Shifters: Fur, Bone and Blood

1
'No use crying over spilt milk' as the saying goes; and you won't find me disagreeing. There has been plenty of spilt milk in my life, some glasses tipped over by myself, and if I had cried over each and every one I would dry out soon enough. Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea.
So, spilt milk, not a tear. Spilt Whiskey however is a different thing altougether.
My name is David, and I am an alcoholic.
That sentence has been uttered many times in countless places by legions of people. I myself have said it quite a few times. The last time was a month ago, before all this mess started, in my local community center. I was fed up with the hassle, the not remembering, as well as all the swarm of other little things that went with the disease.
A terrible disease it certainly is. One of the worst things about this is that it is not just the sufferer who is at a disadvantange, but those  cloasest to him who suffer also. And sometimes it takes one of those to save them all.
Or destroy them.

The events that lead up to now are a haze in my mind. Here I sit, writing these pages with pen in hand, (for posterity and as a kind of apology for the people that have to deal with the aftermath. I dedicate this scrawl to them) a bottle of White rum on my left and a loaded revolver to my right: two bullets only. One for me, and one for..well I'll get to that later. Just now I have to start.
Where to start this tragedy has been a sticking point for about an hour and a half, and it wasnt until I had my first drink that I suddenly realised I had my beginning. It was so simple I laughed. Laughed hard until my eyes watered and my head burst..

.. open, like a rotten tomato.I shut my eyes again tight.
I didn't know what time it was, didn't realy care, but I knew it was early enough for the sun still to be on its ascent. Our bedroom window faces east, the angle perfect for morning light, and a direct shaft of light to hit me full in the face. Whether by accident or on purpose the curtains had been opened fully. I turned away, burrowing under the pillow, determined to stay put. Not the best idea. The movement and new position actually made me feel worse. One plus though; turning over I now faced the open bedroom door, so the resulting dash for the toilet to spew my guts up was quick and nearly painless. Afterwards I did actually feel better. Anyone else would have shut the lid then flushed. Me, however, I kept the lid open, still prone; letting the splashing water hit my overhot face. It was a trick I had learned as a teenager, when recovering after benders such as the one I had perpretrated the night before. If I had lain on the cold porcelin I would have more than not fallen asleep, tempting fate to kick me in the stomach again.
I stood up, shakily, using the rim of the toilet, then the basin to steady myself. I was vaugly aware of my wife giving Tanya; our five year old daughter, a scolding, but couldn't take in any details. I was taking a scolding myself from the worlds biggest bitch and was too busy feeling sorry for myself to care mutch about anything else that may or may not be happening.
I didn't go back to bed, but spent the next ten minits pulling myself tougether, gaining strength for the inevitable. Judging from the tone my wife was in no mood for forgivness this morning. And I wouldn't blame her for being pissed off. I was out most of yesterday; all of yesterday, going strait to the pub to celebrate a recent promotion, a promotion that was given to me that day as a matter of fact,so, by my reconing I must have been Awol for about fourteen hours, adding on to that the face that I had left the house for work about seven in the morning that brings my total shame up to about twenty three hours. Not much for a grown adult you might think. Until you consider that this was not an isolated incidet. Alcoholics dont need an excuse to drink, just like drug addicts dont need an excuse to shoot up. Not that I have ever touched the stuff. My poison of choice was the demon drink, that and coffee, the smell of which was cutting through my fuzzy brain and enticing me downstairs to face my doom.
So, with the call of the wild in my nostrils, and another disgusting noise, followed by my darlings harsh tones ringing in my ears (and echoing in my head) I began careful negotiations with the cliff face that represented my hall stairs, at the end of which was coffee.
My darling must have heard me; kettle in hand she greeted me with a momentary stare kept specialy for this occasion, before turning her attention back to task. I sat opposite my daughter who was watching us both with keen interest. I made a face at her and she giggled. It was a sound that was gaurenteed to cheer us both up; not dissapointing. I stuck my toungue out and she giggled again, louder this time.
It was a moment of sheer happiness, pure and simple, one that would stay with me the longest because there would be no more afterward. With hindsight, that seemed to have been about the exact point when our lives began spinning off into the darkness. A darkness as black as the liquid that sloped about in the cup that was slammed down in front of me.
It burned when it splashed as hot as it scalded going down my throat. I nearly downed the whole lot, not really careing, perhaps hoping that if I did this penance I would be forgiven. Maybe not by my dearest, but more from Tanya who had gone back to watching both of us like a wary cat. That hurt more than the coffee, of my darlings stone cold (sober?) silence, actualy eminating from her, even through the newspaper she now held up in front of her hid her expression.
She was making me stew. Great.
The explosion would be bigger when it finally did come, more than probably after she had dropped our daughter off at nursery. The least I could do for the moment was distract myself from the atmosphere around the table. Tanya looked to have had the same idea as she had gone back to her toast, contentedly making a meal of it.
I finished off my coffee then got up to help myself to another. The loud noise of the scraping chair against the floor must have given my wife a fright. Her hand jumped slightly, russling newspaper over her own untouched food. I turned to give her thin shield a sarcastic grin, and choked..
No sooner had the noise left my throat than, from across her breakfast Tanya made the same noise, mimicking me exactly.
Of course, no sooner than that had happened than the shield came down; my dearests expression of motherly concern souring when she realised that Tanya had fooled a third time (the reason why we called it that escapes me. Lost somewhere in time with everything else.)
She sighed, then lifted her paper once more to continue whatever it was she was reading. Completely ignoring me.
The front page of the paper in front of me again, I started reading the story that went with the headline and the picture, which was of a place I had known well enough in my youth. And, if I was completely honest, once or twice in reacent years. The aged building in the background, the old tree in the corner, and the monuments dotted about the grass were all familiar. A historical landmark in the village, as well as a personal one for me. The place where I had my first bottle of wine, Awol session, and the first place where I had shared a drunken kiss from a girl who wanted to share my bottle when I was eighteen. So it was even more horrible what happened there.

Finishing the editorial, at 'Turn to page six and seven....' I prodded the paper to get my wifes attention, having to repeat this several times before her gaze lifted over the edge. I asked her for the pages to continue on with the story. She stared at me for a moment longer before retreating back to whatever it was she was reading.
Pissed off I opened my mouth to say something scathing, when she cut me off in mid intake -

“CONTINUED FROM PAGE ONE.... Some sort of animal was responsible, though the police spokeswoman would not rule out a human agency. When asked why they thought it was an animal this reporter was told that amoungst the desecrations, evidence of fur, or small clumps of hair, and what  would only be described as 'a substance' were scattered. What these were was not known at this time, as only a detailed forensic examination at the city labs could determine the origin of this evidence.....While the Vicar was unavailable for comment at the time, long term local residents were only too happy to voice their concern at such a disturbing event; the second in four weeks, while some of the younger members of the public seemed more concerned about the churchyard no longer being available. When this reporter suggested that the park might be a more suitable place, the reply....”

“Second event?” I asked, bewildered.
“No, you wouldn't know. You were all too busy with your friend to notice what was going on around you.!”
she shut her eyes for a moment, before continuing.
“I'm taking Tanya to nursery, then the two of us need to talk.”
In one movement she got to her feet and lifted our daughter from the high chair. She got such a fright that she dropped what was left of her toast then burst into tears, her sad little face vanishing behind my wifes shoulder as they left me on my lonesome.
I dont know how long I sat there, feeling as usless as a third leg. It was definatly more than ten minits, that I know because I was given another brief tirade before my wife left with Tanya, now bright eyed and rosy cheeked, ready for another morning of play, and that creation takes at least ten minits. What I mean to say is that I continued on in my stupour for some unmarked length of time after that, the stupour being the result of the night before, coffee or atmosphere, or all three combined.
What I wanted was a drink,
It was the last thing I needed.
Shit.
I got up from my chair, backs of my legs hitting the seat and sending it sprawling into a kitchen unit. The only reason I knew this had happened was because my ears heard the crash, and my mind filed it away somewhere at the back. Unconcerned with such trivialities, I had a mission. To get the partly empty bottle of vodka from under the sink where I had planked it, and to get royally ratarsed. If  my wife was goiung to get verbal when she got home I may as well hit my head off the proverbial brick wall before it to numb myself. Nothing else mattered.

