by Amy Cross
"Who are you?" Jonathan asks.
"Dream again," the voice replies.
"That's not a name."
"It's what people seem to be thinking when they see me." There's a pause, as if the voice is thinking for a moment. "Dream again. Dream again... Dremagen. Does that sound more like a name?"
"You're insane. You can't be real. If you were real, your parents would have given you a name."
"Your nightmares are my parents," the voice says firmly. "Yours, and those of all the other people locked away in that asylum. Every night, the threads of your minds reach out to me and I gather them closer. Sometimes I like to wrap those threads around my body; other times, I let them hang in the cold, still air. Dremagen... Dromigan... No, that still doesn't sound quite right. You're absolutely correct, though. I need a proper name. If I have a name, I'll know who I am."
"I want to go back," Jonathan says, trying to stay calm. "Let me go back to the cell."
"I already told you why that's a bad idea. You'll die."
"I'll die if I stay out here."
"But you'll really die if you go back. Your body can't stand any more pain. I can feel the loss and heartbreak in your soul. This is your last night, and you have a choice. Remain out here with me, with your nightmare and the nightmares of all the others, or go back and let your spirit dwindle with the last breaths of your body like... like water disappearing down a plug-hole."
"Help me!" Jonathan screams. "Somebody get me out of here!"
"Drongen," the voice replies calmly. "No, not quite..."
"Just tell me what you want," Jonathan continues, "and I'll give it to you. Whatever it is, just tell me and it's yours."
"I want you to become part of me. Or your dreams, at least. Why won't you give me that?"
"I don't even know who you are!" Jonathan shouts.
"Dronigan. Yes, that sounds like a name, don't you think? I'll use it. Dronigan. That's a name I can really get behind. I think people will even start talking about me, won't they? I'm sure to know who I am now that I have a name!"
"You're a monster."
"That doesn't sound very nice." There's a pause, and the stillness of the forest seems to become louder and louder. "You seem to be resisting me, and I'm losing patience. I think it might be time to make you understand the value of my help."
"I don't want your help," Jonathan replies, before he starts to feel a strange sensation in his mind, as if thin strings of individual thoughts are being lifted up and pulled away. He tries to fight back, even to scream, but his head is being twisted and pulled in different directions until, finally, he can't even remember how to scream. All he can do is wait as his every thought and every memory is picked clean, drawn out on long, thin fingers that spool those thoughts and memories into new forms that are stretched across the dark forest and hung from the branches of dead trees.
In the dark cell back at Tor Cliff, Jonathan's dead body remains on the cold floor, waiting to be discovered in the morning.
Today
Chapter One
Abby Hart
"Run!" she screams.
It's cold out here, so cold that I feel as if my limbs are freezing up. The forest is bathed in icy blue moonlight, with the twisted shadows of trees making it hard to avoid gnarly roots that reach up from the ground. I can see Madeleine up ahead, already getting further and further into the distance, and I'm not sure if I can keep up.
"Wait!" I call out, even though I know she probably can't hear me. "I'm just -"
Almost running straight into a tree, I somehow manage to stay on my feet. A stray root snags my foot and I stumble, and that's when I make the mistake of glancing back and seeing the high stone wall of the asylum. For a fraction of a second, I'm distracted enough to not notice where I'm going. I end up tripping on another root, slamming down hard, face-first, against the forest floor, with enough force to momentarily stun me.
Everything falls silent.
The only think I can hear is the sound of my own breath.
As I start to get up, I realize that someone is standing behind me, and it's not Madeleine. Whoever it is, he reaches down and brushes a finger against the back of my neck and then -
Chapter Two
Felix
"If you can't be quiet like all the others," Nurse Fletcher says, tightening the leather straps around my wrists, "you're going to have to be made to sleep, aren't you?"
"No," I whisper, staring at the clear liquid in the syringe. "Please, don't... Not again."
"It's for your own good," she replies, sliding the needle into my arm. "It's either this, Felix, or we take you out back and put a silver bullet through your head. Would you like that? And then we'll toss your body over the wall and let Dronigan rip you apart."
