by Stacey Mewse
All these scars had been gained at the mouth and claws of another wolf. It had raked his back and chest and his left arm was dotted with puncture marks where it had rabidly shaken him and changed its grip. He almost winced at the memory. Turning away from his then frowning mirror image, he slipped gratefully into the steaming bath water.
Leaning forwards he turned off the taps before settling back to enjoy the water enveloping his filthy figure. As he submerged up to the neck, his troubled mind drifted back to the day he had received his scars. It was all so clear in his mind that it could have been yesterday… Naturally had his wounds occurred since his turning they would not have scarred… No, this had been his beginning, the attack that had changed it all.
He had only been an infant when the attack had happened. Barely four years old…
Chapter 2
Hunter did not understand how he remembered what he did with such clarity. He tried not to give it enough thought to truly dwell on the matter. He assumed it was down to the trauma causing the incident to stick in his mind, at least that’s what he imagined a psychiatrist would tell him. No child should have been capable of retaining crystal clear memories gained at the tender age of four years old. He guessed that the wolf in him had a large part to play in this retention, but he had never bothered to research the lupine lifecycle. He saw no point in doing so. He was not even entirely certain that what he transformed into was truly a wolf in the genetic sense but hybridized with human genes. For all he knew it was simply a horrific mutation which happened to bear a striking resemblance to a wolf. Both theories were equally outlandish, and to him neither one seemed significantly more likely than the other.
Either way his memories of the events that occurred in his mother’s bedroom were clear as day, down to the smallest detail in his mind.
He had been born to working class parents, a mother named Elise who had been a teaching assistant before his birth; and a father named Bruce who had been a gamekeeper. His father’s occupation had provided the inspiration for his own name, Bruce had loved his job and the hunt almost too much. Had Hunter retained any memories before the day of his making, he would have remembered countless weekends where his father vanished out into the woodland to help with the local hunt. It was something that had vexed his mother no end, but she had loved his father deeply and allowed him his much-loved pastime without complaint.
Elise had been petit and ash blonde, with shocking green irises which shone out from between thick lashes. Hunter had inherited his eye color alone from her; every other aspect from skin tone to hair color was the image of how his father had looked before his death.
Though Bruce had been more slender than Hunter, he had possessed the lean muscular stature of a man who had lived and worked on the poverty line since the day he was of suitable age to do so. Hunter remembered how he had looked so clearly. He had but to look into the mirror and he was practically staring back at him. He had possessed the deepest brown eyes; in low light they had appeared like pools of black, reminiscent of the eyes of a shark on the hunt… He had been shrouded by the smell of the woodlands, always smelling strongly of earth and pine and faintly of the game that he hunted and prepared.
Hunter would always remember the way he had been, the way both of his parents were upon the day of their deaths. Every tiny detail of those final 24 hours was burned into his memory, every sight and sound and smell. His brain clung on to each and every moment of that final day with his parent despite his wishes to forget… Oh how he wished he could forget… but it was not to be. He would carry those memories with him until the day he died, of that he was sadly certain…
It had been a bright and sunny summers day in late July, the kind of day that left you wanting to do nothing more strenuous than sit in the sunshine and relax. It had been very warm and incredibly muggy, almost stiflingly so. The sun shone brightly in the sky all day long with little interference from clouds and a slight breeze kept the heat from being totally draining.
They had been at their cabin, Elise and he, a building not dissimilar to Hunter’s abode as an adult. The only real difference in fact being that his mother had kept her home spotlessly clean and there were feminine touches dotted here and there. The curtains had been adorned with a cheerful yellow floral pattern and there had been cushions with hand-sewn designs scattered upon the worn brown sofa.
Hunter had spent that last day in the rear garden whilst his mother had watched him from the kitchen through the tiny cottage windows. He remembered clearly her smiling face behind the pale yellow painted window frame, and the sound of her laughter ringing through the doorway.
The garden itself had been a small but well kept one, the path laid out of mismatched flagstones partly buried in the dirt. The grass had been kept short and neat by his father, but despite all his best efforts had become patchy towards the gardens ends thanks to being overshadowed by the woodlands. A rose of Sharon bush was in full bloom beside the back door, dripping sunny yellow petals onto the path and doorstep. His mother fought a loosing battle to try and sweep the debris up every morning, but was loathe to try it too many times a day thanks to the fat, lazy bumblebees that were attracted in from the surrounded woodlands. The heavy little insects seemed to have loved nothing more than bumping into her with an angry buzz as she tried to sweep up the mess that scattered into her home if she left it untended.
The rest of the garden had been left clear with the only other interruptions to the lush green grass being a heavy stone sundial to one side of the dusty pathway and a tall birdbath on the other. Hunter’s mother would tell him that nature was beautiful enough without her help and she did not wish to interfere; and that she considered the entire woodland their back garden. Proof of this lay in her refusal to allow a fence to be erected. She liked the way the path simply faded into the trees, and would remind Hunter when he played outside sometimes that he was lucky to be a child of nature. Despite this however, she was also quick to remind him that it was not safe to wander off the path alone, and that he must stay on the neat green of the lawn when he was not with her or his father.
