The Shapeshifter Chronicles

by Peralta, Samuel

  The shapeshifters in this story are probably quite different from those most readers are used to. They shift through time and space and universes in their quest to consume. And they encounter a few plucky saviors along the way, especially in women who most onlookers wouldn’t expect to be that formidable. It’s also steeped in witchy lore, and the Malleus Malificarum, which was written in 1486, and has sections devoted to how to detect witches who kept unwitting male bits in birds’ nests in their homes, feeding them corn to keep them alive and cursing the weather, cattle, or simply being the unlucky owner of too many cats. It also hints just a touch at the oldest shaman in the world, a Paleolithic wise woman found in the Dolní Věstonice mountain site in what is now the Czech Republic.

  For more information on my other books, including my novels, short stories, and anthologies, please check out my website at http://www.kimwells.net. I’m also on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/kimwellswrites, Twitter at @dandeliondreams, and email at kimwellswrites@gmail.com. Come say hi!

  The Night of the Hunted

  by Stefan Bolz

  Lunatic Asylum, Newcastle upon Tyne, England

  Dr. Philip Montgomery

  Personal Entry, Medical Log for Patient #18686

  On This Day, the 28th of March, 1914

  Not intended for official use!

  THIS CASE, INVOLVING PATIENT #18686, who had been admitted to the Newcastle upon Tyne Lunatic Asylum on the 17th of October, 1910, remains a mystery. Unless, of course, I visit in person the place of record that, according to my patient, was the cause for her illness. I'm afraid the circumstances of her recent death force me to take this step. My small suitcase is packed. I do not foresee staying for more than one night, perhaps two, before returning. The carriage will arrive here at 07:00 tomorrow morning. I should reach the Churnsike Lodge in Greystead within four hours.

  As a psychiatrist of thirty-four years, I can state here that a patient's delusional system usually appears most believable at first glance. The delusion is complete, very detailed, like a finely crafted composition, logical in and of itself, yet utterly weak when one or more of the basic premises are brought into question. Over the last three and a half years, this patient has never wavered from her initial report. Once her wounds had been cared for, once she was able to eat regularly again, and during her rare moments of clarity, she had described to me, in painstaking detail, the circumstances that had brought her here. It is my hope that I will be able to summarize my patient's report in my own words. It seems as if this task will only benefit me, as this document will most likely never be read by anyone other than myself.

  I'll begin, therefore, on the day of October 14th, 1910. Robert M. Clark and his fiancée, Elizabeth (Ellie) Moore, left their flat on 16 Cumberland Street in Edinburgh around 07:00 in the morning to go on a ten-day hunting holiday at the Churnsike Lodge in Greystead, a small town in the county of Northumberland.

  As I listened to Ellie's account, I imagined fog covering the streets, thick and unyielding, diffusing the early morning light and creating eerie shapes and forms on the side of the road. Ellie Moore, according to her own words, didn't like hunting. But she loved her husband enough to accompany him, endure the twelve-hour carriage ride, and keep him company on his excursions.

  They had met while Robert was still in law school during an internship at the prestigious Edinburgh law firm, Finch & Hollander. Ellie had just begun working there as the assistant secretary to Mr. Albert Finch, Senior. As per her own words, they spent a lot of time together, filing papers, sifting through case files and copying, by typewriter, whole manuscripts of court proceedings.

  Robert had been rather shy, and Ellie was the one who eventually asked him if he would accompany her on a picnic at a fundraiser for an orphanage she was involved with during her free time. He said yes, probably relieved that he didn't have to take the first step.

  Their first date was awkward. Ellie was nervous, and when he finally kissed her — while trying to help her out of the carriage — she was smitten. Robert proposed three weeks later, and they married that very same year. Ellie's wish to have children — four boys and a girl — was never fulfilled. She had one miscarriage that I confirmed through her medical records. Afterwards, she left the law firm and stayed home. Robert made partner, and with that privilege came the longer hours, the weekend hunting excursions with clients, and the long, solitary hours for Ellie, waiting for her husband to come home.