Wincing as I feel the foul, toxic solution entering my bloodstream, I try desperately not to let out an agonized scream. I don't want to give this bitch the satisfaction of knowing that she's hurting me, but at the same time, the pain is coursing through my veins; when it finally reaches my brain, I feel my skull starting to bulge under the increased pressure. For several seconds, I try to hold the cry back until finally I wail with such ferocity that a kind of frothy white liquid sprays from my mouth.
"There," Nurse Fletcher whispers in my ear with all the sincerity of a nursery rhyme character. "Who's a good wolf? I'll go and tell Dr. Cole that you're ready from him."
"Don't make me sleep," I whisper.
"Why not?" she asks.
"The nightmares..."
"All the patients say the same thing," she replies with a smile. "Don't be scared of your dreams and nightmares, Felix. They can't hurt you. You can only be hurt by things that are real." With that, she pulls one of the straps extra tight, until it starts cutting into my wrist, and then she turns and heads to the door.
All I can do is try to stay awake, even though I know it's a losing battle. Soon I'll sleep, and that's when the nightmares will begin again.
Chapter Three
Abby Hart
"You're rubbish," Madeleine says, reaching down and grabbing my hand before hauling me roughly to my feet. "Really, really rubbish."
"At what?" I ask, turning to look back the way we came. I swear, someone else was here, but now it's the just the two of us and the forest feels vastly empty.
"At escaping," she continues. "By rights, I should have left you here. You know that, right? I should have just kept on running and never looked back. If I'd done that, I'd have been halfway to freedom by now and you'd be..." She pauses for a moment. "Well, it wouldn't have mattered to me what happened to you, would it?"
"So why did you come back?" I ask, rubbing the back of my neck. I swear I felt someone touch me just now...
"You'd better just be thankful that I'm such a kind and caring person," Madeleine replies. "If it wasn't for my good nature, you'd be in a hell of a lot more trouble right now."
I turn to her. The truth is, I don't think she is a 'kind and caring person', so I can't help but wonder why she's really helping me to get away from the asylum. I hate to be paranoid and suspicious, but... well, I am paranoid and suspicious, and with good reason: something about Madeleine LeCompte doesn't make sense to me. Not yet, anyway.
"We should keep moving," she continues after a moment, her breath visible in the freezing night air. "It's not safe to be out here in the forest."
"I thought I felt someone standing -"
"Don't say it," she replies, grabbing my hand and leading me between the trees. "Just keep walking, and whatever you do, don't look back. Have you got that? No matter what you hear, or what you think you hear, do not look over your shoulder. He can only get you if you look into his eyes or say his name."
"Who?"
"Shut up."
"But -" Before I can finish, I realize that I can hear someone walking behind us, his footfall crushing the frozen leaves as he follows our path. Instinctively, I start to turn and look, but at the last moment I manage to stop myself. Instead, I look d
own at the ground ahead of us, and I spot a third shadow being cast from a meter or so back the way we came. There's definitely someone behind us.
"Don't look back," Madeleine whispers.
"Who is it?" I ask.
"It doesn't matter," she continues. "We just have to keep walking, reach the edge of the forest, and then get the hell out of here. If we do that, we'll be fine."
"But there's someone behind us," I point out. "Won't he just -"
"He can't do shit!" she hisses. "He can't keep us here if we're smart. Just don't look back, and even if you think you know his name, don't say it. There's a -."
Suddenly I feel something brush against my shoulder, and from the look on her face I can tell that Madeleine felt the same thing. Whoever's behind us, he's clearly trying to attract our attention.
"Don't look back," she continues. "He's trying to trick us. He wants us to look, because if we look, that way he knows he's got us. All it takes is one moment of eye contact and he's got you."
"But if we keep our backs to him -"
"He can't do anything if we don't look at him," she says firmly, still leading me by the hand through the darkened forest. "I've heard stories about him, Abby. He'll do everything in his power to make us look back, but as long as we're strong and keep our heads, despite all his attempts to -" Suddenly she flinches as something seems to strike the back of her head; seconds later, I feel a thump just above the base of my neck, as if someone is desperately trying to get my attention.