That fateful day little Hunter had been pottering about in the garden on his unstable toddler legs, playing a game of hide and seek with his mother through the window. He would hide behind the sundial to bring Elise running, and then jump out and shout ‘BOO!’ at the top of his voice accompanied by fits of giggles. She had played along for hours, feigning worry and dramatically looking around the garden for him each time he hid and giggled. She checked under the bush, and wandered into the tree line, calling his name and chuckling quietly to herself when she heard his giggling intensify. Each time she found him in the exact same spot she would tickle him mercilessly and then sweep him up from the ground into a savagely loving hug. He giggled and protested, but kissed her sloppily on the cheek every time ‘like a good boy’ because his young mind had known that this made mummy happy.
After a long while and many repetitions of this game he had eventually grown bored and begun to look for another game to play. The catalyst for this change of heart being mainly down to his mothers smiling reminder that lunch was due to be made. He had nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion bobbing his head up and down happily, his dark hair swinging into his face and back again. When Elise questioned him as to what he would like he had replied “ham sam-mich-es and crispies pease mum-ma” with a little clap of his chubby toddler hands.
Smiling broadly Elise had ruffled his hair and poked her tongue out at him as he playfully tried to bat her hand away; before turning on her heels and making her way back up the garden path and into the cabin.
Hunter had watched her go with interest, watching the way her long dress swished about her heels and half wanting to run up and grab onto it to surprise her; but as that train of thought crossed his mind a large bumblebee passed right in front of his nose. Jumping back in surprise he had fallen heavily onto his rump with a little ‘oomph’ sound escaping his lips. Although tears began to well in hi
s eyes he did not cry, he was far too enraptured by the weaving path of the furry bee that was slowly moving away through the thick summer air.
Clumsily pushing himself back up onto his feet he toddled after the fuzzy insect with intent; following the line it travelled with his attention totally focused on the striped insect that seemed to him to be making its escape. He did not run, but pursued at a leisurely pace across the grass and failed to notice the looming trees at the gardens edge until he was stood directly beneath them. For a moment he paused, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature caused by the dense shade… He peered into the shadowed woods and hesitated for just a moment, but the lure of catching the bee was too strong to ignore. Giggling he sped his pace and almost jogged after the insect, which had stopped a few feet into the woods and settled itself down on a fallen tree trunk. He could hear it buzzing loudly, and had not yet learned that this was an agitated sound. Excited by the noise it was making he failed to hear the sound of his mother’s voice calling him. He was not usually one to ignore his parents but his focus lay entirely on his prize.
Reaching forward with Chubby infant hands, young Hunter’s eyes grew wide as he brushed one of the bee’s fragile wing tips with his fingers. He did not hear the sound of twigs breaking nearby, or the heavy dull thudding of footsteps. He was totally transfixed by the bumblebee, giggling as it flicked its wings with a loud buzzing and tried to stumble away across the rough bark beneath it. It did not get far before his stubby fingers poked at its wings again. This time it’s buzzing was louder and angrier, but Hunter was only spurred on by its protests. Giggling manically he pinched one of the bees wings between his thumb and forefinger, squeaking in shock when it waggled its abdomen angrily and squirmed between his digits. He let go sharply, watching as the bee tried and failed to regain it’s footing and tumbled to the ground with frantically flapping wings.
Hunter stared at the flailing bumblebee for a moment before once again reaching for it, his curiosity far outweighing his sense of caution. Roughly he used one hand to push it onto the other and began moving his hands towards his face to get a better look at his prize. However the insect had other ideas. Flexing its belly it arched and drove its stinger into the tender flesh beneath its feet, causing Hunter to yowl in pain and flap his hands wildly.
The sudden motion very nearly dislodged the struggling striped body, but its stinger was firmly lodged beneath his skin and would not allow it freedom.
Squealing loudly Hunter stepped backwards in an attempt to escape the tiny creature that was causing him pain; catching one foot on a creeping bramble tendril which edged out from under the bush behind him. Opening his mouth widely the little toddler issued a shrill scream as he fell backwards, his eyes screwed tight shut and tears tracking down his grubby cheeks. His rump made contact with the ground hard, landing square on the thorny vines of the bramble that had tripped him. Luckily his landing was padded slightly by the thick denim dungarees that his mother had dressed him in, though the spines of the plant still snagged deeply enough into his clothing to heighten the little boys fear. Though he did not make the connection at the time, he was lucky he had not thrown his hands back to steady his fall. He would not only have shredded his tender palms upon the thorns, but undoubtedly would also have driven the bumblebee’s sting deeper. Luck did not cross the young boys mind however, a thick film of tears clouded his vision and no amount of hand flapping would dislodge his attacker. That was what was foremost in his mind.
