Wolf Asylum

by Mark Fuson

  The eddy was rhythmic and returned with more and more frequency until Darwin was completely surrounded by a vortex. The air rushed past him and he could feel himself lifting upwards into the sky of Limbo.

  Then his eyes opened. Caroline Lutz had her lips firmly planted around his mouth blowing air deep into his lungs. Startled, he coughed and seized from Limbo’s hold, but he was back. Darwin could feel again, but his understanding of death only now came into focus.

  A group hovered over him. He knew Caroline, but his mind was still in a daze and the rest of the group only seemed familiar.

  “Oh, my God! I thought we had lost you!” Caroline shrieked when she realized Darwin was coming to.

  Darwin, whose mind was still polluted by the fog, knew what had happened but still struggled to speak and move in any coordinated way. Finally he stuttered, “Y…yo…u…d…d…did.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The search for Mary and Tim was quickly abandoned. Confusion swirled around New Haven about what had transpired in the woods north of town but the rumor mill could always be relied on to keep citizens up to date.

  Several mysteries were nagging the residents by mid-afternoon. Terri Bailey—Bonner—had returned to Camel Rock base with news of a ‘den of bones’ deep in the woods that appeared to have been there for years.

  “It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen!” she related. “The bones, they were sorted. Skulls in pyramids and femurs in long stacks like fire wood. Some of them older bones, on the bottom of the heaps, some of them had moss growing on them.”

  “Were you able to recognize any of the bodies?” Tara Bollen asked.

  “No,” she simply said. “Honestly it was hard to tell what was what. We couldn’t make out if they were male or female.”

  “What about pictures, did you take any pictures?” Vivian Yee, the good little reporter asked.

  “They didn’t turn out. I snapped a few with my phone, but every one of them came out blurred…and then the battery died. I got Darwin on the radio around that time. It was bizarre how interference would blow in and blow right back out again. Whatever is in these woods, our group felt it, and no one is going to tell me different.” Terri expected her audience to disbelieve the tale.

  Tara crouched down next to the stricken leader. “Darwin, are you feeling well enough to tell us what happened?”

  “I’ve just come back from the dead, how well should I feel?” Darwin joked from the cot he was lying on. The crowd chuckled quietly bringing the volume back to a hush to hear the story.

  Darwin was not in great health. His experience in the forest was a first for him. His hand had fully healed but his energy was slow to return. He could move, but every muscle and joint ached.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he began. “It took Tim away, like he was possessed. One second we were talking and then the next, he’s floating away. His eyes were white, like they were upturned to the sky. He made this sound, this awful sound. It was this loud and continuous noise. Then he just disappeared.”

  “That’s all you remember?” Tara pressed.

  “No, there’s more,” Darwin confessed. “Steve came back. He was in front of me, left a skid mark on the ground. He told me I had to change. Tim, I could see Tim in the distance-his eyes spun like a carnival fun house. I tried to change, but I couldn’t. It took smashing my hand with a rock—repeatedly—to make me change. I don’t remember much after that. I just know it felt like something was draining me, or had poisoned me. I died, and think I saw Hell.”

  The crowd remained silent with the exception of a scattered gasp sprinkled throughout the audience. Everyone wanted to ask about Hell, but no one wanted to know what their future might bring. Was it selfish to deny what death might look like for them? If Hell existed, then it was possible and probable that they would one day have an appointment in the fiery underworld. It was frightening for everyone.

  “Bullshit!” Terri broke in. “Honey, you saw no such thing. You’re too good a person to go to Hell.”

  “It wasn’t Heaven, Terri,” Darwin answered. “Imagine dying over and over again, but never really dying. I could feel the sensation of suffocating; it just kept going.”

  “That could just be your immortality,” Tara countered. “If you were human you would have died? Being immortal maybe you could feel death, but were never really in any danger of dying. You weren’t breathing, so that might just explain your feeling of suffocating?”

