The Lycan Chronicles

by Schroeder, Brent

  “Oh, that one?” the guard replied, pointing at the Book of Blood. “I’m not sure, really, no one seems to know. That book gives me the willies, though,” he said. “That’s one thing I do know… and please, sir, do not touch the display. We try to keep them as clean as possible and smudge-free,” he said politely.

  The strange man turned his back and continued feeling the glass, rubbing his fingers down the encasement with a loud squeak.

  “It’s time to leave,” the guard said again, growing impatient. “Now.”

  He let his hand fall by the gun at his side, putting his thumb on his belt, but the man just continued gazing down at the book. The guard took a step forward and he grabbed the man’s arm, not knowing that it would be the last move he ever made. It was over, before he even had a chance to see the sharp, six-inch fingernails coming and with one quick slice, the guard’s head was sent rolling down the museum’s main staircase and into the lobby. His body fell to its knees, as the blood shot out of the guard’s severed neck, squirting several feet into the air.

  The man left standing wasted no time at all and he smashed the glass of the encasement, grabbing the book that he’d been searching thousands of years for. The alarm sounded and the man saw the steel gates closing down, blocking all of the exits… all except for one. He tossed off his coat and a set of three-foot wings suddenly ripped out, through the back of his shirt. The winged man took another look around the museum before taking flight and he smashed his way through the skylight above, shattering the glass that trickled onto the display below in a million tiny fragments. After all of the many long years of searching, Croglin now had the Book of Blood… and the Baron would be pleased.

  Chapter Ten

  It is present day in Boone County, Indiana and winter has finally nestled in. The woods that bordered the town of Wolf Creek are lit by a cold, gray moonlight and the trees were looking barren, completely stripped of all their leaves. A young boy ran through the woods, as fast as he could with his bare feet pounding through a fresh, powdered snow. Looking back, the boy could see the dark, looming figure that had been following him approaching in the near distance.

  Booted feet crunched purposefully in the white blanket of snow, crushing the boy’s footprints. The stalker paused chase for a brief moment, to sniff the frozen air; fresh, warm blood was only minutes away. He could have had the boy by now, but for his own sick, twisted pleasure, he decided to toy with him first.

  The boy ran fast, jumping over the bed of a creek, falling to his face on the other side. He quickly recovered, brushed the snow from his bare chest, before crawling back up. A wave of terror fell over the boy when he glanced behind, seeing that the dark shape was approaching closer. Staggering on, the boy tried yelling for help, but he soon stopped, realizing that he was too far out for anyone to hear his voice. His tired body could take no more and he fell to the ground, his face buried in the frozen snow. The young boy trembled in fear, as the sound of crunching boots came to a stop, three inches away from his head.

  “Please, don’t kill me!” the boy screamed out. “God, help me!” “Don’t waste your dying breath on a God with deaf ears,” the voice above him said. “He doesn’t listen… not even to his own Son. You can take my word on that one.”

  And those were the last words the fallen boy heard, before he saw the glimmering blade reflecting in the moonlight… then the blood splattered and melted into the snow, as the knife sliced into him.

  The crows began circling, low in the sky and the coyotes began to appear, keeping just a short distance between them and the feast of flesh that they were about to receive.

  John Davidson, who now went by JD, looked thirty-eight in appearance, but he really was much, much older. His burley, solidlybuilt, six-foot frame, was fast asleep on the couch in the living room of his two-story, log-cabin style home. The ex-military, ex-bounty hunter’s short, brown hair, was the same color as the label on the empty bottle of scotch that was dangling from his hand. Laying on his chest was a framed picture that held the photo of a young boy tucked behind its glass.

  Wendy Davidson wore a nightgown and her slender, young body carried her down the steps, as she gracefully moved through the house to check on JD, with her long, brown hair flowing behind. She gently pulled the bottle from his hand and she blew out the candle, leaving a smoke trail curling in the air. JD’s drinking was progressively getting worse and her patience was beginning to wear thin. She understood what he was going through, but she wasn’t sure if she could hang on for him much longer.

