The Lycan Chronicles

by Schroeder, Brent

  “I already know what you want,” the woman clearly stated, with a sharp voice. “I can smell the Lycanthrope from here. You seek the cure, but I must tell you… there isn’t one,” she proclaimed, as her gaze met with each of the small group of infected men. “Death is your only way out.”

  “I thought, you said she could help us,” John said to the Indian, anger rising in his voice. “We put our trust in you and you brought us all the way out here for nothing?”

  “I didn’t say, I could not help,” the woman interjected, as her snake licked at the air. “I said, there is no cure… but there might be a way for you to control yourself,” she went on to explain. “Not many men can do it… you’d probably all be better off, by just killing yourselves, while you still have the chance. Do you men think, you have what it takes to go through the most agonizing physical, mental and spiritual hell, any living being has ever experienced?”

  The men looked unsure, but they immediately nodded their heads, knowing that something had to be done about their conditions… and suicide was not an option.

  “I think they do,” the Indian answered, vouching for the men as well. “That is why, instead of killing them, I bring them to you… I sense they are good men.”

  “Well, then… we must work fast,” she said, looking up to the sky. “We only have five days, until the next full moon,” the woman said to them. “You must listen closely to everything I say and follow my instructions, if you want to be helped.”

  The woman pointed to a building, across from her home and said, “First, put your horses in my barn, over there.”

  The men did as she requested and the voodoo lady followed them to the barn where she directed them, giving them orders to gather a few different items. They listened to her instructions and hauled a few sets of heavy chains and ropes to an area out back, where a few large trees stood. The trees were hundreds of years old and thick enough to stand up against God himself and the men placed the chains and thick ropes at the base of each and then followed the woman up the twisting path leading back to her home.

  The woman invited the men into her greatly-aged house that was covered in overgrowth from the swamps and the men were greeted by smells unbeknownst to them, as they entered. Mason jars lined a few shelves in one corner and there were many books stocked into the walls. Weird things were floating in the glass jars and some of the books looked like they were centuries old. The men followed the woman further into her unusual home and the deeper they went, the stranger the smells became.

  They were led to a huge, round dining room table, where everyone sat and the woman offered the men food and gave them fresh water, that she had already prepared for drinking. She also lit up a few candles that were soon giving off a bit of warmth to the strange place and the men began to relax, glad to be resting indoors and out of the swamps.

  “You men are going to need all of your strength, to make it through this,” the voodoo lady said, pouring a steaming liquid into some cups. “I have prepared a special wolfs bane tea, that will help you maintain control. Start drinking now and drink as much as you can, before the moon becomes full again. I will be performing a ritual that will give you the power to control your curse and turn it into a gift,” she told them, as they listened intently. “You will be immortals but for only as long as you can learn to blend in not all men can handle this curse… I hope you men are strong enough,” she said, sounding unsure. “If not, I won’t be able to let you leave the swamps.”

  Bradley heard what she’d said about being immortal and he laughed to himself. His disrespect made the woman angry and she reached behind and when her hand returned, it was holding on to a pistol that was aimed directly at Bradley. He didn’t have time to react, before she unloaded a bullet into his chest that sent him flying back on to the hardwood floor. Everyone jumped up and backed away from the table, in shock and they drew their weapons on her, cocking back the hammers.

  “What the hell are you doing?” John yelled, as he stepped to his fallen brother.

  But, to everyone’s surprise, Bradley stood up and coughed, dislodging the bullet from his lungs and into his hand. “What the hell!” he screamed out, lifting up his shirt.

  Everyone watched and, within seconds, the bullet hole began to close in on itself, healing him… whole, once again. Bradley rubbed his fingers around the spot where the bullet had entered into him and then he looked back up. “You didn’t have to do that, dammit!” he cried out, a bit upset for being shot in the chest.

  The woman stood up and Bradley put his hand in the air. “I get it! I get it! You got your point across!”

  Bradley decided, it would be best to shut up, so he sat back down and kept his lips buttoned up.

  John put his gun back in its holster and he took his seat back at the table. Everyone else did the same, except for the woman; she left her gun on the table, sitting right in front of her.

  “Eat up and drink. Drink as much tea as you can,” the woman pushed, as she began flipping through the pages of a book. “I’m going to begin my own preparations for the coming full moon.”

  The next couple days were spent quietly, as the explorers rested and filled up with the food and the special tea the woman made for them. For the most part, the men were lost in thought, pondering the situation they’d found themselves in and even with no memory of their killings, the scenes and images haunted their dreams, every single night. Flashbacks of that bloody night interrupted any sweet dream they wished to have, turning it into a nightmare and jolting them out of their sleep.

  After the last day of preparations passed, everyone gathered at the trees, where the chains and ropes have been set up, as the sun finally began to set on the night of the full moon.

  “Remove your clothing. All of it,” the woman demanded. “Place them over there next to that tree and put on these loin clothes, to cover your business.”