  “Maybe,” Darwin doubtfully conceded. “I don’t know what Hell is, but that was my own personal Hell. We know there are supernatural elements in this world. Just because we are supernatural, doesn’t mean we understand how it all works. I can only tell you what I felt, and what I felt was something no one would ever want to feel. It was Limbo.”

  “Do you know why you got sick, Darwin?” Ray Silverdale shouted from the back of the crowd.

  “No, Ray,” he replied with a slight cough. “If it wanted me, it could have taken me. I think that’s why it took Tim and Mary, to frighten us away from here. It’s showing us what it can do and if we keep poking it-it will come for us.”

  Caroline asked, “What is it?”

  Darwin thought about his answer but could only come up with one. “Evil,” he said.

  “Evil! Darwin, now you’re surrendering to frenzy!” Terri harassed. “So we don’t understand how it works. We’ll find whatever it is that has taken our people and when we do, we’ll gut it!”

  “It’s not real,” Darwin said before clarifying. “It’s real, but it’s not something we can kill. It’s not there, but yet it’s everywhere. It would be like trying to fight a ghost.”

  “So we just give up?” Terri said, almost becoming choked up.

  Darwin sank into his cot, upset, but not conceding defeat. He weighed his words carefully knowing his was in a leadership moment. His temple began to throb making it hard to concentrate. His illness was choosing to hold on a bit longer. He sighed, took another breath and sighed again. Every second that passed Darwin came close to speaking, but what could he say?

  “If you don’t understand it, how can you fight it?” The stranger asked.

  The citizens all turned to find a newcomer approaching with a recognizable, but far from familiar face at his side.

  “Darwin, this is Mister D.K. Slade,” J.D. presented. “Did we miss anything good?”

  Everyone began to check out the new arrivals, looking them over head to toe, inspecting them for the flaws they hid. J.D. had been seen around town and most knew him as a Guardian who had been brought over for a financially brilliant suggestion, but little else was known about him.

  Darwin turned more onto his side to get a better view of the newcomer. D.K. Slade was over six and a half feet tall with a large brutish nose that would be the envy of any cocaine addict. He was slender but with muscle tone and had long arms with fingers to match. Plumes of smoke rolled from his lips as though he had a cigarette permanently lodged in his throat. A halo formed around his head like a shield of clouds around a high mountain top. Even from thirty feet away Darwin could hear the large lungs of a coarse and raspy engine that drove Slade’s incredibly deep voice.

  “Just a camping trip,” Darwin replied with a smirk and a cough. “Not really missing much J.D.”

  “Who are you?” Tara asked for the benefit of the larger group who really knew nothing about either of the new arrivals.

  “I’m Slade, and you are?” The confident newcomer asked with a friendly but flirtatious grin.

  Stunned and now a bit bashful, all she could get out was her name.

  “Tara,” she replied, her eyes on the ground.

  Slade wrapped his large husky hand around hers and gave her arm a gentle shake which was received with the help of a small arrow penetrating her heart. “Pleasure to meet you, Tara.”

  “What brings you to New Haven?” Tara quickly replied as her brain switched to an automated response.

  “I’ve come to check on the w
orld’s first lycan colony,” Slade announced.

  “You want the gift, don’t ya?” Terri barked.

  Slade laughed with a cigarette now balanced precariously on his lip, dangling, but remaining firm in the crack of his mouth. “My dear, I had—the gift—as you call it, since long before anyone of you was born.”

  “What?” Darwin asked.

  “Werewolves have been on this Earth since before the Great Pyramid of Giza was ever conceived.” Slade tempted the audience a small piece of the story. “No, I’m not your maker or even some high ranking council member-if there is a council. I’ve known the odd lycan over the years, but never in such numbers. I know some of the stories that have been handed down through the centuries, but I can’t tell you how it all began. But I can help.”

  “So, what’s your story?” Darwin asked feeling his nerves becoming restless.