  Losing the baby had burdened her with more distress than she admitted. It seemed a welcome distraction when Robert asked her to accompany him on this trip. From what she told me, he wanted to rekindle their marriage while at the same time fulfill his obligations to the firm.

  They left Edinburgh at twilight and arrived at Churnsike after sunset. The lodge was perched at the edge of a long and narrow meadow surrounded by a thick pine forest. Several smaller buildings stood in a semi-circle on either side of the imposing building. Tall, dark pine trees towered above, their deep, low-hanging branches absorbing the remaining daylight.

  Ellie had noticed that for the last half hour of their ride, she had not seen any other houses. They had crossed the river Irthing at Butterburn, a small enclave of farmsteads — a dozen at the most — before they'd entered the forest. A logging road had led them through the thick woods and eventually into a meadow, trees lining the way to the estate. The welcoming committee, a tall, spindly fellow who introduced himself as Gary, and a rather short and heavyset woman, Margaret, brought their luggage inside and placed it in front of the concierge's desk. Heavy rugs dampened their steps as Ellie and Robert entered the reception area. The head of a puma, perfectly restored, was mounted above the mantelpiece on the opposite side of the room. A large, dark-leathered chaise lounge and two chairs stood in front of the hearth where a crackling fire dispelled the October evening chill.

  There was a moment when Ellie felt the urge to turn around and go back outside. She briefly thought about telling her husband that she did not wish to stay there. She thought of taking the carriage back to Haltwhistle and getting a room in the small, friendly looking bed and breakfast they had passed on their way here. But she didn't. Instead, she smiled while the concierge handed them the keys to their suite.

  The man had gray hair that was slightly disheveled, and he looked at Robert and Ellie over his silver spectacles. "Dinner will be served at eight," he said.

  "What time is it now?" Robert asked, searching his vest pockets. "I seemed to have misplaced my pocket watch."

  "Five minutes after seven, sir. My name is Harold. Should you need anything, please let me know."

  "Thank you. Could you have someone look inside the carriage to see if it can be found? It was bronze, on a small chain, and it had a picture of my wife inside."

  "Certainly, sir."

  Harold gestured to a bellhop, who had been watching their interaction intently. The boy couldn't have been older than twelve. His red hair framed his face in thick curls and his pointy nose reminded Ellie of a fox.

  "If you would follow me, please, sir, ma'am," the boy said, perfectly pronouncing each word.

  Ellie noticed when they went up the wooden stairs to the second floor that the tip of the boy's tongue hung out of his mouth ever so slightly. She assumed it was due to the heavy suitcases he was carrying up the steep staircase.

  They walked along the narrow hallway, the thick Berber rugs soft under Ellie's feet. She noticed the large, opulently framed paintings, each displaying a different hunting scene. Deer antlers were mounted above every door. Dust had collected on them, and Ellie wondered when the last time was that they had been cleaned.

  The boy stopped in front of room twelve. The number was written out in small painted letters, a gold color on the green door. The antler above it, mounted to an oval plate made entirely of brass, had twelve points.

  When I wrote that a patient's delusional system can be very detailed, this is what I meant. I can see the lodge in my mind's eye, with every corner,
every stairwell, and every room described with the utmost care. And yet my preliminary investigation assures me that there is no record of Ellie and Robert Clark ever having been there. Not on that day, nor on any other day. Hence my wish to travel there myself. I must, once and for all, shed light on the mind of my patient, as I have become very fond of her throughout the years she was in my care. Her death has given me more grief than I expected.

  Robert gave the bellboy a coin. He bowed and left the room. When the door closed, Ellie could feel the heat rise in her chest. The large eyes of the stuffed head of a black bear above the mantle followed her as she went to the window and opened it. Even though the chill breeze made her shiver, she welcomed the cool air on her skin. So much so that she closed her eyes for a moment.