  The woman directed the Indian guide and he began to chain the five infected men to the trees. He tied a rope that had been soaked in wolfs bane and it burned their skin, as he wrapped it around them. While the Indian was busy with the rope, the woman loaded up her pistol with silver bullets that have been blessed with holy water and she stuck it into her waistband. Then she checked each chain and rope, making sure the tightness was good enough for her. After a few adjustments, the men were secured tightly, barely able to move a muscle, making it hard for them to breathe.

  “What is that for?” John asked, as he watched her tucking the pistol by her side. “That is for, in case one of you manages to break free,” she coolly answered. “If that happens, I’m sorry to say… I will have to put someone down. I refuse to be the next victim… and I will only do what is absolutely necessary.”

  The voodoo woman made a fire and then began pouring sea salt onto each of the men, as she began to cast the spell of protection on their souls. John tilted his face to the sky, wishing that the moon would just cease to exist that night. He closed his eyes and said a quick, silent prayer to anyone that might be listening before returning his attention back to this odd woman, who was now tipping a bottle of rum to her lips.

  She filled her mouth with the liquid and then opened up a box with a chicken inside. The woman reached in, snatching it out of the box and she spit the rum out of her mouth, coating the chicken’s feathers. Then she kneeled down, holding the thrashing bird on top of the box and her fingers curled around the handle of a small axe… the blade sliced through the air and the chicken’s head came off with ease. After that, the voodoo woman drained the squirting blood into a copper bowl that sat at her feet. The bowl was then suspended over the fire and she began mixing black-colored ink into the concoction. The woman began speaking with unknown words, as the spell was cast and her eyes started to roll deeply into the back of her head; the secured men watched in wonder and they all began feeling very uneasy.

  The Indian stood off to the side, watching the ritual, holding a shotgun loaded with silver bullets, at his side. This was not t
he first time he’d witnessed this; he tried to save a white man and his friend, once before, but the last time did not turn out very well for one of the unfortunate men. One of them was able to break free of his bonds and the Indian was forced to end his life. The other infected man made it through and he was now out somewhere, living his life as normally as he could.

  The voodoo woman slipped out of her trance and spoke to them. “This is not going to be very pleasant.”

  She looked each man in the eyes, as she said, “If this does not work, I cannot cut you loose from these trees… is this understood?”

  “What does that mean?” John asked her to explain; his skin was on fire from the ropes, but he was no longer thinking about that.

  The woman reached down and picked up another axe that was fitted with a silver blade. She ran her fingertips along the sharp edge and then set it back down, next to the things that she had brought, satisfied. “That means, if this doesn’t work as I need it to,” she paused, “Then, I can’t let you leave.”

  Her point was clear now and the chained men shot worried glances to each other. They looked up to the sky and began the anxious wait for the full moon to show itself once more. The voodoo woman removed the pot of blood and ink from the fire and she approached John, with the stew in her hand. The woman dipped her knife into the copper pot, covering it with blood. There was a gap in the ropes, where she placed the knife to John’s chest, as he nervously watched. The tip entered his skin and the blood began to flow as she carved and it began dripping heavily down the ropes. John turned his head, trying to fight back the scream that was pushing to escape his lungs, as she cut deeply into his skin. She stepped back to look at her work and the wound was already beginning to heal, leaving a black-inked symbol of protection, scarred into his chest.

  “What is this?” John said, wincing at the great, lingering pain.

  “It’s a symbol of magic,” she answered him. “A black magic seal, that should help you resist the Lycanthrope’s hold. Hopefully, it will trap your demon and put it into a cell, deep within you and keep it from taking complete hold of you,” she said, almost quietly. “You must learn to keep your mental awareness as a human, even though your body is that of a beast.”

  The voodoo lady grabbed John’s hand that was hanging through the ropes and she slit the flesh of his wrist. Sweat ran down his face, as his blood dripped into her bowl, sealing the deal. John was the first to draw blood into the pot, establishing him as the alpha-male: the leader of the pack. The woman moved from tree to tree, doing the same for each of the other men: Bradley, Tony, Nathan and Wayne.

  Once she’d finished her spell, the voodoo woman put the copper pot back over the fire and she added the ashes of a slaughtered Lycan to the mix, while she stirred. She then took the pot off the fire and dipped her knife into the pot and she began putting the mark of the cross onto each man’s forehead, as the moon was to about to rise above the trees, into the sky above him. The Indian checked his gun to make sure it was fully loaded and he started to set out a few extra shells on the ground next to him.

  “The moon will soon reach its peak. Are you men ready?” the woman asked, as she looked up to the sky. “This will be like nothing you have ever experienced, or could imagine. It will be very painful, so you men will need to remain strong. I have faith that you will… your life depends on it.”

  The men were not sure what to expect, as this would only be the second time they would face a full moon. And then, as the moonlight began to creep over their faces, it began. The snaps of splintering bones filled the cool night and terror began to take over. The men’s screams echoed, as the transformation began to take place; the pain was too much to hold in. They all let out a bloodcurdling howl up to the moon, as sweat dripped down their faces, soaking their naked bodies.