Again, time rubbered. When I awoke later it was early evening. No hangover this time though. Hair of the dog must have worked (the only time it ever did) so that I was greatful for.
 I lay back on the kitchen floor and the realisation that I was alone sunk in.
Not sure if I was greatful, or worried I got to my feet, replaced the chair under the table, then started tyding up the breakfast things, all the while keeping my mind as steady as possible, constantly batting away the notion that she had finally got fed up with me and had left, going, where? To her mothers? Her mother had been deceased since before I had met her, father too. She was the only survivor of a small, one child family. She had told me this one night, not long after we had met.
It had to be close friends then. She could strop for a few days at one of their houses, either that or she would be home tonight, standing on the doorstep all toustled and angry, brimstone red and sexy as hell. So convinced I was at this vision I actually saw her standing on the step when I answered the summons that came half an hour later, all perfect, the way I had imagined. Until it spoke.
'I missed your ug'mug at work today, but, sorry, not that much, I take it the good lady isn't home by your expectant expression. Sorry to dissapoint you there Jim'
'It's been a long day' I replied.
'I see..' he shook an unseen bag at his side. Bottles clinked.' Hair of the dog?'
'That would be hair of the dog that was the hair of the dog'
'Sometimes you talk complete pish.'
I laughed at his directness. I have known Gary for fourteen years and he could still left field me. It was one of the things I liked about him.
'I know what I mean Gaz' He hated that name, would punch anyone else who called him it, but it was accepted as part of our camraderee. After all, he started it.'Seriously though. She is due home anytime soon, both you and I know how bad that would be if you were here.'
He nodded 'Well, if she has finally seen sense and left you know where I am'
'Will do. See you in work Monday'
'See you..' he turned to go. Then stopped ' That reminds me. They needed you in today,incident, tried to phone you but it kept ringing out'
'Mobile must have been on silent. Slept like a log'
'Sure....no clue what happened myself but...ah well. Youll find out next week' Gary spread both arms wide and declared at the world in general in his best polititan voice' I'm quite right it believing it will be in all the papers tommorow!' then he chuckled to himself.
'Well I will be sure and buy a copy'
'Be sure you do bud'
I shut the door on his retreating form, then locked it, not knowing why. But I had an idea she wasnt coming home tonight. Not that I was feeling any loss for her, at least at that point. My biggest concern was for my daughter, Tanya. She would be fine I knew, but, I missed her, and I knew she would be missing me, wondering where her daddy was in amongst all these people; whoever they were, wherever they were. A wrench indeed, for both of us. I cursed my wife several times for this, more to make myself feel better than of any real conviction. In retrospect I knew fully well whose fault it was, and what she was doing, the message clear and precise; strait to the heart. If I didnt mend my ways, and now, then it would not just be me that suffered, it would be our daughter as well. I would loose them both and they would loose me. I understood clear as day, but the problem was, it didnt feel real. There was still that part of me that denied I had a problem, was the problem; the cause for the breakdown. It was the same voice that turned me into a liar when I had made all those promises to my wife that I would change, the voice that told me I could handle it, that I could stop anytime I wanted and that a drink or two with friends like..well..Gary for instance was perfectly natural, especially now since I was taking on more responsibilities at work. In fact I was entitled  to continue on because I had more responsibilities and pressure. Drink helped unwind me at the end of the day.
But it had also caused this pain in my heart.
I decided that the best way to start was to simplify things and work from there. It boiled down to two simple facts: She wasnt coming home, and I was angry. Then: Why was I angry? Because she wasnt coming home with our daughter and I felt hurt because of it. I wanted to drown my sorrows because I was upset, but that was the problem that had caused all of this in the first place. So, after a moments thought I angrily stomped into the kitchen, opened out all my hidey holes where I had hidden bottles or cans, then with much fury poured the lot down the sink.
It wasnt easy, but I did manage in the end to get rid of everything, using fierce emotion to drive me to the end of my task. Once it was done I let go, everything coming out at once in a flood of tears. I was still needing my poison I knew, but the out pouring lessend it somehow, as if I was being cleansed by the crying, taking all the energy from me and pushing everything out and away. By the end of it I could hardly stand, never mind drag myself back upstairs to bed. The sofa in the livingroom would have to do, and it wasn't as if we were strangers together., many a lonely night I have spent there with pillows over me; a cover if my wife was feeling generous, which was seldom nowadays.
Falling, a dead weight, I did my usual and buried into the cusions. There would be no cover tonight, so it was best to get comfy as possible. Dig down like an animal and sleep as best I could, an extra advantage of my covering being sound proofing as well as light proofing. Would probably be woken up in the morning by a rump, or child landing on me. Again, not for the first time, but welcome when it did. Before I knew it, all would be back to normal. Except I couldn't sleep.
It's that feeling you get when you are cozied down, ready to drift off, when, for some unknown reason your mind hits high gear. Thoughts, worries and any other stuff as important start shifting through your brain; a bad movie that is all action but no sense. Everything is unrelated except for the fact that it is keeping you awake. Everything from the day plus stuff about work kept rest at bay. I tried all the usual methods. Relaxing as best I could, tensing and relaxing each muscle in my body, starting from my legs and working my way up. I got to my upper arms when I couldn't fool myself any more. It wasn't working. So I tried counting sheep, again to no avail, the look my wife had given Tanya when she made that noise only this morning kept flashing before me, putting my count off. I was so desperate to get some shut eye that I even tried just letting my head do what it needed, actually paying attention to these things to see if it would help. It didn't really, but I was starting to get a rhythm going and relaxing when something heavy hit my front door with a crash that rattled the frame. That threw things out again and I was considering just getting up and dealing with it when something else hit the window.
I lay there, awake but scared. Lord knows I can admit that now. I was scared shitless, frozen in the midst of a couch, hoping that what ever was out there would go away and leave me alone, my heart thumping in my chest and something else thumping in my head. Tiredness I suppose.
So there I was. Tired, wide awake and scared. It's no wonder I felt relief when the sky outside finally did begin to lighten.
Sure that whatever had been outside had gone away I roused myself from my paralysis. A new day had begun, the rest of my life to make amends with my family and be the father I should have been years ago. The going would be tough I knew but in the end it would be worth it. Being awake and sober for her coming home would be the right start, to show as I mean to go on.
So with this in mind I tidied up the previous nights mess, then went upstairs to shower and shave

When she finally did come home I was under the kitchen sink fixing a slow leak I had just found earlier.
'I found that hidey hole. Threw it out'
I twisted around as far as I could to answer her, making the decision to be polite for the time being.
' I'm tightening the U bend pipe to stop a leak'
'Good to see you got around to it. Place has been wet for weeks'
Again I had a quick answer for that, but decided to be a gentelman.
'Well, got it now' I replied, keeping my tone as steady as I could. Whether she noticed or not I couldnt tell. Her pose remained relaxed, arms folded.
'Where have you been?'
'We need to talk Jim'
I knew it was coming. The full story and ultimatum. Me or the drink Jim, you choose, and I'm not expecting to stay much longer
I knew what I was going to say to that, but decided to keep my mouth shut a while longer to see what happened.
'Tanya is with Doreen. We stayed the night.'
Ahh, Doreen, of course! The old bitch would be playing a merry tune to this!
'Didn't you hear me Jim? I said we were at Doreen's last night, and we need to talk!'
'So talk.'
She threw her arms up in frustration. If I was quick I could keep the advantage.
'You talk and I will listen to what you have to say. Then I will talk and you will listen. Is that not the way these things work?'
'I don't know who you are anymore James'
I stood up, leaning against the worktop still drying my hands with the cloth
'That's the point.'
Seeing that things were beginning to go south, I knew I had to do something, and fast.
'Look' I said 'I have had a busy day and I am a bit tired..'
This seemed to work. Her pose had relaxed again. So far so good.
' I know that I have not been the best father and husband for a good few years now. So If you need to go then go. I'll not stop you'
She hesitated before answering
'You said father first then husband'
'What has that got to do with it?' I asked, genuinely flumoxed
She shook her head.
'Probably means nothing. Just thinking aloud'
She turned and went upstairs. I listened to her tread, slow and heavy as I chewed over what she had said, a sense that she was making a point and not just throwing a curve ball to get the last word in; as women as more want than not. The meaning however escaped me. Was she pointing out that I had put Tanya before her? That I loved my daughter more than my wife? It seemed redicilous to me then as it does now. But there was real sadness in that one statement, a shadow that lay near to her soul, and I didn't have a clue what it was. Still, I am a man. We are not meant to know these things, only another woman would understand these intricases. Like Doreen.
That woman was a bane ever since we met. She never liked me for some reason, and was not above voicing her disapproval. My wife mentioned one night that the reason was because her own husband drank himself to death, not after a long miserable marrage. Miserable for her, not him. I remember asking what that had to do with me, and she had said that she had no idea, then changed the subject, the current one obviously having run its course.
So in that respect it seemed fitting that the bitch should be involved when my own relationship came to a conclusion, better than hers, but no less difficult for everyone involved.
In saying that, the anomoly was that I wasn't really sad when the decision had been finally made. Didn't feel anything, just numb, emotionally as well as physically. I would feel it later on, just as the heat from the water I now had my hands in, would register , sooner than later, though no less painfull. Just now though there was only that numbness where everything went in, but nothing registered.
I would have expected the heat to burn through first, even put a bet on it. Money lost.
It was the sound of a suitcase being dropped on the hall carpet, then the hot water.
My wife said something behind me, her voice lost in the sound of gurgling, rushing water, giving me an excuse to ignore her. She repeated herself, one word, which I heard clearly the second time.
'Goodbye'

2
My new job started on Monday, but I was feeling restless, so instead I went in on Sunday, partly because I needed something to do, that was one reason, the other was that I was interested in what Gary had told me the night before, or, didn't tell me. Just as well I did.
I was told by the day manager, that a large animal had aledgedly attacked a member of the workforce while he was having a fag break at the back door, a bear, they were told, that had been rooting through the meat bins just as he turned up, then decided that the young man was the easier target, rather than try to make it's way through the heavy lid. The young man, a fulltime worker we called Pickle, threw his petrol lighter at the beast and dived indoors, pulling the door behind him so that it slammed shut. The beast that threw itself against the door twice before running away. When questioned about this as to how he knew that the animal was a wolf he had looked at the person who was asking, as if he was an idiot before replying that whatever had hit the door those two times had nearly taken the thing off the himges and if you dont believe me then go and have a fucking gander yourself.
Pickle had been sent home early to get some mandatory rest for a few days. When he refused to go himself one of the other workers volenteered to drive the boy home. I asked if the door had been checked. The manager shrugged, replying that he had been busy with other, more important things that evening, having to stay on because they were short staffed, so someone else would probably have looked in on the damage, if indeed there was any. Probably not, was more likely. Pickle was a notorious practical joker, people had learned not to take him seriously, or, if they did, not for long. I had my own run in with his sense of humour five years ago when I first started working at the plant. No one had bothered to warn me. But I suppose it was a kind of initiation thing, the workers expected it, but nobody did anything because he made the nightshift more bearable. A pain in the ass at times, but, up until tonight, a harmless clown.

