Ebon Moon

  He studied the bite. In the bare light of the overhead bulb, the deep rips in his shoulder flesh looked raw and torn. Blake grabbed a towel from a nearby rack and compressed the blood flow. He couldn’t imagine how unsanitary it was, but he had nothing else to clean the wound. He used the towel to staunch the bleeding and tore strips from another to tie the makeshift compress to his shoulder. The cloth soon turned red with blood. Dizzy and on the edge of fainting, Blake stumbled to the bed to lie down. He stared up at the revolving ceiling fan and contemplated his situation.

  A werewolf had bitten me? A werewolf! How was this possible?

  The room spun as he wavered on the edge of consciousness. He concentrated on the ceiling fan to keep his bearing. Reflections of his life seeped through the dizziness. Was this the end? Bleeding to death in a filthy motel room while raucous Mexican music thumped through the walls next door? His hatred for Jess had driven him this far, but there was nothing more left in the tank. His life had become a coke-driven train wreck, and he blamed his fucked-up old man for turning him into what he was today. In the end, there was only failure. So many mistakes made. The one contingent he hadn’t planned on was a werewolf attack.

  He noticed something happening to his body. Instead of suffering cold due to shock, his skin burned as if in the throes of a high fever. It was too early for an infection. Something else was occurring to his physiology. Sweat beaded on his brow and chest. He tossed and turned in the bed as agonizing fire spread to every inch of his being. He lost his grip on reality. Voices and sounds rose in volume only to fade out. Faces floated in the dark corners of the room. Time passed, but he had no grasp of how much.

  Finally, his mind slid into a merciful veil of cloudy darkness.

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  At twelve thirty in the morning, Terry Newman rode the elevator up to the ICU on the second floor of County Regional Hospital. An oppressive uneasiness weighed on his heart as he waited for the elevator to come to a stop. The ICU was where his grandmother had died the year before. Now he was here for Mr. Higgins.

  The doors slid aside revealing the visitor’s desk and waiting lounge. A small open chapel lay directly across the hall. Due to his grandmother’s passing, he knew the place all too well. He glanced at the waiting room, which had the lights turned down. A family holding a watch for a loved one slept stretched out on the uncomfortable seats and carpeted floor. As far as he knew, he was the only one there for Mr. Higgins.

  I don’t think he has any family. Or any who would claim him after the murder accusation.

  The double doors leading to the ICU swung open, and a nurse stepped into the hall.

  “Can you tell me about Mr. Jasper Higgins?” he asked as she walked past. “How’s he doing?”

  “Are you family?”

  “I’m a friend.”

  “He’s sleeping peacefully for the moment.”

  “When he wakes, can you tell him Terry Newman is here to see him?”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  Retiring to the dimly lit waiting room, Terry settled into the same chair he sat in the night his grandmother died of cancer. Leaning his head against the wall, he let out a weary sigh. He was bone tired and closed his eyes to drift into a troubled sleep. The awkwardness of the very uncomfortable chair forced him to wake up every few minutes and shift his body. Sleep became surreal. Each time he awoke to the hospital surroundings, he thought he was having a dream about his grandmother’s passing.

  “Terry?” a soft voice asked from somewhere outside the sleep fog.

  He opened his blurry eyes. The nurse he spoke to earlier stood in the door of the waiting lounge.

  “Yes?” He stood running his hands through his hair.

  “Mr. Higgins wants to see you now.”

  Terry followed her out into the hall. “How’s he doing?”

  “I wish I had good news,” she replied in a quiet voice. A sad look lined her face. “We’ve tried to stabilize his heart arrhythmia, but so far we’ve had very little luck. He’s fading fast.”

  Her words hit him hard. “It’s that bad?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh, man …” Terry felt his world fall out from under him. He hadn’t prepared for this. Even though their contact had been very limited since the murder, he always admired the old man. After his father had deserted his family, Mr. Higgins was the rock Terry steadied himself upon. The strange events of today had brought them even closer.