  JD stirred and opened his eyes, blinking and rubbing them with his hands, but he said nothing. He tried rolling over; to go back to sleep, but Wendy stopped him.

  “Why didn’t you come to bed?” she quietly asked. “I couldn’t make it up the stairs, to be honest,” JD groggily replied.

  Wendy took the picture frame from his chest and she placed it on the table, next to the empty bottle. It sickened her to see JD in so much pain; she felt it too, but she was quite strong and hid her feelings well. Her husband had seen so much bloodshed in his life, that the loss of their son had become his breaking point.

  “Drinking yourself stupid won’t bring him back, baby,” Wendy said softly. “You’re only making it worse, can’t you see that?”

  “I’m trying my best,” JD answered, rubbing the crust from his eyes.

  “Well, what about that other crap you’ve been drinking…”

  “It’s just for the hangovers, Wendy,” he said, cutting her off.

  “I waited all night for you, last night.”

  “Yeah?” he said, with sleep in his voice. “I didn’t know.”

  Wendy held out her hand for him to come to bed. “Please?”

  “I can’t,” he said, as he sat up on the couch. “I wish I could, but I‘m already running late for work.”

  Wendy observed, as her husband struggled to his feet and slugged his way towards the bathroom. She picked up the picture of their son and she gently placed it back on the mantle. Feeling like she’d lost both the men in her life, she ran back upstairs, with tears in her eyes and a great sadness in her heart… that just wouldn’t let go. Wendy wished that she could drink to forget everything, but after seeing what it did to JD, she never touched the stuff.

  Taking a long, hot shower, JD let the water beat down on his face. When he was good and finished, he got out and dried himself with a fresh, clean towel, wrapping it around his waist. He gave his face a quick shave and then put his razor back in the medicine cabinet, before kneeling down, reaching underneath the sink.

  His hand returned holding a leather flask and he took a huge swig of the liquefied yohimbe that was inside, chasing it down with a gulp of White Lightning, from a mason jar he’d hidden on another shelf above the toilet. He choked, as the liquids burned his throat before JD looked up into the mirror taking a short moment to think about things… he knew, he could do better.

  Trying not to awake Wendy, who’d cried herself back to sleep, JD quietly got dressed into his brown sheriff’s uniform and strapped on his trusty 44 Magnum handgun. He went through the kitchen, grabbing his fur-lined jacket and cowboy hat from the rack on his way out the door. He whistled as he headed out to his sheriff’s truck and he yanked open the driver’s side door, that was partially stuck from the ice that had frozen over the night before. Nanook ran from around the back of the house, answering JD’s whistle. Nanook was part wolf, part German Shepard and he rushed over, wagging his tail, jumping up into the bed of JD’s truck.

  JD gave his head a pat and Nanook returned the gesture, with a nudge from his wet nose and a lick for his master’s hand. “Good boy… nice morning, huh? Let’s go to town.”

  They took off in the freezing-cold Chevy and as he drove, JD began scrapping the ice off of the inside of the windshield, so he could see the road in front of him.

  The weather man on the radio said, “It’s going to be a cold day in Southern Indiana.”

  JD returned the informatio
n with, “No shit… tell me something I don’t know… asshole.”

  After a short drive, JD and his furry companion arrived at their destination: the Wolf Creek Police Station. He walked through the door, stripped off his jacket with Nanook following close behind. The dog shook the snow from his fur and then took his place on the mat by the front door, in the comfortably warm police station.

  As JD shut the door, the young and lovely, Sarah Williams, the station’s dispatcher greeted him. Sarah was a visibly pregnant woman, with shoulder-length, blonde hair and she was standing next to her husband, who was also JD’s highest-ranking deputy, Nate. Nate was six feet tall, with a thick, solid build and blonde buzz-cut and he was leaning on his desk, with a cup of coffee in his hand and a blank, morning stare on his face.

  “Good morning,” Sarah called out. “How’s it going, boss?” “I’ve felt better, Sarah,” JD sluggishly replied, noticing the smileyface sticker on her arm. “Oh, I have felt better.”