The absense of frivolity, for the first half  of the shift, coupled with the lack of work, drew the evening out into one long drudge. I kept myself as busy as I could, which was surprisingly difficult, even with the day manager gone there was more or less nothing to do. I spent the first eight hours talking to staff, checking the warehouse inventory, then, sat in the office, twiddling my thumbs and not thinking about my own problems that awated me when I got home. I had forgotten all about the backdoor until about three in the morning when one of the leading hands on the Herbert Packer, informed me that Pickle, aka Chrstopher Cummings, was sitting alone in the restaurant.
Glad for the distraction I pulled myself up out of my chair, which had begun to be too comfortable, to see what needed to be done. The staff resteraunt was at the back of the plant, but only accessable from a stairway at the front, so, even reminded of what I was told earlier, I didn't have a chance to check the door. It would, I supposed as I climbed the last set of stairs, have to be dealt with at some point. Even if there was nothing to it, it was health and safety, as well as basic security, to make sure no one could get in that way. There was thousands of pounds worth of meat in the fridges; or ice vaults as they were refered to by staff, any theft would cause a significant dent in the profit margin, which could cost jobs. The first one to go being me, because it was part of my new job to make sure the place was secure.
I promised that the door would be next on the list as soon as I had dealt with whatever Chris was up to. I had an idea that it might all be an elaborate prank, not expecting to find what I did when I came into the room.
He sat with his back to me, staring out the window.
'Why are you back at work?'
no answer.
'Pickle! I really cant be arsed with your childishness tonight!'
I walked towards his, fully intending to chew the git out.
'For fucksake Chris! What the hell..
'Did you check the door?' he spoke softly, calmly.
'What door would that be Chris?'
'The backdoor. Did you check it?'
'Yes. It's fine,'
'You lie. Lier, Lier pants on fire.'

What do you say to that?

'I was attacked by an animal outside, and they think I am being funny.'
Pickle lifted his hand from under the table, the gun in his tight grip roughly the size of a truck.
'Do you think I am being funny Mr Pike?'
'No, Christopher. I do not think you are being funny. In fact...'I struggled to get the words out. Shock had pushed my balls into my throat and I was trying to swallow them back down '..You seem a very serious individual who has a genuine complaint to make. Give me the gun and I will look into the matter with my fullest attention.'
'Are you patronising me, Mr Pike?'
Then he told me something totally unexpected. He told me that when he was a child he used to dream about werewolves, sorry, shapeshifters. There is a difference, Vampires and something called a watcher. This wrong footed me for a moment. But it didn't matter. In the next breath he went back to the subject at hand.
'Ok. I suppose not. You might be a boss now, but we were always friends, right? Right!'
He nodded, affirming the fact to himself that he was talking to one of the lads. Pickle lowered the gun to the table, knuckles changing back to their origional colour as he did. I could actually see his grip relaxing. Danger passed I covered the rest of the space between us and sat, slowly, in the chair across from him, all the while keeping a close eye on him. I would reach for the gun and hide it out the way as soon as I felt comfortable enough to do so. In the mean time I kept him talking.
'Tell me about your dream Pickle.' I asked
'Its started again. Not much sleep'
Now that I was across from his I could see his face, pale and haggard. Stare blank. I wasn't sure about his reasons, though he defenatly looked as if he had missed a lot of rest lately.
'Same as when I was a boy. Death and sand. Lots and lots of sand.....Then a man....but not a man....they call him Sire....and a dog....but not a dog, his queen....Shapeshifter, not werewolf...he hates werewolves....and I watch...have to watch....he sees me and smiles....whispers something to the dog, that is not a dog.....It comes towards me....towards me, growling...teeth...I cant move.'
Pickle put both his hands over his face and repeats:
'I can't move. But I can watch. Have to watch.'
After about a few seconds he turned his face towards the window again, hands still in the same place.
There was a creak of hinges as someone came into the room. I hoped it wasn't anyone important.
'Steph told me that you were up here with Pickle. Everything ok?'
'Everythings fine Gary. Could you do me a favour and stay with Chris just now? I have to check something.'
'Sure...you alright? You look like you need a stiff one.'
'Just keep an eye on him, don't let him go anywhere.'
I left the deserted staffroom, right hand deep in my overall pocket. Nobody needed to know what had happened in there but me and Pickle, and I am sure he wasnt about to say anything.
The office was on route to where I was going, so I placed the gun in a desk drawer and locked it, breaking on of the plant rules for the first time since I started: taking the key with me. I wasn't ready to believe the wolf thing, at least at that point, but I did have a responsibility to the poor man, who had obviously been scared by something. No way was he playing around. Someone who brings a cannon like that one to work, obviously means to use it. I hoped that there was something in this, for Pickles sake.

My heart was pounding in my chest by the time I got round back. Through exertion or anticipation I had no idea. So I took time out before I inspected the exit door. When I did, I reaslised that we had a big problem. There was a young man upstairs who was seriously ill, who had just brought a large sidearm into a place of employment. The backdoor was both shut tight and obviously solid on it's hinges. I would have to make a report on this before the police were called, so, as a matter of thouroughness I pulled the bar up and pushed. It opened as smoothly as I had expected. Cold air flooding into my nostrils bringing with it the scents of damp grass and stillness. As it had been quiet, and the bins had been cleaned out yesterday by the hygene team, there was no smell at all of the bins, even though the heavy lid was hanging back, the cleaners had done a thourough job with only a faint smell of bleach belieing anything.
I stepped outside breathing in this heady mix, pulling my thoughts together in preperation for the mess later. I felt sorry for the boy, but was annoyed at him at the same time. Why could he not have stayed home, rather that come in and cause all this mess. Great first day.
Well, may as well get started.
Rather than go strait back in I decided that a little stroll would be in order to kind of delay what I had to do, so a walk around the building seemed the best bet. The front doors would be locked at this time, but the security guard would let me in: he knew me and I knew him, so that was decided. First though I would have to make sure thgis door was shut tight against the dark. I chuckled at this as I pulled the door over. It moved easily under my touch, and the momentum was sufficient for it to continue it's journey and lock as all the strength left my arm when I saw what was srcatched deep into the blue painted wood on the outside.

There was no report, no police, no mess of any kind. We gave turns staying with Chris, making sure he done nothing stupid. I kept the gun he had brought in the locked drawer until about half an hour before finishing, when the bosses came in. Pickle was taken home about half five in the morning, driven home by a concerned collegue. The shifts rotated: night to day, and I went home.

I got in about seven. Not really tired, more numb from events, as well as my discovery that Pickle had told the truth: four, foot long claw marks etched deep into the backdoor, the physical evidence that there was more in the world than I had dreamed of..yadda, yadda. You get the idea. In case this wasnt enough, my own experience tied in with Pickles account of something hitting the door. I had checked my own front door for marks, remembering the force with the impact. No claw marks, but definite compromise in the hinges area. There was also a crack in the safety glass of the small window that would tesify to the force.
The weight in my pocket, warm now from my body heat, started to feel better than it had this morning.