"What's his name?" I ask, forcing myself not to turn around.
"I can't say it," she continues, clearly annoyed. "Not when he's so close, anyway. That's another way he tries to get you. If you say his name, it becomes part of you and he uses it to twist you around until you look straight into his eyes. It's like a hook that he uses to reel you in."
"But if -" As I speak, something nudges the back of my knee, almost knocking me to the ground. I manage to stay upright, but whoever or whatever this thing is that's right behind us, it's becoming more and more keen to get our attention. "I don't know if I can keep this up," I tell Madeleine after a moment. "How much further until we get to the edge of the forest?"
"An hour or two," she replies.
"An hour or two?"
"Crap!" she shouts, grabbing her shoulder and stumbling forward before finally managing to regain her balance. "He's really getting desperate now." As she moves her hand away, I see that there's a cut in the fabric of her shirt, with a small edge of blood.
"Exactly how far is he going to push this?" I ask, braced for him to strike out at me at any moment.
"I don't know," she mutters. "I think most people have always turned around by now. He's probably not very used to being denied."
"Why does he stay behind us?" I ask. "Couldn't he just move around and jump out in front of us?"
"That's not how it works," she replies. "He has rules, and he can't break them. Every living thing has rules, Abby. They're ingrained in us. For people like you and me, the rules seem to make total sense. His rules make sense to him, too."
"Can't we just make him leave us alone?" I reply.
"There's one way," she says after a moment. "I don't think you'd like it, though."
"Right now, I'd be willing to try just about anything."
"One of us could turn around and face him," she continues. "That way, while he's doing his thing, the other one could get away."
"And what's his thing?" I ask, even though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
"The stories are a little vague on that point," she admits, "on account of the fact that no-one's ever really stuck around to -" Before she can finish, there's a thumping sound and she stumbles forward. "This is getting real old," she mutters darkly. "I swear to God, he's lucky I don't turn around and knock his head off."
"He seems to be doing it more to you than to me," I point out, but seconds later I receive a similar thump that almost sends me sprawling to the ground. "He's getting worse!" I hiss.
"I guess he -" Madeleine starts to say, before she winces as something strikes the back of her head. "I guess -" Seconds later, she lets out a gasp and clutches her leg as something slices through the side. "I swear to God," she mutters, "if he keeps this up much longer, I'm going to -" Suddenly he lets out a cry of pain as something bundles into her back with a cracking sound. "Cut it out, Dronigan!" she shouts. "Just -"
She stops in her tracks, and a look of absolute terror suddenly appears in her eyes.
"What?" I ask, stopping next to her as I realize that she just said the creature's name.
"Crap," she whispers.
"Just keep moving," I tell her, starting to worry. "Madeleine, we can still keep moving."
"Don't leave me," she says, her voice filled with fear.
"I'm not gonna leave you," I reply, "but -"
"Please," she continues, interrupting me, "whatever happens, don't leave me behind. Not with him." As she speaks, her voice becomes more muffled, as if she's struggling to get the words out. "Please, Abby," she mumbles, "don't leave me here." She tries to say something else, but the words are impossible to make out now that it sounds as if her entire mouth is seizing up.
"What's wrong?" I ask, careful not to get too close to her. "Madeleine -"
Suddenly I see something coming out from between her lips. I've never witnessed anything like it, but it's as if the word 'Dronigan' is being slowly ripped from her throat and pulled over her shoulder, and although she fights back and tries to step forward, her whole body is finally twisted around. Instinctively, and without a chance to think better of it, I turn to see who or what is doing this to her.
And that's when I see him.
Standing behind us, there's a man. He doesn't look to be too old, maybe only in his twenties or thirties, but his skin is ice-blue and his eyes are dark like pools of dead water. His black-gloved hands, raised in front of his chest, are holding the thread that's coming from Madeleine's mouth and he's slowly reeling her closer and closer, until finally he stops and turns to me, and I realize that his whole body seems painfully thin and gaunt. His hands fall still for a moment; although he's not moving at all now, there's a kind of creaking sound coming from within his body, like trees swaying in the wind.