  The nurse reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Normally, only immediate family would be let in to visit at this time, but since he’s requested to speak with you, I’ll let you go back for a short visit.”

  “Thank you.” Terry straightened his posture.

  “Follow me.”

  The nurse led the way through the automatic doors and into the unit where patients slept in darkened cubicles. The air felt cool and sanitized. Behind the monitor desk, a low beeping sounded from the bank of flat computer screens. The scene brought back memories of the last time he saw his grandmother, frail and shriveled, dying in the cubicle located straight ahead. Terry swallowed hard. The nurse nodded toward a corner unit, and the heavy feeling turned in his stomach as he walked the short distance to the room.

  Mr. Higgins lay on the bed connected to a variety of IVs and monitoring equipment. A plastic oxygen mask covered his mouth and nostrils. Covered up to his chin with blankets, the skin on his face looked ashen gray. As Terry paused in the doorway, the old man opened glazed eyes and turned his head slightly in his direction. He attempted a weak smile, barely visible beneath the plastic of the mask. The nurse stepped around and pulled down the oxygen mask below his chin so he could speak.

  “Jasper, you’ve got a visitor,” she said in her soft voice.

  Terry stepped into the room. “Hello, Mr. Higgins.”

  “Hello, son,” Mr. Higgins replied, and then to the nurse, “Nurse, can you leave us alone for a bit?”

  “Yes, of course.” She stepped out and slid across the cubicle curtain, giving them some privacy. “I’ll be near if you need me.”

  Mr. Higgins let out a labored breath and looked at the ceiling. “I’m dying …”

  Terry fought back tears. “The nurse told me that, but doctors have been wrong before.”

  “No … I can feel it … I’m going to see … my Emma … soon.” He paused for a long second. “On the bedside table … do you see a yellow writing pad?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve changed my last will and testament … I’m giving you the farm … the oil leases … mineral rights … all my estate.”

  Terry picked up the writing pad from the table. On the page was a handwritten last will and testament. “I can’t accept this.”

  “You’re going to deny … the request of a dying man?”

  “No.” Tears formed in Terry’s eyes.

  “Sell everything … put the money in a college fund … for yourself.” Mr. Higgins shifted his eyes to look him in the face. “Will you do this … for me?”

  “Yes.” He nodded as a tear ran down his cheek.

  “Very good.” Mr. Higgins returned his gaze to the ceiling. “Now call the nurse in here.”

  Terry moved aside the curtain. The ICU nurse was at the desk writing on a chart.

  “He wants you,” Terry announced.

  “Very well.” She came around the desk and into the cubicle. “I’m here, Jasper.”

  “I want you to witness … my last will and testament.”

  “As you wish.” She took out a pen from a pocket of her scrubs and signed the bottom of the note paper. “There. I’ve witnessed the will.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Higgins said and added in a weakening voice, “Terry, the number of my attorney … listed on the paper … call him Monday morning … he’ll handle everything.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just one more
thing,” Mr. Higgins replied. His arm came out from under the blanket, and he motioned weakly to Terry. “Come closer, son.”

  He stepped forward and took the old man’s calloused hand. The skin on the inside of his palm felt as rough as sandpaper. “Yes?”

  “Lean closer … so I can tell … you something.”

  He leaned down to where the old man’s lips were close to his ear.

  “The werewolf … I shot … had gray fur.” He took a raspy breath. “The one that killed my Emma … was larger … black fur.”

  Terry’s eyes met the old man’s with an understanding of what his words meant. “There’s more than one werewolf,” he whispered.

  Mr. Higgins attempted a weak nod. “It’s still out there … you must stop it … before it kills others … promise me you’ll do that.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “God be with you, son,” The old man closed his eyes and let out one last breath. The grip in his hand went weak.

  Terry stepped back from the bed and wiped tears out of his eyes.