I was in the shower when I remembered that there had been another incident, my wifes sarcastic remark about me not knowing clear in my minds ear.
Curious I dried off and went into the study to see if I could find mention of anything else on the internet. As an article in the paper had started this I thought that it would be a good idea to start at the newspapers website.
Sure enough, seven issues back I found what I was looking for: Farmers in the local area had made several reports of a large animal seen by family members while out in the fields, One account of the sighting saying that while the beast would have been a good way off it was still seen to be at least five foot tall. How this exact height was known was not divulged, but it was made clear by the witnesses that any infringement on their livelyhood, i.e. death of livestock, would be dealt with using a gun.
I could understand that.
Animal or no animal, I still had my own problems to deal with. So I shut down the computer and dialled a number on my mobile that I had been meaning to use for a while. It rang out, either because the house was still asleep, or that there was caller ID on the other end, showing the number of the last person they wanted to talk to.
Either way I left it, fully meaning to try again later, try and smooth things over, or, if I was lucky fix this whole damn mess. Time for a concentrated effort on my part, even though I had no clue where to start. If I wasn't able to get hold of my wife to talk, then what?
I lay my head back against the wall, feeling the coolness sink into my feavered brain, not making the slightest difference to it. I knew that I would get no sleep that day, not that I intended to sleep much anyway, but maybe a few hours shut eye would help bring matrters into a clearer light when I awoke later. My watch said half past eight, so the corner shop would be open: Ifran would not be able to sell any alcohol before ten, but as a loyal and trusted friend he could 'lend' me a bottle until later. I would fall off the wagon for an hour or so, sleep it off, then phone her again, the advantage of holding the conversation over a wire evident after drinking, then sleeping it off. Well, it was a start, of sorts. One I was happy enough with to impliment strait away, all going well, until I found that I was plus one gun. That could have been embarassing if I had walked into the shop with that. So I came back via the closest point, which was the garden, put the gun safely away in the kitchen drawer and walked back out, locking the door, rattling the handle afterward, which was my custom, then gladly jumped.
It was ten to nine, the school bell  in the village center rang its pall out loud, over the fields.

The traffic was sparse, so I made very good time there. Ifran was through the back, his wife Roxy on the till, so I had to wait a while for my rental.
Agreement made I left in high spirits, so to speak, flying home on empty roads I arrived back with all the details of my plan of action for the day worked out. First phone. If no answer, then drink and bed. If answer and bad response then drink and bed. I was ready for both scenarios. The third, positive one I could play by ear and do my best. Then the bottle could go under the sink, unopened and ready for return to Ifran's shelves. He would take it back, unopened. I knew that for a fact.
That was the plan. In retrospect I should have known things had gone way beyond my control. I remember coming home and finding the back door slightly ajar. I can see my hand placing the bottle that I now have before me; half full, on the counter, the other one, left, opening the drawer and pulling out the gun.
Next, I am halfway upstairs, not knowing how I got there, all but focusing on the sounds coming from our bedroom, russtling and a kind of wet snorting. Maybe breathing, I dont know, didnt care. Someone was in my house, going through my stuff.
It occurs to me that it might be my wife. Sarah. That was her name, Sarahh. Home to pick up more of her and Tanyas things. That didnt feel right though. For one, why would the noises suddenly stop when I was nearly at the top?
I call out. Voice loud, meeting the silence. I called again, from the hall. I see movement in my room. A shadow. Shape. I dont know, cant see properly because the curtains had not been opened this morning. Or was it overcast? Light had suddenly left the day. Probably rain.
I lift the gun.
The thing in the room growles, a low menacing sound that freezes the spine.
Then a blur, and I fire.
Twice.
One of the bullets goes wide, way off the mark, but the second finds home, burrowing itself in the things eye, pushing through, then exiting out the back of the triangular head in an explosion of fur, bone and blood, the mess hitting the back wall around the same time the beast hits the floor. Or person. I dont know what I hit, but before me lies the bady of an elderly woman, naked and covered in gore. Doreen.
The world goes grey. I begin to pass out, when the second animal behind me makes its intention clear.
I know I am a goner. I am fading fast, head spinning as I go down, hitting the floor hard enough to clatter my teeth, chipping one. All I am aware of is a crunch in my mouth and a flare of heat and noise as the gun goes off again.

TO BE CONTINUED-->

Pagan Ties

None, will ye be more disappointed than her, blood without, a son.
Tyme passeth, blood within as prodigy returneth to her as a child, no idea, no need for heritage, until green turneth brown and the hand passeth on...

Brown and green were never her favourite colours.
Whenever her parents visited with her gran in the country she always made it plain that she wasn't happy. even as a young girl four or five she would kick and scream as much as possible until either they gave in, or, which was more often than not she tired herself out and fell asleep for the journey there. In this instance her grandmother would take pity on her and put her in her own bed. she would instantly cuddle down into the eiderdown and fall sound asleep, to awaken, a good while later either on the way home, or in her own bed in the morning.
This went on until her auntie mentioned one day, when she was about eleven, how unnatural all this was, this falling asleep and staying asleep for hours on end just wasn't healthy. Asleep during the day and up all night, why, it would seriously damage her metabolism. and she should know. she was a nurse!
well. an auxiliary nurse, but the sentiment was the same. Get the girl checked out.
so they did.
The doctor examined her, and spoke to the parents before giving his diagnosis of a little drama queen, nothing more. she was tiring herself out with all the polava and sleeping it off.
Once this had been established they breathed a sigh of relief. There was only one thing they could do. from then on in the gran visited them at their house, and lo and behold everything was fine.
This carried on for five more years until the gran took ill and had to be placed in a nursing home. stress for all involved, and the parents feared a relapse in her behaviour. since the gran had been visiting them the two of them had bonded and became very close. An event like this could set the girl back.
She, however surprised them all.
The girl, now sixteen was very amicable when she was informed of the decision, When they all went in to visit her for the first time she gave her gran a big hug and promised her, in front of everyone present, as well as two care attendants, that she would visit her every weekend, Saturday or Sunday. Her gran hugged her back and told her that she knew she would, an optimism that was not felt by everyone. but the girl made good. In there, every weekend like clockwork, sometimes on her days off as well (by that time she had begun her first job. a local convenience store owned by a Swedish company) Right up until the day she died.
By the time the end came she was twenty two, working for her father as an assistant, and living in her own flat right in the middle of the town where they stayed. As far away from the countryside as possible. The funeral was announced in the local paper, in case she had any friends who wanted to pay their last respects to the old girl. It was just one of the things you always did. A half hearted minor chore that went with everything else you did when organising these things. her father did not really expect anyone to turn up, even having the funeral as a small affair, showing this opinion, so it was no wonder that neighbouring car parks were over flowing, the people that came in the cars and buses crowding the small garden of remembrance and the road outside. The family didn't know where they all came from, not even knowing who most of them were. but they were happy, if a little shocked at the monstrous turnout.
The day after the funeral she finally entered her grandmothers cottage, for the first time under her own will. her mother was going to be the one to tie up the affairs, but at the last moment her father took ill and had to be rushed to the hospital. So rather than have her mother run herself into the ground, running about like a headless chicken, she offered to take care of things. Her mother didn't even argue. (having looked after the cottage for all those years she was happy to pass on the responsibility) She thanked her daughter and promised to keep her informed of her dads condition. They kissed and parted of the ways. the mother went in with the ambulance and the daughter drove her car in the opposite direction.
That day the breeze was slight, but you didn't really notice it until you came away from the stone buildings. She had her window open up until then, so it was the movement of the trees that made her aware of the weather other than feeling it against her face as she drove. Experiencing nature through a window rather than up close and personal. This suited her just fine. This was the way she liked it. She hadn't told anyone why she had hated the country so much as a child, and still did, but the reason was simple enough. It smelled and was dirty. This may have been snobbishness in other children, but she genuinely did not like any of this. The smell made her feel sick to her stomach, and the thought of the dirt made her skin itch. Without all this things would be fine. were fine. even the twisting trees had a kind of hypnotic beauty about them. Colours of sunlight alternating swiftly with the earthy tones, making a kind of hum in her mind. not an unpleasant hum either, a soothing calming noise that was almost hypnotic to her. It felt like a power line above her was giving off a kind of greasy feeling to the air, making it vibrate with a frequency that was making her drowsy...making her fall asleep...
Almost of its own accord her foot jumped on the break, sending a shudder through the car as it skidded to a halt She shot forward in her seat, seatbelt jamming up tight, stopping her from serious injury.
She sat there for a moment. Bent forward, breathing heavily. She could feel every tendon in her body screaming with adrenalin. Her foot was still pressing down on the brake, the first limb she would move in these moments after the near accident. She would then slip her hands from the wheel, small dents in the leather where her nails had dug into it, to her lap where they would remain for a time. The muscles in her neck would seem to creak loudly in her ears as she lifted her head up, eye line climbing up the dashboard, along the bonnet,

..the doe shall appear, unafraid..

and to a white deer that stood there. Their gazes locked, her blue eyes to the animals dark, almost black ones.
Then the spell would be broken as the animal turned away with a flick of its tail and disappeared into the woods.
She would be left with the odd feeling that she had just been told off by her grandmother.