  “I was born in Saint Just, England on July 8, 1790 to Danforth and Mary Slade, humble farmers. My youth was unremarkable, really no different than any other child from the period. It was not a plush or comfortable life, hard by the standards of today. My family could not afford the delicacies of a proper education, though I was still expected to complete my studies. When I wasn’t castrating a sheep or walking to town to fetch coal, I volunteered as much time as I could to the church, as was the custom of the day.”

  “Were the priests as fond of the alter boys as they are now?” Terri asked the rude question as politely as possible.

  “Father Baragwaneth was a wicked man; strapped me more times than I can remember. It was almost a rite of passage among the young lads of the area. To be strapped by the Father was unavoidable. Virtually everything was a sin in that man’s eye. Saying the rosary too fast was a sin, too slow was a sin, hesitating in confession was a sin, confessing too fast showed pride in the sin. I’d go as far to say that not sinning was a sin in that man’s eye. For all the times he beat me and my mate Charlie, he never did anything perverted.” Slade recalled with a boyish smile being displayed to his audience.

  “He just beat you, that’s good, I guess,” Caroline replied before considering what she was saying.

  “It was a different time. These days spanking a child is abuse, but back then it was common place. I hold no ill feelings towards Father Baragwaneth; he was a dutiful man who fought the evils we mere peasants were terrified of. Question his methods, but he did build character in the young men of the day.”

  “And you’ve been a werewolf since…” Tara asked, still love struck.

  Slade said, “June 21, 1815 was the night it happened to me. I was a member of the British heavy cavalry, The Royal Horse Guards in the 7th Coalition at Waterloo.”

  “Napoleon?” Ray Silverdale jumped in.

  “That’s right,” Slade replied, now pulling up a folding chair and sitting on it backwards to face his attentive audience. “The battle had been fierce. For a time, I thought Napoleon would surely have crushed us. He was, if nothing else, a brilliant military strategist. You must remember that Napoleon had most of Europe under his finger for most of my meaningful years. To go up against such an adversary was truly an honor. Waterloo is where I should have died, but miraculously, I survived.”

  A younger pup asked from the thicket of the crowd, “you were injured in battle and a wolf found you and made you, right?”

  “Nothing so grand, I’m afraid. The battle was over on the 18th, and I’m ashamed to admit that I suffered not even so much as a scratch. I did my duty to the end even as others around me were slaughtered. With most of the horses dead or dying the armies fought hand to hand, but I kept riding amongst the dead as though I was protected,” Slade reminisced as he returned to 1815 for the first time in a long time. “No, I wasn’t turned in battle, in fact I was one of the last ones at Waterloo. It was three days later and I had been ordered to stay behind searching for resistance fighters. It was a mundane task which was really beneath me, but being one of the only remaining able-bodied mounted soldiers, the task fell to me. The first two days on the search I conducted during the daylight, and I did come across a few French soldiers who had taken refuge under a nearby bridge. They were in no condition to fight.”

  “What did you do to them?” Tara asked.

  “I eliminated them. It was war and I was in no position to take prisoners. These men were badly wounded. One had his eye dangling from its socket. He had wrapped it using cloth from his pant leg, but the eye hung out from the bandage. The bandage was dark, almost black except for the ends which were still white. I could have left him to die; in my heart I knew he would have died from wounds that severe. It was a pitiful sight. Non monsieur, s’il vous plait!

  “After my daylight hunt I switched tactics. I caught the trail of someone on the late afternoon of the twenty first. I had crossed the battle field so many times the smell of death was becoming pleasurable. The charred and smoldering wood, the gun powder and the decay of flesh. I’ve been in many wars, but I will always remember that smell. You may not know this, but days after a battle, and no one is around except the corpses of the fallen-there’s a hush that ripples through the grounds. It’s soothing, especially after the screaming and the explosions. To hear nothing at all. All my years of going to Church, and this was my only truly religious experience. I was more at peace at that moment than at anytime…now or then.