"Don't leave me," Madeleine gasps, her mouth wide open as Dronigan slowly resumes pulling the threads of his name from her tongue as if they're long, cobwebbed strands. "Please, Abby. Don't leave me here!"
Chapter Four
Felix
"I read about werewolves once," Nurse Fletcher says as she leads me along the corridor. "It was in this book about unusual creatures. I have to admit, I was fascinated by the description of your species. Werewolves sounded so big and strong, like real men. Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but I actually found the whole thing kind of sexy. You know, the idea of a powerful fun trying to restrain the beast in his heart. It's a very romantic concept, full of passion and fury, but also kind of..." She pauses. "Well, you know. A woman has needs, doesn't she? I used to fantasize about being ravaged by a strong, powerful man." As we reach the next door, she turns and smiles at me. "You don't strike me as that kind of werewolf, Felix."
"I don't..." Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm. "I don't know what you mean."
"Imagine you're out late one night," she continues, fixing me with a determined grin, "and it's raining, and you hear me screaming. Real blood-curdling screams that leave you in no doubt about my plight. Would do you do?"
"I'd come and try to help you," I reply.
"And what if you found me being attacked by another werewolf? Imagine that some big, muscle-bound creature was dragging me through the woods, determined to get me back to his lair and have his way with me. We both know what werewolves are like, Felix. The stories have spread far and wide. If he managed to do all those things to me, I'd be left half-dead by the end, even if I enjoyed it. And then he'd just turn me over and do it all to me again. Tell me what you'd do, Felix. Would you save me? Would
you come rushing to my rescue like a wolf in shining armor?"
"I'd... help you," I say again.
"How?"
"I'd tell him to stop."
"And what if he didn't listen to your oh-so-polite request? What if this particular wolf turned out to be a strong and determined creature who took what he wanted rather than asking politely?" She pauses. "I'm thinking of the kinda wolf who'd rip my clothes away and use my naked body as his plaything. Blood, sweat... other fluids. What if, in the midst of such rage, the werewolf didn't listen to you?"
I pause for a moment. "Well... I suppose I'd have to... make him."
She laughs.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
"The thought of you being all strong and manly," she replies. "God, Felix... Even if you actually managed to rescue me, would you know what to do with me?" She unbuttons the top of her uniform, just enough to let me see the curve of her cleavage. "Would you really know how to make me feel better? Do you know how to please a woman? What if that woman happens to be a vampire?" She smiles, and this time I can see her fangs. "Would you take me to new heights of ecstasy, Felix, or would you be all paws and fur?"
"Is this part of the experiment?" I ask, determined to get past this silly game.
"Do you want it to be?" she replies, pulling another button open, then another, and then another until she slips her tunic open and exposes most of her left breast. "Or do you want me to want you? Do you want to feel my naked body against yours? Maybe you could even change into your wolf form? Our bodies, entwined together as you do whatever you want with me..."
"That's..." I take a deep breath as I realize that she's definitely trying to trick me. "I don't know why you're doing this. You don't... You're a vampire... Your kind don't want anything to do with werewolves."
"No," she says, smiling as she buttons her uniform back up. "You're right, we don't. I'd probably just end up with fleas, anyway. I simply wanted to see if there was still some trace of a real man in your heart, but... I guess that was too much to hope for, huh? If I ever want to be pleasured by a werewolf, I guess I'll have to wait for a real one to come along, won't I? Not some kind of limp, pathetic cur who can't even fight back when he's being tortured. But if I ever need my slippers fetched, I'll give you a whistle." With that, she turns the handle and pushes the door open, before leading me into Dr. Cole's office. I've been here hundreds of times before, of course, but rarely so late at night. It's unusual for patients to be called upon for experiments after the evening meal has been served, and I can't help but feel a little anxious.