After the near accident she paid more attention to the road, reducing her speed considerably and trying not to hear the subtle noise that was still with her, much reduced, but audible. It didn't worry as much as it should as it was with her before the accident, so it wasn't anything that should need the attention of a doctor. So she drove on and eventually it became so distant that she was not even aware of it any more. Further along the road, not far from her destination another animal, this time a rabbit crossed the road in front of her,

Then a second shall pass, not as it appears,..

because she was going at a slower speed there was plenty of time to stop a reasonable distance from it. the rabbit paused for a moment as if weighing her up, then turned tail and vanished back the way it had come. The woman shook her head bemused before crossing the stone bridge that would take her into the village where her gran had lived most of her life.
The front door wasn't locked so she let herself in, taking her boots off at the door out of habit and respect for her grandmothers memory, and laying them on the mat under the empty coat hooks. She didn't even think about how easy it had been to get into the house. there were crooks and petty thieves in the area, but, by the quick inventory and room check she did, none had entered. She had the feeling that they hadn't even come close to the cottage. it felt safe somehow. secure. She remembered when she was very young they had stayed overnight one weekend. That had been the one time she had woken up during the night, with a big storm blowing outside. The wind howling at full voice and the rain battering itself against her bedroom window. She had cried out and her grandmother had appeared instantly, as if she had been waiting just outside the room. The girl had cried, afraid of the noise, her grandmother holding her in a warm embrace, running her fingers lightly back and forth through the girls hair. She had told her the tale of the wild hunt that night, and how it was a great spirit who had, in the olden days protected villages and made sure that if anyone had died that they would be taken to the Summer lands in a great host. A bit like the Valkyries of Viking mythology. The girl had asked if the summer lands were in heaven and if the wild hunt were angels like the ones that took granddaddy. The old woman had laughed, saying that heaven was the summer lands, and that yes, they were like angels. The girl had then snuggled back down into the covers and fell asleep with her gran watching over her.
The woman smiled at this memory, thinking about how trusting the young were. still, it must have had some effect on her. She could still feel a kind of protection around the place. Safe.
Well, all this reminiscing wasn't getting the job done she had come here to do.
She hung up her coat, a shiny skin alone on the rack of hooks, and pulled on her house shoes; a pair of comfortable loafers, deciding as she did so that the best place to start was the master bedroom. No particular reason, it was as good a place to start as any.

Shelving filled three walls of the room, the only wall that was bare being the one upon which the bed was jammed up against. Then again the headboard took up most of that space, with a framed brass pressing of a cart and horse taking up the remainder. All the time she had spent in here and she still didn't know what the wall paper looked like,
having only the spines of books to look at. she had memorised each and every one; the authors names and titles. Names like Waite and Gardner; titles such as THE BOOK OF THE LAW and THE SEA PRIESTESS (that one was by a woman called Dion Fortune. the girl who had read this didn't know who he or she was, but she liked the name and promised herself to ask her gran if she could read it. She had woken up later, the idea completely gone until she was halfway home in the car, by then it was too late and she just didn't bother even asking her parents. They went kind of funny when she asked them about gran, clamming up instantly, or changing the subject.) as well as others she couldn't even read. Ones with funny letters she hadn't been taught in school. When she thought about it now it did seem a bit odd that she had a fascination for what was on the shelves, but as a kid she had never took one down. She might have been told at one point that she wasn't to touch, but it felt like a false memory Not to be trusted, so it probably wasn't true.
Whatever had stopped her from handling the books didn't seem to be there any more. Her curiosity was full blown, fingers actually itching to feel the exotic paper, Paper that actually seemed to hum as she looked over them again. She began to feel the strange feeling she had in the car earlier. The thrumming of some sort of electricity as it passed overhead, or underfoot. Wherever it originated from she gave herself over to it, not afraid, but nervous, as if something was about to happen.
She found the book that had stuck in her mind as a child and pulled it free from its place leaving a crisp gap between the two volumes at either side. A gap that you could have drawn with a ruler then coloured in using a black permanent marker. She read the title again, for the first time seeing it on the front, her fingers, still tingling, running softly over the raised letters that stood proud above a illustration of a woman of indeterminate age, standing with her hands raised against a fat moon. the wind was obviously blowing as the garment she wore seemed to ripple about her, clinging in some places while billowing out in others., her minds ear giving the movement a silky rippling sound as the priestess chanted verse and rhyme, an ancient rite to call down the moon, while her followers whispered in musical voices, prayer to Aradia, the Goddess who presided with them.
The woman placed her hand over the book and closed her eyes, opening them a moment later.
No. She could not start this now. she had a job to do and do it she must.
Carefully she pressed the thin volume back into its place, intending to come back to it when she had finished. But it was as if the book did not want to go back in. She had pushed it in just over half way when it stuck.
Puzzled, she pulled it back out and reached into the gap to find out what was stopping it from going right in. The woman found the culprit after some searching and pulled out a small thick, leather bound note book which had obviously been there for some time.
Curious she opened it to the first page. On it was written, in her grandmothers fine handwriting her own name (she and her grandmother shared the same name) a date, which looked to be over thirty years old, and three other words
Book Of Shadow.
The woman began to turn the pages of this notebook that had her name in it.

..............................................

She slid the book back into its place in the book shelf.
It had been four weeks since she had moved into the cottage, her own meagre belongings still in their boxes, filling a corner of the living room. The only exception was the laptop, open but sleeping on the bed she now used. There was a desk in the room, its old wood nearly petrified to stone, inkwell long since dry to powder. she would have used it, but she was more comfortable sitting on the floor where she could just reach up and grab the next book while she was reading them. They fascinated her, drawing her into another world which she hadn't been aware of. An invisible world full of exotic creatures and powerful women, with wicked men. It could have been her own story, bar the creatures (come to think of it now, she did know one or two of those as well) with a twist that could make you dizzy. Except it couldn't. Not to her any way. It kind of felt right. like the time her first visitor appeared at her door, seeming to want something, only after a few awkward minits did she realise that this person thought she was a witch, like her gran.
She understood that now. Her gran had been the village wise woman, looking after the health and well being of the villagers. It fitted with the fact that no one had come into the cottage while it had been empty. They had been scared.
Annie had read the book of shadows again, this time with a bit of knowledge from the books; she had been about halfway through them at the time, and understood it a lot better now. Her visitor had been mentioned in passing and Annie could understand how the man had seemed a bit nervous. He had been needing certain ointment that her gran kept in the cupboard in the kitchen, along with many other such things. So the next time the man came to her she would know exactly what he was looking for. Which he did the next day, same time. Annie had given him the jar along with an understanding smile, and he had scampered; politely, but as quick as he could. She had shut the door and laughed quietly until her sides hurt. Then she made herself some tea and went back to reading.
This seemed to open some sort of flood gate. After this incident more people came to her looking for some item or other. ointments, elixirs potions, all were listed under the peoples names and in the right place on the storage shelf, and area that, as time went on became emptier and emptier. At the back of her mind she always knew she would run out. Now it was actually happening she started to panic. With no let up in the stream of people she had to do something. Again the book came to her aid. with ingredients and methods listed at the back she attempted her own home made concocting.
The first return customer appeared soon after she began, her first customer with the embarrassing problem. Annie was shocked by the quickness he had come back, thinking that at least she would have a few days more at least, considering what the lotion was for. She had to tell him to come back later that day and she would have things ready.
He returned later, bag of apples in one hand and a plastic bottle of what she considered as Cider in the other. They exchanged items wordlessly and he left. Annie wondering how well she had done, and how she could get away at a moments notice if she had to.
It didn't take long to find out.
When she saw his outline through the doors frosted glass an hour later her heart sank. It was time to go.
Annie turned away, hoping against hope that she hadn't been seen. He called her name and she knew the game was up. It was just as well that she never took any money. A bottle of Cider and a bag of apples could be given back, no problem, apart from the one she had eaten while reading her current book.
Well. She would answer him and get it over with.
'Wait a minit' she called, composing herself enough.
'Its aright miss' came the unexpected answer 'I'll just leave the pie at the door. No one will touch it and you can get it when your decent. The missus says thanks and is looking forward to having you as our new witch'
The figure bent down, (she remembered his name. Frank Platter. Married to Sylvia) putting something; the pie she presumed, on the door stoop, straitened up, and moved away. Annie was sure she could hear his whistling.
Well, that's dinner sorted out for tonight, she thought bemused.