  “Hey, JD,” Nate finally said. “Mornin’.”

  “Nate, tell JD about Casbon.”

  “Uh oh, what’s the deal this time?” JD asked, even though he didn’t want to, rubbing his forehead. “What has the drunken asshole done now? Like my head isn’t hurting enough already… now I get deal with his dumbass?”

  “We got a call, that he was driving drunk down Highway 17 last night,” Nate began to explain. “He clipped a dozen, or so, mailboxes… and he also ran over someone’s cat.”

  JD laughed; he hated cats with a passion… they were always hissing at him. He could swear, they knew what he was. He’s even been known to kick a few, in his time. Once, he even dropkicked one across the parking lot for spraying his legs.

  “This has got to stop!” JD angrily said, quickly lowering his voice. “Next time, it could be a person. Thank God, it was just a rotten fucking cat.”

  “Right, Sheriff,” Nate said, getting right down to business. “You want me to bring his dumbass in?”

  “No, I’ll handle it… he can be a handful, when he’s loaded up.” “He also missed his last two donations,” Nate added. “We got a call from the Blood Bank.”

  “I’ll set him straight today, when I see him,” JD said, as he started back towards his office.

  “I put all of your mail on your desk,” Sarah let him know, calling behind him. “Oh and Susannah Richards called, looking for you. Her son is missing and she’s worried sick. She wants you to call as soon as possible.”

  JD nodded in silence and moved towards his back office, as Nate was leaving to go out on patrol… not that anything ever happened in Wolf Creek. Everyone, including the Vampires, seemed to stay in line and stick with the program… everyone, except for Casbon.

  “See you at the game tonight,” Nate called to JD before leaving the station.

  JD stopped in his tracks and turned around. “What game?”

  “Trojan High against the Wolf Creek Wolves… the finals?”

  “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be there,” JD said, pretending that he remembered.

  “Gotta win this one… see you there!” Nate signed off, as he left out the front door.

  JD tried moving for his office again, but Sarah called for him; he stopped and turned around to listen, yet again.

  “The Mayor’s office called. Donovan wants to meet with you, after sundown at Dave’s Grill,” she informed him. “I told him, you’d be there… I hope that’s alright?”

  JD just rolled his eyes, turned and shuffled down the hall. “Wonderful.”

  ______________________________________________________

  Chapter Eleven

  JD shut his office door and he sat down at his desk, shoving his mail into a pile on one side. He opened his gun and checked the silver-tipped bullets that were inside, spinning the chamber and slamming it shut, before tucking it away in his holster. Kicking his feet up on the desk, JD leaned back and picked up the phone to return Susannah Richard’s call. Reaching down, he pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, pouring himself a drink from the bottle of scotch he’d retrieved, waiting for an answer… ‘Nothing like hair of the dog,’ JD thought.

  “Hello, Susannah? It’s JD, how can I help you?” he greeted, downing his drink.

  “My son, Jacob, is missing,” Susannah said to him, through the receiver. “I’m getting really worried. He was in bed last night, but when I got up this morning, he was gone.”

  “Relax, Sue, I’m sure he’s fine,” said JD, attempting to make her feel better. “You know kids.”

  “He’s never done anything like this before,” she replied, not relaxing. “I checked on his computer and he got an email, late last night… from some girl. I think he snuck out to meet with her.”

  “There you go, he’ll probably show up at the game tonight,” JD assured her. “I’ll keep a look out for him and I’ll call you if we find him, okay? Don’t worry, he’ll come home when he gets hungry or needs clean clothes, I promise.”

  “Okay, I’ll try not to,” she let him know. “Thank you, Sheriff… goodbye.”

  JD hung up the phone, shaking his head and he grabbed the pile of mail and started shuffling through. He used his silver bowie knife as a letter opener, picking through the entire heap, but there was nothing in the stack worth his time, so he threw it all in the trash can by his desk.

  It was a slow day at the station and the sun finally started going down. When dusk was setting in, JD decided to head over to Dave’s Bar and Grill, to meet with the mayor. He hopped in his truck and hit the road with his sidekick, Nanook, in the back, his tongue flapping in the wind.