  “A raven began hopping along next to my horse, jumping from French soldier to Coalition and back again, as though he was looking for a friend. I began talking to the raven, commenting to him how beautiful the evening was. He would squawk back now and then to keep the conversation flowing. I remember seeing out of the corner of my eye something moving along the edge of the forest. I knew then someone was watching me and my raven, but I played ignorant.

  “It was dusk, still light enough to see, but the moon had yet to rise. My raven, who had been following me for more than an hour, finally stopped on the head of a dead coalition member and began suckling the juices from his eye. I stopped to bid farewell to my avian follower before turning to the woods to hunt my shadow. My raven cawed at me repeatedly as I rode away. I guess looking back, he knew what was about to happen to me. I think that’s why he started to kick up such a fuss.”

  The young pup cut in, now squirming her way to the front of the crowd.

  “Did the werewolf jump out and bite you? My mommy stuck me with a needle and made me a werewolf.”

  “A needle! That certainly is an original way!” Slade assured. “I hadn’t ventured very far into the trees when I came upon this French soldier, whom to my mind wasn’t even attempting to hide. He was standing in a small clearing, bearing no arms and appearing to be in fine health-though his coat was torn and bloodied at the shoulder. I knew there was something wrong with him; today we might have said he was suffering from PTSD. Naively I approached him with my sword. He babbled in French which at the time I really paid no attention to. My French was considerably less than fluent. As he continued to prattle, I contemplated lunging my sword into his heart or slitting his throat, both had their merits.”

  “Did the wolf jump out and kill the frog?” The devilish child asked innocently.

  Slade belted out a deep bellied laugh which dislodged the cigarette from the crevice of his mouth. The glowing tobacco tube fumbled to his lap which he graciously flicked to the ground with his index finger, stepped on it and without skipping a beat, sparked up his next smoke. “Do you know why they’re called frogs?”

  The child shrugged with a smile not really knowing the answer.

  Slade leaned forward and placed his oversized hand on the small framed child, “Neither do I little one.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I dismounted my horse and walked towards this strange little Frenchman. He was talking quickly, like he was begging for his life. I paid no attention. By this point in my life I had probably killed hundreds in battle and I had heard every form of begging there was.

  “I approached him with the sword grasped in my hand. I looked him in the eye and he
seemed frightened, but not of me; of something else. I had looked all my kills in the eye whenever possible, and the look in his eye was something different.”

  “It was behind you, wasn’t it?” Terri asked, now drawn into the story.

  “No,” Slade huffed. “The moon hadn’t even risen yet. The glow was visible beyond the hill, but it hadn’t yet appeared. It was that transition between sunset and moon rise—still bright—but the moon and the sun were both beyond the horizon. It was only their reflective glow that lit the forest. No, there was no wolf behind me.”

  “So, what happened?” Darwin asked with his raspy ill voice.

  “I opted to lunge my sword into his chest. It was an unremarkable experience, really no different than any other execution I had performed. My blade broke through his rib cage, piercing his heart and exiting his back. Blood leaked from the fuller, quickly reddening the white of his uniform shirt. Sometimes I would twist my sword in the wound to bring about death faster, I don’t remember if I did with this man. I do remember watching the life drain from him. He looked me in the eye and uttered, ‘Je ne crois pas que c’est la fin’. It was later when I discovered what he had said,” Slade nodded.

  “This is not the end?” Jim Baker translated without prompting. “What true pastry chef doesn’t know a little French?”

  “If you didn’t speak French, how did you know that’s what he said?” Clint asked, doubting the story.

  “It’s okay not to believe,” Slade assured. “I was a pup once too. In time, if you survive, you’ll understand. The simple answer I can give you is I’m not sure that’s exactly what he said. I remember the word fin distinctly, and I knew that to mean ‘end’. It was what happened a short time later that allowed me to put it together. The soldier slumped to the ground and I retracted my sword thinking nothing more of it. He was dead.”

  “What happened next?” The audience child interrupted.