The rest of that day she took off. Books and pie kept her company until about nine, when cider invited itself to the gathering. It was welcomed with open arms and raised glasses through until the plastic bottle was empty. Everything went down well. She wasn't sure if it was the local ingredients, or of a secret method, but by the time she went to bed the cider and pie had all but gone. Annie retired to bed drunk and happy. Tomorrow was another day. A day to start getting herself together now that some important decisions were made. For one thing her dad would have to be told of her decision to stay here. Things had really changed, she had changed. Country life seemed so much more comfortable that her own current one. Less stress. Less mortgage. Annie didn't think earning a living here would be a problem. She was more or less pushed into the job of looking after the local populace, and they seemed to like her and would honour an agreement made god only knows how many centuries ago, so it was more or less a done deal.
Annie slipped into sleep, dreams of witches and potions filling her mind, and in her unconscious mind she knew she had come home.
A muffled thump and a puff of dust, smoothly and easily, paper against paper. She gave the last book a final nudge to set it home.
The book in its place she gathered up her notes and laptop, piling both on the bed until there was time to sort it all out. Looking at the mess she wondered if her gran would approve of how she was doing, of what she was doing. The entire collection of books read, important stuff noted down, and cast aside. Never to be read again. She probably did, but it made no difference Annie decided. What was done was done.
The only thing to do now was what was to become of the library. Annie had no use for them now, but didn't feel that they were hers to give away. Somehow it felt that they belonged more to the cottage than the person that lived there. It was silly she knew, but it felt about right, and if there was one thing she had learned after she had taken over the position was that it made sense to go with your gut rather than your head.
So the books were to remain where they were. Ready for the next tennent who would undoubtedly take over from her when she died. Preferably far into the future.
Anne ran her fingers along the edge of the shelf, feeling the now familiar tingle of power, thus cementing her decision to keep the collection. The laptop and handwritten notes may be her own book of shadows, but this is where the true knowledge lay. In bound paper that didn't need batteries or operating systems to read. It was hard copy Hardcore hard copy
She giggled at this. Only part on the silliness, the other part was a light headedness that was beginning to cover her mind like a soft blanket. Safe and warm against the howling wind outside...
A ringing, not a howling...a bell...The doorbell!
Wrenching herself away from the lulling thrum of the wood she left the room to answer the front door, not knowing who it could be until she actually opened it. She had since put up a foil curtain in front of it to keep the draughts out, and the heat in. this she now pulled aside to find a dark shape filling her doorway. Annie opened the front door, a sigh escaping her as the man reached out.
'Hi dad'
'well? You going to keep your old man waiting here on the threshold of your new home, freezing his ass off?'
'Come in'
He did so, stamping his feet before hand so as not to dirty the carpet.
'Can't stay too long I'm afraid. Got some errands to run. But I'd like to know why my only daughter has not been at work for the past fortnight'
Annie didn't know what to say. Instead she just swept her arm around the hall.
He seemed to understand.
'Well, I'm sure your new clients will appreciate you more than our old ones'
She didn't know what to say. Throat closed up, voice strangled. He looked at her, his expression telling her all she needed to know.
'Still...he continued, seeming to cheer up..I know mum will be proud of you. You seem to have settled into the pointy hat of office'
Shock unlocked her mouth
'Where is mum' she asked, still trying to process all this new information.
'Gone to visit her sister for the weekend' he replied, attention focused on straitening a picture of a cat that hung on the wall.
'Our family has been helping this village for generations...he continued, attention still on the picture..I see you are surprised but..
'Surprised?!' she blurted out'
...but it is just how things are with us. I left when I was twenty, met your mum and had you. Ever wondered how you and your gran have the same name?'
She had. Several times in fact. But she took it as one of those family name things that sometimes happened.
'yes'
'Well now you have a better idea of things. It was all written down centuries by a particularly gifted ancestor, Riddus'
That name was familiar to her. She had read it in one of the books in the cottages library (the notion of things belonging to a building rather than a person had already found a comfortable niche in her mind) although the context escaped her.
'We made sure you were as close to your gran as possible and let things work themselves out, as we knew they would. Your mum..
'I know how my mum felt about it. I can remember'
'But she accepted it, grudgingly, as what needed to happen.'
' I know how you must be feeling..
'Please dad. Dont try second guessing me'
'Of course not'
'I'll phone you tomorrow'
'you sure you will be OK?
She nodded.
Her dad looked at her for a moment longer, seeming to tell if she was telling the truth, or just trying to get rid of him.
'What about you?'
'I'll survive'
Father and daughter stood facing each other a moment longer, trying to work out what each other was thinking. The throwaway comment about old clients he had said earlier had not been lost on her, tacking it to the 'I'll survive' that had just passed his lips and his pale complexion Annie knew that things were not good. Now she understood the purpose of his visit.
'Honestly dad. I'll be fine.' she smiled reassuringly 'I have lots to do today'
'If you are sure'
Her eyebrows went up. Her mothers expression.
'Right' he chuckled ' you are sure. I need to go now anyway. Important appointment.'
She opened the door for him, glad he could not see her face.
'No bother dad. Give mum my love when she gets back.'
'I will' He stepped outside 'Oh, by the way...she had just enough time to rearrange her features before he turned fully around...You will probably get an invite to attend a dinner from Ravencall manor at some point this week. I cant stress enough that you should not, under any circumstances go. OK?'
'OK dad'
'well. Bye, see you soon enough punkin'
He turned away again and began making his way up the path.
Annie did not answer him. Instead she watched him leave her garden, a young boy walking in the opposite direction called to him
'Evening Mr Wych'
'Good evening Samuel. Your dad got some Cider in'
'Yep. Pressed em myself yesterday. Want to keep you some?'
'That would be great. Swing around to your place later on. Blessed be Sam.'
'Blessed Be Mr Wych'


The door shut behind her, her kick of such force as to cause the jamb to lock itself. Jars rattled and a coat fell from its hook. Her anger at her parents rippled through the small building in a wave that faded as it left the stone walls.
Childish though it may be she felt somehow betrayed. Railroaded into a life that she had no control over. Her destiny not of her own making, not just by her parents and grandparents, but by specifcly, Riddus. A person she didn't even know, who didn't even know her, separated as they were by hundreds of years. For all Annie was aware of he could have been a creep. The exact type of  man who she had known. It would be a turn indeed if the type of men who had tried to control her in the past, had written a book about her life as was, as will be. Annie could see that her dad had more or less accepted this, and knew why her mother had such a problem with it. Was a witch not supposed to be a strong independent woman free from the bonds of a patrician society?.
She shook her head, more to clear it than to deny a fact. So much for the simple life.
Well, standing around feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to get anything done today. She had a mountain of cleaning to do, on top of her obligations to her new clients. The place was starting to aggravate her sinuses, not having been cleaned since moving in, the chore she had meant to do first before getting caught up in others affairs. This she would do now. Then once things were all spick and span again, she would hang a 'back in an hour' sign on the door and take a walk through the village, get some air, doing what she wanted for once.





Candlelight flickered.
'She then taketh the tyme to givee the howse a cleansing that it never seen beyfore making all dust flye. her face stone as she goeth.'

Annie sped along.

'in the place she cooketh a glass round from a dark stove breaketh on the floor, a peiyce causing her to curse fowl'

'Fuckaduck!'
Annie grabbed some kitchen towel as blood began to drip from her hand. She was so concerned with not making more mess that she caught her head on the corner of the microwave door.

'Twice she curseth. Her hed giving her much payne. her mynd afar. Get a grip She thinketh, for she must complete the task before she leaveth for the mansion that she knows not yet her feet will take her, all while her will be strong to the..
Riddus pauses
strong to the what?
He shakes his head and tries again.

Annie throws the cloth into the sink.
'Strong to the purpose' says her mouth, ears hearing the words 'To hell with this'
If any client had been calling in that moment they would have seen Annie appear in the hallway suddenly, heard the twin thumps as she kicked off her house shoes, pulled on her walking boots; newly bought for this very purpose, and moved quickly out of the way as she erupted from the doorway, pulling on her coat. it was an old coping mechanism. Whenever she got wound up she would go for a walk, whatever the weather (in fact, the colder the better) to cool off, away from the temptation of violence, which, in her opinion never solved anything. Still, this time was different. Instead of going out with nowhere to go, she had a destination in mind. Ravencall manor. She wasn't sure exactly where it was, but a huge house out in the middle of nowhere could not be too hard to find, could it?
Well, whatever the outcome she was the mistress of her own fate, and no man was going to tell her what to become.
Annie's stride quickened, confidence in her pace lending her speed.
In the right direction as it happened.

There was a slapping sound as the quill, damp with perspiration hit the wooden surface of the desk. Firelight played across Riddus face on which a pained expression had made its home. This was the first time a thing like this ever happened to him. Yes, sometimes it was difficult, muddy visions giving him third eye strain; the low hum of working magik almost gone, but never a complete block, his methods, tried and tested failing him completely. Then again, he had never really seen this woman before, so perhaps it was something to do with her. A clash of personality causing a temporary short circuit. Even someone who was doing this as long as he did not expect everything to go smoothly with every use, even being as frustrating as it was all he could do was try again until it worked. Riddus lifted the quill, after some effort, sweat in the instrument had dried, acting like a glue. Only use of a knife getting enough purchase to separate wood from feather. Breathing deeply he shut his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the moment he had lost until he could feel the tingle grow in his forehead. When he had accomplished this Riddus opened his eyes, outer vision blurred as the inner cleared to show events that were unfolding in another time.
He began to write:
'And thee Lyons shall meet her at the doorway...

She could almost feel them looking at her. Stone eyes solid in their sockets, somehow alive. Silly of course. She persuaded herself to ignore the statues and concentrate on the figure that was waiting for her in the doorway; a tall youngish man who had white hair and even whiter skin. He reminded her of the rabbit she could so easily have killed on the way to the cottage so long ago. The white hair was cut as short as the animals fur and the blackness of his stare seemed to reflect her image as the animals had done.
Christ! What was happening to her. First the stone lions freaked her out, then this poor (but handsome, and strangely alluring..) man reminded her of a bunny. Annie lifted her hand out as she came near, his response mirroring her own. The man's grip was strong, yet caring. She noted this, more as a way to bring herself back to earth than for any other practical reason.
Pleasantries exchanged he reached into his pocket and lifted out a piece of paper, handing it to her with an air of practised resignation. Annie took it, not knowing what to think until she had unfolded it and read;

I am mute. Sorry.