  On his way, JD cruised past the Blood Bank, where there were many people coming and going. The ones walking out of the building all had special stickers with smiley faces on them and the people going in had stickers with frowns. JD didn’t think this community could ever happen, but it’s worked out better than any of them had originally planned. One hundred and fifty years had passed, since its inception and everything’s been running smoothly, without a single problem or any unnatural human death.

  A few blocks later, JD arrived at Dave’s and he could smell the fresh burgers and steaks being cooked, as he pulled into the parking lot. His truck came to a stop and he jumped out, with Nanook, hot on his heels. Swinging open the front door, JD stepped inside the restaurant, while Nanook found a comfortable spot to sit outside near the entrance.

  Upon entering, JD could see the establishment’s owner, Dave, behind the bar, filling a mug from one of the various taps of different beers. Dave was a friendly, balding man and an old war veteran. Among a dozen, or so, army tattoos, JD could see a smiley face sticker on Dave’s arm.

  “Get me a steak sandwich, bloody and a strawberry milk shake… to go,” JD called out, noticing the town drunk, Casbon, sitting alone at the end of the bar.

  Casbon was in his fifties, with a slender build and light gray hair topping the lush’s swaying head.

  “Coming right up, JD. Go ahead and have a seat, it’ll be just a few minutes.”

  Seated at a table, in one of the back corners of the restaurant, sat Mayor Donovan; he caught JD’s eye and nodded. JD muttered something unintelligible under his breath and then drifted in the mayor’s direction, not exactly thrilled with this encounter.

  Even though the mayor had never done anything wrong, as far as JD knew, he was still not his biggest fan. He’d never trusted him, or any other Vampire, for that matter. Hell, even the mayor didn’t trust his own kind; that was part of the reason why he’d employed JD, in the first place.

  “What do you want, Donovan?” the sheriff asked, uninterested in hearing his answer.

  “Sit. Have a drink with Basil and me,” the mayor said, gesturing to a seat across from him. “It’s been a while.”

  Basil was Donovan’s second-in-charge; a rugged-looking, tattooed Vampire, with a less-than-friendly nature.

  “Let’s cut to the chase. You’ve got till my order’s ready,” JD s
aid, looking towards the counter. “I’ve got things to do.”

  “Always short and simple with you, JD, not much has changed,” Donovan said; unhurt by JD’s dismissal. “I figured, you would’ve warmed up to me by now.”

  “Well, now, that’s funny,” JD snickered. “How in the world could I warm up to something as cold as you?”

  Dave overheard JD’s comment, as he was bringing out a round of drinks to a nearby table, laughing quietly.

  “So many comedians out of work and yet we have one more, right here,” Donovan replied, not amused.

  Basil gave JD a sharp look and cracked his knuckles.

  “To be frank, Donovan, you and I are not friends… there’s just something not right about you,” JD snapped, ignoring Basil’s glare. “I can sense these things, remember? Let’s not forget that I have a gift, just as do you. So, I will repeat… what do you want?”

  “Well, you could at least pretend,” Donovan replied, brushing off JD’s remarks. “The council and I… the whole town is wondering if you’ve given any more thought, as to staying on as Sheriff?”

  Just then, Casbon fell off of his bar stool, landing on the floor and dropping his mug, with a crash of broken glass.

  Basil laughed, pointing down to Casbon, who was struggling back up to his wobbly legs.

  “Sit him back up!” Donovan barked. “Shove a pool stick up his ass, if you have to… just keep him on his seat!”

  Basil got up and helped Casbon scrape himself up off the barroom floor. “Try not to make a further ass of yourself, if you can handle that,” he slithered, balancing Casbon back on top of his barstool.

  “Dave… Dave, come here for a second,” JD beckoned.

  “What’s up?”

  “Cut him off,” JD ordered, directing his attention over to Casbon, who was now reaching across the bar, trying to fill himself another mug of beer. “If he has a problem, I’ll handle it.”