wotan and Wiki giving chase. The sun was shining. That was good! Fresh air, thought Wilhelm Oratz, how I need it! “Bring it back Wotan, oh Wiki, it’s your turn is it?” It was a pleasure to be home again with his friends. But anytime now, Oratz knew the Fuhrer would ring with confirmation to proceed with the Blood Order, and hopefully, the dates for the event, and his visit to St Petersburg! Yes, thought Oratz, his eyes seemingly on fire with anticipation as he threw the thoroughly chewed wooden stick towards Wiki, the forthcoming visit to St Petersburg was so very, very important.
Oratz’s mobile phone rang! Reaching into his jacket pocket, he quickly looked at the facia flashing in front of him then spoke, “my Fuhrer.”
There was a slight pause and Otto Von Kurst replied, “the date for the event we have been so anxiously waiting for has been set! Our meeting with the others at Camelot will have to be brought forward. I will confirm when within twenty four hours.”