Annie folded the piece of paper into its creases and handed it back, bewilderment at the apology. In response she gave the thumbs up, letting him know that it was all right.
He gave her a puzzled look, then, with a grin he pointed to his mouth, nodding, then his ear shaking his head.
She laughed, getting the message.
'Sorry'
 He gave her the thumbs up then handed her another piece of paper from nowhere. Annie took it, confidently this time.

Please leave all phones and electrical gadgets downstairs switched off.
My lord uses heart monitoring equipment and such interferes with this vital machinery.
Thank you for understanding.

The man gestured for her to come inside, with a long sweep of his arm, its arc ending in a pointed finger, indicating that she should place any and such items on a table, his assurances that they would be quite safe shown with a protective cupping of hands. He looked as if he was about to pray, but she got the idea.
Annie removed her blackberry from a pocket; the device beeping once, as she crossed the threshold into the lobby. The man moved behind her and softly closed the heavy door, the noise of the hinges covering the grind of stone on stone as two pairs of eyes rotated in their sockets, following her into the house. One of the figures gave off a low growl.
Annies flesh crawled. She hadn't noticed how warm it had been outside until it was gone. Replaced by the chilling atmosphere of the lobby. She was quite happy to leave her belongings here, as long as they were secure, but removing her coat was not even an option, the full coat hooks and the sheepish look on the man's face letting her know that it was another requirement.
'No. the coat stays on.' she pulled it tighter into herself to emphasize her determination.
Obviously a bit flustered the man went back into his pocket.
'Christ! That man has a bit of paper for everything!'
she fully expected him to hand her a stern note telling her to 'take a hike sweetheart, the master does not approve. Do not pass GO do not collect two hundred pounds! REJECT! REJECT!'
and she would go, sweeping her phone as she exited the door with as much graceful disgust as possible. Never to return, end of story Amen.
Instead he pulled out a piece of chalk.
Then walked over to a bearu near the door and opened the drawer.
Curious she followed him across the short distance. The man lifted a large piece of what looked like slate to her, roughly the same length and width as her laptop at home, and placed it flat on the polished wood. Immediately he began to write, the script somewhat different from the polite notes she had been given earlier.

I know, its cold. I'm freezing my ass off just now. But I can promise it gets warmer as we go up.

He turned to her. Annie nodded that she understood.
He continued on:

How about you keep it on until we get further up. He wont know and I'll never tell.

He turned to her again, one eyebrow raised.
Annie gave her co conspirator the thumbs up

Agreed then. First, to destroy the evidence.

Grabbing the front of his t-shirt he wiped clean the words from the slate, making it grey again as the words dissappeared from sight: evidence of their discussion well and truly erased. He opened the front of the desk again, with some effort, the cold apparently having its way with the wood also, threw in the makeshift blackboard, then pushed the drawer shut as hard as he could, obviously expecting the same resistance he got when opening, not being wrong on this account either.
This done he offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. Annie was not one to make snap decisions about people, god knows life had taught her to wait at least a month before she could pin people to the wall, so to speak, but this man had something about him. Not exactly a harmlessness; his dark eyes belied the exact opposite, but more an old world charm, as if he was older than he looked, which she thought was altogether possible. She had no way of telling for sure. Another enigma that drove her nuts, yet attracted her... Silly fool she thought as they made their way to the top landing. She wasn't some young green thing who couldn't control herself at the first strong arm that carried her on a journey. She was Annie Wych, (or A Wych as she thought of herself now. It seemed to fit) career woman and depended upon.
Now making their way along an upper gallery she could feel the temprature begin to change. Heat seemed to come from vents that were placed evenly along the walls, each one to the left of a large window that held curtain and netting; billowing softly in the air current,  and to the right of a painting that showed either a landscape, one or two that seemed familiar to her, or a face with the same features repeated over and over again. Ancestors she presumed, though not of her escort. Annie glanced at him again to confirm this, and sure enough it was true. He caught her gaze and rolled his eyes, obviously picking up on her thought. He shook his head. “Not yours?” she asked, repeating herself when he jabbed his finger in the direction they were going “Not yours. The lord of the manor's”
A blankness skimmed over his dark eyes momentarily, then he gave her the thumbs up and pointed to a door.
“Come in” said a quiet, authoritiv  voice from the shut room.
Annie suddenly remembered her promise and quickly removed her coat as her escort reached for the door. She half expected the hinges to creak as it moved, but, whoever looked after the place was good at their job, the old heavy wood giving way to touch as smoothly as possible, the only sounds from the dim space beyond; a wet hissing noise; like laboured breathing, and a barely audible low hum that she wanted to believe was the electricity working machines that kept the person who belonged to the voice alive.
“Come in Annie. I have been looking forward to meeting you. My informants speak very highly of your skills. A trait you no doubt take from your late grandmother, whome I believe shared the same name as yourself”
Annie couldn't see very far into the room, even after her eyes had time to adjust the interior was still murky.
A tap on her shoulder and a thrust piece of paper informed her that the lord of the manor had a rare skin condition sensitive to light.
Annie didn't know what to make of this, but she made sure she remembered the direction of the door in case she needed to make a run for it.
“I know this might seem a bit, I think the term is dodgy, but I can assure you that you are in no danger. In fact...”
“Hello Annie. I did tell you not to come up here”
Her dad emerged from the shadows, smiling warmly, a second figure materilising beside him.
“Mum?” she asked, totally shocked “What are you doing here...I thought...”
“I havent been to church for years darling,” her mother replied “It's a long story, for another time,”
“Dad?”
“Has been looking after my outside businesses for quite some time and is now ready for..ah..retirement. His replacement is already in place”
“I had to tell you what I did darling so that you wouldnt come back.” he fathers tone was almost apologetic.
“Why did you not just tell me all of this to begin with. I dont understand why all the manipulation”
“Because you would have reacted badly.” replied her mother.
Annie snorted.
“Most unlady like,” laughed the shape
Annie spun towards him. Strong hands instantly grabbed her from behind, promising violence if she started arguing. She knew without having to look who was restraining her..
“Thats fine William. She will do no harm.”
The vice grip vanished from her.
“Go and deal with the important matter. It's about time.”
William and her parents moved away from her, back towards the door, a brief lighting of the dim as the dorr was opened again then back to a new darkness.
“There. It is just you and I now.” the figure spread its arms.
“Lets talk.”
“I'm listening”
“first off, what I said earlier. My flock has really taken to you, so I like you. Things seem to be going well, your skills as a healer,” the figure lifted its hand, staying her protests
“Dont be modest. It upsets me when I see talent downbeating itself. Good. Dont downplay your gifts, but dont flaunt them either, that is a rule I absoulutly require to be respected. There are good reasons that I do not need to share with anyone else.”
“Second. You and I will need to meet reguralily for a while. There are other things I require from you besides caring for my flock.” he laughed, just as the thought was forming in her head “Nothing of a personal nature I assure you. More of a tutorial role. Your gran has already put you on this path as I requested, and I know you have read most of my books at least once since you moved back. How do I know? How do I also know that you found them facinating as a child but never went near them? This I can and will teach you, as well as lots of other things you need to know to complete your full duties. That is if you decide to stay and accept my offer. You will, wont you?”
Annie got the impression that refusal was not an option. But she wasnt going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had her fascinated by him and the offer. That she had already decided to stay.
“I'll sleep on it”
“No other answer was expected. Not from Annie Wych's grandaughter.”
He clapped his hands, a dry sound of wasted leather on Oak wood.
“Excellent. Then there is only one order of business left, this I think important. I know who you are and what you do, so now you will want to know who I am, quite natural. Let me introduce myself” He leaned forward, the light seeming to brighten around his head. The steady humming grew in pitch for a moment then steadied back down to a low, if slightly more powerful hum. “Pleased to finally meet you Annie Wych. You have been giving me a headache for nearly three hundred years.
My name is Charles Riddus Wych”

Jeves and Winchester

Jeves and Winchester was inspired by Fry and Laurie characters. With my own twist of course.

I had intended to write a short story based on this dialogue, and may still do so. But for the time being, here is the original.

Fuck off!
Just fuck off
I am sorry sir. I can not do that
Why not?
Because I have a duty to perform sir
What? Holding me hostage?
If you say so sir.

Why are you holding me hostage Jeves?
Because it is my duty sir.
Did I ever hurt you?
Not to my recollection sir

Was I ever ungrateful to you?
Not to my recollection sir
The fuck off and leave me alone
Can not do that sir

Do you want me to hurt you Jeves?
I believe you know the answer to that sir
I can you know
If you say so sir

You are mad, do you know that Jeves?
Sir is entitled to his opinion
You killed my mother Jeves
I do not recall sir

You did
I do not recall sir
You shot her in the chest
I do not recall sir

My father is outside
I know sir
You recall?
I do sir. The birds have eaten out his eyes sir

You killed my brother. You threw him down the stairs.
I beg to differ sir
Nearly got you there! It was me wasn't it.
If you say so sir

I say so, because I am the master now, aren't I.
You are sir
And you killed my dog, didn't you, you cunt?
I did sir
YOU KILLED MY DOG!!!!!!!