  The voodoo priestess began casting the next spell and she splashed the men with holy water as they squirmed and writhed beneath the restraints. The holy water instantly vaporized, when it touched their skin and it turned into black smoke, as the men cried out in agony. The woman ignored their cries and she continued on, repeating an unknown chant, as she walked from man to man, splashing more water as she went.

  The spell should be working by now, the witch doctor thought, as she chanted and splashed the men, until the water was all gone. The men continued screaming into the night, as their bodies fought the change, but after a while, the screams died down and silence began to fall over them… all of them, except for John. His screams had become so loud, that the woman had to put her hands over her ears to shut out the horrific sound.

  “Come on, John!” the priestess screamed back in his face. “Fight it, damn it!”

  Another wave of screams from the other men filled the air, along with the sickening crunch of bones that were transforming inside of them. John’s eyes became hollow and thick tufts of hair grew on his arms and body. The woman could see his nails growing longer and much sharper, so she took a few steps back. She called on the Indian, who was standing, ready to fire his gun and she sent him to fetch some more holy water… she knew that the night would be long.

  Chapter Six

  When the sun finally broke on the horizon, everyone was exhausted from the nightlong ordeal. The men’s insides were aching and their heads were hanging, limp, as the day made its initial appearance. The burns from the ropes had already healed up, but the aches inside were showing no sign of relief. Learning how to control their new gift was proving to be worse than they’d expected.

  “We’re not we fixed yet?” The voodoo priestess shook her head and she gave John a look of disappointment. “It’s going to take more than just one night to learn your new powers,” she said to him. “Patience and time is what you need to perfect it. So, until you can control yourselves, your Indian friend must chain you up on every full moon,” she explained. “I will teach him the secret language of the spell, so he’ll be able to help you. You have all proven to me that you can do this… if I thought otherwise, I would’ve removed your heads myself,” she said. “I’ve done it before.”

  She looked over to the Indian, who was fiddling for the key to the chains. “Actually, your Indian friend saved me,” she said to John. “And now, he will have to save you… I have done all that I can do. The rest is up to you.”

  “I am ready,” the Indian said, unlocking the first set of chains. “Thank you, for your help. We will leave in the coming days, after the men have rested.”

  One by one, the Indian untied the men and their tired, ravaged bodies fell to the ground, sleeping right where they landed for hours, without moving a single muscle. When the men finally woke up, the Indian was busy cooking up a couple of large swamp rats, over a blazing fire and there was a hot soup made for them. They were very hungry and the food would help them recover their strength, but they were still in a great deal of pain. The Indian assured them that once they learned the art of self-control, it would be much less painful.

  The day carried on with food and rest and everyone’s spirits were lifted, by the time darkness had fallen over them that evening. The Indian and the voodoo woman had spent most of the day hidden away, as she taught him the special words that would help him save the men from destruction. The next morning, the men packed up what little they’d brought and they all thanked the woman for her help, before heading back out into the country, to continue mapping as they had been hired to do.

  As they left the bayou, hundreds of cold, black eyes popped up from under the water, watching them leave. They would’ve never made their way out of these thick swamps, if it weren’t for the woman’s protection. The horses didn’t even seem to notice the gators following the group out of the swamps, but the men could sense being followed, until they’d finally crossed into Mississippi onto dry land. The men continued, following the Mississippi River, up to Southern Illinois, to return to their mapping. They moved fast, as they were now behind on schedule and they wouldn’t get paid u
ntil they’d finished their work.

  The weeks passed without incident and the time finally came for another full moon to show itself. And once again, the Indian chained the men to a few thick trees, carefully repeating the spells that were taught to him by the voodoo woman. He copied the ritual, just like he’d learned and he splashed them with holy water, just as the woman had. As the change took place, the men were in just as much agony as they were the time before, but instead of forgetting most of what happened, they were beginning to see through the fog.

  John and his men began to feel and understand the rage that took hold of them, while they were in this supernatural state, but it was hard for them to get a grip on their natural, wild instinct to kill and feed. Even though they weren’t yet in control, this was a huge step for them and they made it through to see another full moon.

  This continued on for the next eight months and the men were slowly gaining the skills they needed to curb the urge to kill without conscience. Everyone felt that after one more full moon, they would finally be able to roam the earth as free shape-shifters. They’d almost beaten the demon that had taken control of their souls to the point of being able to change at will and retain all their human thoughts and instincts.

  “You men have come long way,” the Indian said, proud of his men. “You would have been found out and tracked down by now if we had not visited the voodoo woman.”

  He grabbed a sack of chains that was hanging from one of the horses, as he spoke. “I knew you men were worth saving.”

  “This will be the last time,” John said to the Indian. “I feel confident enough, that I can stay fully conscience of my actions, once I’m transformed. Before… it was like… I was trapped,” he recollected, remembering the long, hard road that was now behind him. “It was like, I could see what was happening, but I had absolutely no power to control my instincts,” he said, thinking back. “When the symbol on my chest starts burning, it seems to calm the fire in my blood…and, if I just focus with everything I have, it seems that I can nearly tame the shift,” he said, looking up from his chest and smiling. “This is it.”