With a heavy, hitched intake of breath he did what came naturally… He cried. His high pitched, ear piercing baby screams rang through the trees loud and clear, cutting through the silence like a knife. Somewhere to his right the sound of footsteps was steadily growing louder and heavier. What had started as a calm approach rapidly becoming a panicked run. Distantly behind him he vaguely heard the frantic sound of his mothers voice calling his name, but Hunter had been firmly trapped in his sticky situation. He could not tear his tear filled eyes away from the feebly struggling body of the bee upon his palm. He did not know its life was ebbing away, and was too scared to touch it with his other hand in case more pain resulted.
Feeling utterly helpless his wails became steadily louder and more meaningful. He was stuck out there all by himself; he had been naughty and disobeyed his mother’s rules, he had a bee –
His train of thought was cut abruptly short when a large pair of rough, calloused hands grabbed him beneath the arms and lifted him into the air. His crying ceased altogether, a small sound of shock replacing it for a moment before blind panic set in. Hunter screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing his arms and legs about wildly. Somebody had got him! He had gone into the woods like his mummy had told him not to and somebody was stealing him away. His chubby little face contorted and his cheeks grew more and more ruddy as his screams intensified. Not only did he have a bee stuck in his hand, but somebody was trying to snatch him up in the woods…!
All of a sudden the hands shifted and spun him about in their steely grip; and through he sound of his own wailing he became aware of his name being spoken.
Opening his eyes he struggled to focus on what was ahead of him, and blearily realized he was face to face with his father. His screaming stopped instantaneously, replaced by thick sobs and hitched breathing. His bottom lip quivered violently as he reached his good hand towards his daddy’s face.
‘Da – da – daddy?’ He tearfully pleaded with sad infant eyes for his father not to be angry with him for disobeying the rules.
Bruce looked at his son closely, his deep brown eyes taking in his torn clothes and grubby cheeks; and last of all the still living bee stuck to the palm that hung limply by his side. Carefully he set his son down onto the ground and roughly thumbed away his tears.
With a reassuring smile he gently took Hunters hand into his own and inspected the damage.
‘What have you got yourself into little fella?’ He sighed with a slight shake of his head, his flat cap keeping his unruly dark hair pinned to his forehead over knotted brows.
Hunter allowed his father to take his hand without protest, looking up at him imploringly as the flow of tears upon his cheeks began to slow.
‘I – I’m s - sorry d – daddy.’ He tearfully whispered.
Bruce smiled down at his little mirror image and ruffled his hair gently with his free hand.
‘It’s ok buddy’ he reassured. ‘We just need to get this little bug off here and then we’ll get you back to the house and clean you up.’
Hunter nodded solemnly, at that young age trust in your parents was instinctual, the thought of his father doing wrong would never have crossed his mind.
Bruce gently pulled his sons hand further towards him and closely studied the bee, which had finally ceased its struggles. It was still firmly attached to the stinger but was most definitely dead.
Looking Hunter in the eye he firmly instructed him as to what was about to happen.
‘Now Hunter I need you to be brave for me ok? I need you to keep very still and not move your hand while I make the bee go away, do you understand?’
Hunter nodded, his lip quivering harder than ever and tears threatening to spill out of his rapidly filling eyes.
‘Good boy.’ Bruce praised as he poised himself to get the task at hand done quickly. Carefully he hovered his hand over the insect for a moment before firmly pinching it between his fingers and tugging its body free in one swift motion.
Tears rolled silently down Hunter’s face as he watched what his father was doing, his breaths issuing in loud dramatic sobs as his assailant was plucked from his hand. A quiet sound escaped him at the sudden jolt of pain but he did not renew his squealing. Daddy had made the bee go away and daddy would make it better.
Bruce gently pulled his sons hand that little bit nearer and moved his face lower to get a better look at the damage that had been done. On closer inspection he could see the stinger embedded into Hunter’s palm; however there was no blood which he hoped would wo
rk to calm the boy down a little.
Releasing his son’s hand he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short by a loud cracking noise from behind him and the sound of a familiar voice.
Elise was barging her way carelessly through the undergrowth, snapping branches and stomping plant life carelessly underfoot as she followed the sounds of her son’s distress. Seeing him stood sobbing in front of her husband she gasped and sped her pace. He was covered in grazes, his clothes were torn and he was crying! She had let this happen to him by her negligence, she hadn’t been watching closely enough… It was her fault!
Skirting around Bruce’s crouching form she scooped her son up into her arms and hugged him savagely to her chest.
‘Oh my poor baby! Are you alright?’ She cooed at him. She did not look to him for an answer to her question though, instead hugging him tighter and kissing the top of his head, babbling into his thick black hair.
‘Oh my baby, what has mummy told you about going into the woods on your own? You need to listen to mummy little man; this is why I tell you not to leave the garden ok? Its dangerous out here for you on you own.’