Thank you for shooting me Jeves.
Glad to be of service sir
It did not hurt, that much.
Congratulations sir.
And now you are going to eat a bullet, aren't you.
I believe so sir
Good.

Shifters: Wolfsbane

After I had started writing the Confessions serial I noticed and became interested in one of the offshoot characters. I wanted to know more about him and his long, very long life. What he had done, who he had loved.

So I wrote a kind of back story from one of the more turbulent times in his past. I started this as I had written the vampire story, as a serial on facebook. I had intended it as a three part sort of thing, but by the time I had finished the second part I had begun this book and decided, rightly or wrongly to abandon the format and just write the whole thing as a single story. I finished it and sent it to a friend of mine for publication in their magazine (Tales from the Greenmantle. Find it on facebook) who accepted it and gave me some feedback. I took this on board and have ended up with the result you have here. I have plans to write another story like this for inclusion in THE MUSE.

The freezing air, deadly cold to a humans lungs, rasped from the animals nostrils in a warm steam, other, similar clouds pouring from others of its kind around it, hot air freezing again as soon as it touched the leaders fur.

An impudent snarl from the shadows caught his attention. He answered it with a lower, more menacing growl.

 Stay, it said.

 
The leader turned back to his vigil on the small building in the clearing, just in time to see a tall figure emerge from the shadow lands at either side. 
A nervous shuffle behind him, more from fear than from impatience. he ignored it. The others would remain with him no matter how they felt.
There was a faint patter of urine on the hard snow.
The figure stopped mid stride.
Time itself froze for an instant.

 Then the figure moved on, slowly, deliberately, its every move masked perfectly in stealthy glide.
The leader watched, tense, but ready for any sudden movement. If there was any indication of threat the first animal that would die in great pain would be the dog who pissed itself. If not, then the cur would die later, at his pleasure.
The figure reached the door of the building without incident and paused as it waiting to be invited in.
There was no sigh of relief as the door opened and the figure passed inside, but the pack felt the tension release its grip on the leader, who, standing stock still scanned the area for others that might have accompanied the stranger.
Satisfied, he looked back at the others and gave a low grunt, his eye lingering a moment longer on the suddenly worried canine who could not control his fear. Then he sat down to wait. 
The others followed suit.

The moon had moved only a few degrees from overhead before the door opened again, 

light spilling out on to the frozen crust, the dark figure passing out over it a moment later to disappear into the forest. swiftly and silently like a lazy breeze. The door stayed open. Welcoming the next visitor.
As one, the pack began moving from the safe shadows of the undergrowth: a black object, changing shape as it moved along the ground until six men and one woman stood naked in the light. The leader, a huge burly black haired man with a deep scar running down his flank was ushered in by an unseen host, the others following in single file until all were inside.

The door shut itself, leaving only the light of the full moon to guide the others who would surely soon arrive at the place where it was prophesied the one who would unite the races was being born.
The one that now lay in the arms of the smiling woman. The woman who was not one of them, but dared to take a mate from their blood. Not just any, but one of leadership, proud on two legs and four. The father stood by, watching them with a keen eye. Watching for one wrong move that would result in instant death for the offender.
The visitor knew this. He could smell it; they all could. Numbers were no match for one such as this, so they would all have to be careful, tactful if they were to accomplish the task they were sent out to do.

Each paid their respects, in human form, then returned to the door as wolf, the leader last to see the bundle that caused his sire such worry. 
Due given, he joined the others. The door opened of it's own will and they filed out into the cold one by one. The leader took one last look, marking his prey for a later time, then left.

The pack meandered for a while in the forest. No direction, no purpose. The others knew their leader was worried. Each had been present when the dark figure had spoke to him, to them. None knew who, or what the figure was, but each were certain, with an animals instinct that the thing was the real leader, their own just a servant, as they were to him.
And leaders have responsibilities.
Imperceptibly the pack moved away from one animal.


Snow fell.
They wound their way through the trees, single file until they came to the clearing.
The leader held up his hand. A command that was obeyed quickly and without thought, the others staying in the shadows as their leader entered the clearing that none but the chosen may enter.
A figure. tall but of no definite shape stood at the other end. The man slowed his pace, feet crunching softly on the grass that was frozen, only stopping when the figure turned its head towards him.
"To sie robi? "
(Is it done?)
The man replied that it was not.
The figure sighed
"Dlaczego?"
(Why?)
The man could not answer. Fear took hold of him, making his body shiver.
"Nie strach, sluga. masz zrobic najlepiej"
He stopped shaking, relief mellowing his temper.
The shadow spoke again, this time in English
"Come forward Atropos"
Another shape detached itself from the darkness, bringing with it a familiar dread stench.
Dark Angel! ocal nas! thought the man
(A Dark Angel! Save us!)
"Attend to the matter we discussed, while I deal with things here"
The figure bowed, before fading out again the way it came.
The tall shape turned it's attention back to the werewolf.
"You are fewer in numbers I see Palo."
"One of our number had to be made an example of sire" he replied.
'As is proper' replied his Sire.
'Come forward Palo.'
as a dog obeys his master he came forward, each step betraying him to all who could see
'Stop! Now close your eyes'
He did. There was no question of not obeying that voice. 
Besides. He knew he had failed. If he did not die by his masters will, then the pack would tear him apart. It was the way of things.
He did not expect to suffer. All those years of faithful service, man and pup, seeing others go the way he expected. It was different for each one, but he knew that it would be quick and silent, the conviction held him steady, calmed him, suppressed every natural instinct to fight or flee, so that he entered into a kind of trance, a waking death before the true death engulfed him. 
As a consequence of this every sense sharpened. He could smell everything and hear everything to the point where he could smell his own blood, coursing through his soul, ready to be spilled for his master.
There was a noise from the forest, then silence. He waited for the inevitable that came as swift as a wintertime breath.
'Open your eyes child'
From behind him. 
He did as he was asked, ready for what was to come.
No one was there.

In Wolven society, the pack is everything. With no pack the leader is just another dog. The alpha male is just another male who must find another way to live.
Or die.
To this end Palo was driven. The others slaughtered by the being he knew as 'the Sire'. Once an alpha male, now just a dog doing his masters bidding. To kill the prophet. He had failed once and paid the price, now he would not fail again, for to do so meant death, and he was good with this. If he could not be bidden, then he was no use to anyone or anything, in the scheme of things nothing.
So he must succeed,
he must kill the child.
Wretched, mind in turmoil he followed the old scent of his recent past, the trail still warm, scents still fresh and vital, now the only living remainder of a slaughtered clan. His family. His wives, children, brothers and a sister.
All that made him whole as a Wolf and a human being, now gone. Leaving this thing that wore his skin. This thing that thirsted for violence as the hard bodied death givers thirsted for blood.
There would be plenty to give, his and that of his prey, his last act being the fulfilment of his destiny upon this earth. 
The trail ended at the edge of the trees, its continuance to the cottage now masked by many more of others who had visited upon that night but one day ago. But this did not concern him. What he was worried about was the feeling that he had been cheated. 
It seemed that no one was home.
Now enraged he charged from the forest, a man possessed of a wild spirit that emerged from him. Two legs to four, his shouts to snarls and growls. Saliva flew from his jaws as he ran, his head waving from side to side in vigorous denial of what fate had done to him.
But before he could reach the partially open door a heavy hard weight landed on his back and wrapped itself around him. He twisted violently to try to shrug it off, but it only tightened around him,  the life, breaking the bone.
He did the only thing he could, the only thing that was left to him.

The tall figure watched as the wolf swelled, tearing the arms from the Vampire assassin. It was a rare phenomenon that only few had witnessed more than once, and lived. A berserker werewolf was not the sort of animal you wanted to be near when it happened. Anything within smelling distance was apt to get torn apart. Trees, even hardwood have been reduced to matchsticks and houses to rubble. Only one such as he had the ability to evade one such animal. But would he be able to kill one?
Tonight he would find out. All events that had been engineered by him had been preparing for this moment. It didn’t even take much doing, but it did take a lot of planning, and, lets face it, a lot of confidence. Even now the engorged animal was tearing Atropos in half; no great loss, and the house would be next. That he did not want. The animal would be tired after that, quite possibly returning to normal size; again no one knew for sure. Not good enough, he wanted the berserk in full fighting fury before he engaged.
Just before the Wolf could crush Atropos's skull Arthur attacked from the tree tops.

Time moves on.
Rivers run dry, while others spring forth. Even in those dark Pagan woods all changed. All except the cottage.
The ground around it grew wild with green growth. Colour filtering up through the bushes as you came nearer to the ancient stone walls, flowers and plants seeming to need whatever the building provided. Perhaps it was shelter, perhaps it was something else.
This was order in chaos. But in the rules something had to be out of kilter. The exception was one, single yellow flower that grew apart from the rest, stranded in the sea of green where once a mighty animal fell, its sunshine petals deadly to all except the bees that busied themselves amongst it, its roots, even deadlier wrapping themselves around the bones of the animal from which it gets its common name.