  "You will catch a cold, dear," Robert said as he sat down on the bed. Ellie tried to ignore the slowly rising panic within her. She knew the cause for her fright was completely irrational. But since her baby had died inside her own body, she had lately found herself afraid of things she hadn't spent one single thought on before. Closed spaces were one of them. As long as she could see outside, she was content. But as soon as darkness covered the land, she needed to busy herself with needlework or her paintings. That had become her refuge. The prospect of spending ten days in this house made her dizzy. She sat next to her husband on the bed.

  "Are you all right?" he asked while taking out a cigar and cutting off its tip. "Should I have them bring you some tea?"

  "Sure. That would be lovely," Ellie replied. "I can add some of the St. John's wort I brought to calm my nerves."

  Robert pulled the small string next to the door and a minute later, the bellboy was back to take the order. He returned with the can of tea, served on a silver tray with carefully carved edges. The boy walked slowly so he wouldn't spill anything, and Ellie saw a small thread of saliva running from the corner of his mouth, the drool dripping onto his starched shirt. He didn't seem to notice and Ellie didn't say anything.

  The St. John's wort did help her, and she relaxed on the mattress a few minutes later. The room was simply furnished with a large oak dresser and mirror opposite the bed, two nightstands made of the same wood, and a secretary’s desk with a wooden chair in front. A standing light illuminated a leather armchair that stood next to the small hearth.

  "Let me kindle a fire," Robert said. "The warmth will help you relax."

  Robert knelt in front of the fireplace. The kindling was already in place. He lit the fire and his cigar with one match. Ellie loved him so. How he'd take a few puffs first and then pleasurably let out the smoke, sighing at the same time. He'd always forget things and lose items, or at least misplace them until Ellie found them for him. She watched him sitting in the armchair looking into the fire and slowly felt her eyes closing.

  The scream was utterly terrifying. She heard it clearly as if it had come from right next to her. When she opened her eyes, her first reflex was to jump out of bed, but she couldn't move.

  "Did you hear that?" she whispered, her voice shaky and filled with fear.

  "No, darling, what was it?" Robert still sat in the armchair, visibly enjoying his cigar.

  I heard a scream, she wanted to say. A loud scream, as if it had come from within this room. But she couldn't say anything, couldn't move her mouth. Only her eyes frantically searched her surroundings for anything out of the ordinary. The scream still echoed inside her. It was filled with terror and a despair she couldn't fathom. But when she calmed down enough, when she began to regain control over her body, and when she sat up to go to the wash basin and submerge her hands in the ice cold water, she knew that the scream had not been a human one, but that of a fox.

  * * *

  Ellie's hands were still shaking when she sat down in front of the mirror to brush her hair. She had loosened the tight bun and her dark brown curls now fell freely over her shoulders.

  "How beautiful you are," she heard Robert say. She caught him looking at her from his chair. "And so fragile. Like a fawn."

  "You wouldn't hunt a fawn, would you?" Ellie didn't know where the question suddenly came from.

  "On the contrary, my dear. I would protect it. I would hold it and assure it that everything is going to be fine." Robert smiled warmly.

  Ellie stopped brushing and looked at him through the mirror for a moment. "But it's not fine, Robert. For you have just killed its mother. And the fawn is all alone now, all alone in the world. Things will never get better. Not for the fawn!"

  "Elizabeth!" Robert got up. "What's gotten into you?"

  Hot tears streamed down Ellie's face. The surge of anger she had felt a moment ago dissipated. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I'm just tired from the long travels. And this… place."

  Robert, who must have noticed her pleading look, walked over and went down on one knee to embrace her.

  "Let's have a nice dinner and get a good night’s sleep," he said. "Tomorrow everything will look different. If you still feel the same then, we'll pack our suitcases and leave."

  "I don't want to ruin anything for you."

  "You are not ruining anything, my darling."

  Ellie held his embrace for a few moments. Robert was always good at suggesting compromises. That's what made him such a good lawyer.

  "We should get ready," she said.

  Five minutes later, the bellboy knocked on the door.

  "Dinner is served," the boy said when Robert opened it. "If you would accompany me into the dining hall."