  The nurse put a comforting hand upon his shoulder and led him out of the cubicle. “It was so nice you showed up to see him in the end. I know it meant a lot to Jasper.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If his attorney needs to speak to me as a witness to his last wishes, you can have him call me. I wrote my number on the paper.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks so much for being there.”

  Terry nodded and left the ICU ward with tears flowing down his face. He crossed the hall and entered the small chapel. Light from the stained glass portrait of Jesus kneeling in prayer dominated the far wall giving the room a rosy glow. He took a seat in the first pew and stared up at the picture through his tears. His reality had taken a decided left turn this week. Finding out werewolves do exist, the death of Mr. Higgins, and the last will and testament he clutched in his hands made the world very unreal. Now, he had to deal with the revelation that there was more than one murderous beast running loose in the area. He promised Mr. Higgins on his deathbed that he would stop the monster. But how? Who was going to believe him? He wiped his wet eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. No more time for crying. It was on his shoulders now to put a stop to the terror. He would carry on the wolf hunt, alone, if need be.

  He bowed his head and prayed for the soul of Mr. Higgins and, when finished, prayed for his own.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Something bad has happened,” Roxie said from the passenger seat of her brother’s truck. “I can sense it.”

  Collin took his gaze off his driving for a second to glance at his sister. “What did the sheriff tell you?”

  “He was vague over the phone. I just know something’s happened.”

  Collin returned to his driving down Route 23 toward Elmer Grosslin’s farm. The headlights of the truck cut a yellow beam through the dark night on the road ahead. In the eastern sky, the full moon hung suspended above the first light of dawn. Dirt and gravel rattled under the body of the truck as he sped along the country road.

  “I’m still pissed about you leaving me alone at the bar,” Roxie stated. “Where did you go?”

  Collin remained quiet for a second. “Out,” he finally answered.

  “You went to see Jess’s little girl,” Roxie stated, adding, “I know because she got a call from home that a big dog frightened her daughter.”

  “So what?”

  “The sheriff isn’t going to like it. He told you the little girl is off-limits.”

  Collin shot an angry gaze in her direction. “Why must we answer to him? He’s only one of the Bitten and not a Pure Born. He should answer to us.”

  “He protects us.”

  “The fool still thinks he’s human.”

  The truck rounded a bend in the dirt road. The headlights showed a parked patrol car in the drive leading to an abandoned oil lease sight. Collin slid the truck to a stop. Illuminated in the dusty light, Uncle Johnny’s body lay stretched out in the dirt patch behind one of the rusting storage tanks.

  “Oh, no!” Roxie cried, leaping out of the truck before it came to a full stop.

  Collin put the truck into park but left the headlights on. Slamming shut the driver door; he rushed to his sister’s side as she knelt beside the body. Shock and sadness welled inside at the sight of Uncle Johnny’s corpse. Two centuries ago in the old country his name had been Dominic Nicolae. The Wolfkin Clan he had lived in a cave hidden in the mountains of Romania. They fed upon the local peasantry. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, when the Clan chose to leave Europe for the primeval forests of British Columbia, Dominic served as a Clan elder whose wisdom and strength guided the hidden enclave for more than a century. He was one of the eldest Pure Born within the Clan.

  “Who did this?” Collin looked up at Sheriff Sutton, who had stepped out of his patrol car.

  “Jasper Higgins,” he answered. “He forged silver bullets and used them to kill Dominic. I’ve confiscated the weapon so it is no longer a threat.”

  Collin’s face distorted in anger. “He should pay for this outrage!”

  “He already has. I just got word Jasper died in ICU from a bad heart.”

  “He didn’t come up with silver bullets on his own. Somebody planted the idea in his head.”

  “Two teenage boys assisted him. Hopefully, I scared them enough to get off this notion of werewolves.”

  “And if you didn’t?”

  “Then I will deal with them if they continue being a threat.”

  “They should pay with blood for what they did to our elder.”

  Roxie knelt beside the body and stroked Uncle Johnny’s gray hair. “Poor Dominic, I loved him like a father.”