  Robert and Ellie left room twelve two minutes to eight. If her account is true, then this moment was the last time Ellie Moore was completely sane.

  * * *

  The first association Ellie made when she entered the dining hall was that of a tomb. The square room was dominated by a large stone fireplace, the flames of the fire licking across the logs like tongues. All four walls showed a continuous mural of hunting scenes during different seasons. One wall showed riders on horses crossing a stream in full gallop while in pursuit of several bucks and wild boar. The next showed several men with rifles aiming at a flock of ducks across an icy pond. The scene continued on the next wall with an image of a brown bear standing on its hind legs, its mouth open in a roar while surrounded by a group of hunters.

  While the bodies of the animals were painted in detailed and lifelike proportions, the heads of most of them were real and mounted to the walls. In Ellie's mind, they all stared at her, accusing her of being part of their demise. The long and heavy oak table at the center of the room had seven chairs on either side. Except for two chairs, all of them were occupied. The people spoke quietly to one another, and when Ellie and Robert entered, they got quiet for a moment before the conversations picked up again.

  The two empty chairs stood toward the center of the table, facing the fireplace. When they sat down, the woman to her left interrupted her conversation with the man next to her.

  "How do you do? My name is Carol Epsworth. It's so nice to meet you."

  She extended her hand and Ellie took it. "Ellie. Ellie Moore. Very nice to meet you as well."

  The woman's hand was cold and her grip was strong. She had brushed back, shoulder-length blond hair and wore a simple gray dress with white poet sleeves. When she smiled, a perfect row of teeth became visible.

  "I would like some chamomile tea, please," Ellie said to the waiter.

  "Is this your first time here?" the woman asked.

  "Yes. My husband and I don’t usually travel quite this far."

  "Where do you live?"

  "Edinburgh."

  "That is quite far, dear."

  "Yes," Ellie answered with a slight smile. "Where do you come from?"

  The waiter brought a pot of steaming hot tea. He poured some of it into a cup and left. Ellie took a small spoonful of honey and stirred it into the cup.

  "That's a pretty ring," the woman said, ignoring Ellie's question. "May I?" She extended her hand, palm up, and Ellie put hers into the woman's and watc
hed while she studied the ring through her monocle. "Exquisite," she said after a few moments.

  Ellie was convinced that Carol Epsworth must have come from old money. She was elegantly clothed, if a bit old fashioned, and had a slight air of arrogance about her. Her back was straight, stiff almost.

  "Thank you," Ellie said.

  "Funny," the woman continued, " whenever I sit down at this table, it is as if I've never left since the first time we came here fifteen years ago."

  Ellie stirred her tea just so she had something to focus her mind on. Bits and pieces of the other conversations reached her from across the table. Two men opposite her pointed behind her, discussing the question of who the painter of the mural could have been.

  "I might have seen a Rubens in the hallway upstairs," one of them said. "His depiction of hunting scenes are especially detailed."

  "Have you heard of Robert Emms?" the other replied.

  "I'm afraid not."

  "Quite a gifted fellow. I visited his studio in Lyndhurst a few years ago. Very impressive workmanship."

  "I wonder if his hunting is as good as his painting.”

  Both laughed. Ellie couldn't find the point in the joke.

  She stopped stirring and rested the small spoon on the saucer. She had been doing it unconsciously without much thought and was just about to respond to the woman next to her when she noticed the small pool of blood around the spoon. She was lifting the cup from the saucer toward her lips when it slipped from her fingers. It hit the table with a loud smack, and from there fell it onto the thick rug.

  Blood splattered from the cup, first onto the table, then her hand. Before the cup hit the floor, a deep terror took hold of Ellie. Everything seemed to slow down around her. She heard her husband next to her speaking to someone about the stock market, someone crossing the English Channel by plane, and the winners of this year's Grand National steeplechase. But part of her realized that the conversation would have been too long for her to hear it in such short period of time. During our session, she concluded that she must have overheard it before and now remembered it in detail.