  “This should have never happened,” Collin snapped at the sheriff. “You serve to protect the Pack from such danger. How did you fail in your task?”

  “I didn’t,” Sheriff Sutton responded. “It was you, running wild until someone suspected a werewolf in the area.”

  “Nonsense. No one saw me but two old farmers.”

  “My brother.” Roxie rose to her feet with glistening tears running down her face in the early dawn light. “It is peasants who have been our worst threat over the centuries. They have hunted us beside our kin, the wolf, for years. You know that, and now Dominic is dead.”

  “Bah!” Collin turned to Roxie and used her old-world name. “My own sister, Reveca, would side with one of the Bitten and not her own blood.”

  “Dale is right. We were doing fine here and no one suspected our presence until you began your nightly prowls. You left me alone tonight at the bar.”

  “Sniffing around the little girl again?” Sheriff Sutton asked.

  “Fuck you,” Collin responded.

  Roxie held up her hand. “Please stop. It is disrespectful to carry on such in front of the body of Dominic. Let’s put his spirit to rest first.”

  Together, they removed their clothes to the sound of the noisy blackbirds in the nearby trees awakening to daybreak. When they had undressed, they stood over the body of Dominic and stared at the full moon.

  “We must perform the Ritual of the Last Feeding,” Collin announced. “We must devour his ancestral spirit so it will remain with us always.”

  In unison they shifted into their werewolf forms and fell upon the body. Ripping open Dominic’s rib cage, they removed the dripping organ and shared it, each taking turns pulling apart the tough muscle with their canine teeth and swallowing it down hungrily. Once the heart was gone, the body decomposed to its true age of 183 years. Skin withered as bones cracked beneath the dried flesh. The corpse’s face shrunk until it was a visage of leathery skin clinging to darkened bone. In a span of a couple of minutes, Dominic became a dried husk of his former self.

  The remaining Pack howled in mournful harmony as the sun broke over the horizon.

  The ritual was complete.

  They returned to their human shapes again and dressed. Sheriff Sutton opened
the trunk of his patrol car and removed a gas can. Pouring it over the remains, he lit the gasoline and stepped back. Crackling flames engulfed the corpse, sending oily black smoke into the brightening sky.

  “Dominic told me something important before he died,” Sheriff Sutton announced. “He said you two are the last Pure Born of the Clan. He wanted you to return to the north and mate to continue the bloodline. It was his dying wish.”

  “I am not ready to run and hide again,” Collin replied.

  “There is no place for you among the humans,” Sheriff Sutton stated. “Their numbers keep increasing as does their technology. The time when they feared werewolves is over.”

  “Then they shall learn again.”

  “It is hopeless, Collin.” Roxie touched his shoulder. “Our numbers are too few and our weaknesses too easily exploited. Dominic was right. We must hide in the north. I have recently inquired online about a hunting lodge in Alaska that is up for sale. It’s a place where we can mate away from the eyes of the humans and regain our bloodline in secret.”

  “Dominic is dead, which makes me the new elder,” Collin replied. “I’m leader of the Pack now.”

  Roxie bowed her head. “It is true.”

  “Then I’ll make the decisions for the Clan.” Collin turned to Sheriff Sutton. “The Feast of the Ebon Moon is tomorrow night. Once we have feasted, then we will leave this place and travel north to our new home. Until then, we wait.”

  “It’s risky. The locals are becoming suspicious about a werewolf in their midst. We have to lay low and be careful.”

  “This is a time to remember the old ways,” Collin replied. “During the Ebon Moon we must feed on the soul of a child. I want you to bring Jess and the little girl to me for the feast.”

  “You’re crazy,” Sheriff Sutton answered back. “Didn’t you hear what I just said about being careful?”

  Roxie stepped forward. “Dale, listen to me. Collin is right. We must remember the ways of our ancestors. If Jess and Megan disappear, everyone will believe they went back home. We will hide all evidence of the kill and leave this area to head north.”