Confessions of a Vampire - Son of the Dragon

Carried on from The Mark Of Cain.

Darkness flooded the scene, but his vision remained sharp. The baby girl was watching him, not fearful, but curious. Eyes wide, arms and legs; now free from the restraining cloth waving wildly. She smiled, giving Arthur the second indicator. Two white nubs of teeth glistend from the upper and lower jaw where the canine teeth would form, the ruby red birthmark; a back-to-front S on her cheek. Shapeshifter.

 Arthur brought her back into his crypt lair and sat, crossed legged in front of her. Every now and then she moved slightly, making a mournful noise, as if in pain. Which in a very real sense it was, though nothing like that felt by him as he had not fed in two nights. Thirsty though he was, Arthur wasn't even tempted to bite the pathetic being in front of him. The child beyond innocence, invoking his pity,

He was at a loss as to what to do next.Should he leave the child alone, so he could feed and sate his own desire for blood, leaving the infant its own fate, or should he surmount his own feelings and kill the thing, solving two problems at once?


deciding to let fate decide Arthur left the crypt to feed, returning to the crypt hours later, fully expecting to find a dead infant on his care, but on entering the holy space his heart thumped once, as a faint, rhythmic noise reached his ears. A minor miracle.
Well, if it was meant to be, then it shall live.
Now fully sated on blood he unpinned his wrist cuff, bending down as he bit through the marble white skin. The aroma, hot and strong immediately filled the room, like molten iron.


She took the blood noisily. giggling at him when she finished, seeming to find something funny. He bent down, almost touching , when she grabbed his nose and pulled with surprising strength. Arthur yanked his head back instinctively, and lifted her from the ground. By all rights he should have killed the child, then half the village for this insult. He would, should not take the child from this awful place into the village. To find a home for it, but this is what he was now doing.He felt for this outcast. Perhaps because he too had been cast out from his family, only to find another, and be cast out again as a betrayer. Finally to find a third, one he could see as a father, then ripped away from him by a creature such as this.
The why didn't matter. He was doing what he felt he had to do, give this child a home. And who knows, it might even be to his benefit in the future, having a werewolf as an ally.
He came to the door of a person he knew to be kind. A middle aged peasent woman, who, despite being married, had no children of her ow. She opened the door fully when she saw it was Arthur, expression of mistrust vanishing in the light of recognition. He handed her the bundle, explaining that he had found her by the side of the road, and, knowing she and her husband were childless would like them to care for he.The woman readily agreed, pulling back the cloth from the baby's face to coo at her. If she had seen the birthmark and the small teeth she made no fuss. her reaction filling Arthur with the confidence that he had done right. He made his farewells and vanished off into the night to vent his fury.

Death and destruction held sway that night. Trees, fences and unoccupied buildings felt his wrath. Animals too, slaughtered, either on the road, or near it. People, innocent or otherwise, their bodies drained of blood, their mangled corpses thrown into the fields. Even a garrison of the Prince's army did not escape the rampage; the whole place destroyed in a fire from an overturned stove. Arthur was making a nuisance of himself, not caring while in the grip of rage. The time would come, soon, when the prince himself would have to get involved, people would demand he order an investigation to catch the culprit. A strong leader would simply refuse, despite the loss of a garrison. Why should he care. As things stood, rumor had it that a coward sat in the castle throne room. So that was something else Arthur would have to attend to before sunrise.

Impenetrable, the castle stood before him. Solid, tall, centuries old and strong as the bones of the earth. Arthur approved, what better place for a ruler, or a coward. He jumped, landing softly on a rampart behind a guard, vanishing like a ghost before the man even registered his presence. He had the scent of his prey in his nostrils now, and nothing was going to come between him and his Royal meal. He was now actively hunting.

Speeding through the corridors, keeping to the shadows he avoided the guards and castle servants, rather than kill them. His thirst was now in slumber from his overindulgence , besides which, these people would be his subjects.
So with care and speed it was not very long before the heavy iron studded double doors of the Royal suite stood before him. Arthur had expected at least four guards to be in attendance, but none stood there. Odd.
"Witches prophecy! Do your must!"
Arthur, shaking his head pushed the doors open. Tonight could have been avoided if he had come here first.
A crossbow bolt hit him in the stomach.
A loud screech of laughter from the man on the floor dressed in his bed garments "Got you! Foul demon stench!"
Arthur pulled the bolt out, turned around and shut the doors.
"You can't, you mustn't! I am the son of the Dragon! I am Dracula!!"

Pagan Ties: In the woods

the figure watched her intently, a small girl with long black hair, wearing a bright yellow summer dress that was starting to turn green, flowing material picking up all the pollen in the air.

This was Annie's favourite place in the world. her grandmothers garden seeming to go on forever, a small plot of cultivated land that held edible plants, a well kept lawn, descending into scrub and weeds. A place of nature loosely kept in check, or at least maintained so that it would not invade the cultured area. It was here that the dragons lived. large, noisy insects that buzzed loudly from plant to plant, going about their business while a fascinated young girl watched. Her gran had told her one day, that they were the children of real dragons millions of years ago when this part of the world was very different. She listened to these stories with fascination, imagining monstrous winged creatures soaring among the clouds, then, if there was still light in the day, weather permitting, she would run out into the garden and look for the insects, imagining them grown huge enough so that she could climb on their back and fly as high as the clouds.

She liked the clouds. They reminded he of so many things, ships, houses, people and sometimes faces that smiled or frowned. Annie preferred the smiley faces to the frowny, white, wispy, fluffy clouds, the grey ones not so much. They reminded her of the tall thin man that sometimes watched her from the shadows of the wood that made up the third part of grannies garden.
The tall man with the grey suit and black hat. she could not see his face but was sure in her heart that he had none. Still, the dragons would protect her, this she knew because her gran told her.

So she played on. chasing dragons and jumping in and out of the tall grass, her progress watched by the figure until it was time to come in. Her gran called her and she ran into the house laughing loudly, slamming the door behind her firmly. Her gran locked it.

Confessions of a vampire: The Mark of Cain (First Draft)

When the Night falls, fur will fly...
When the Moon rises, blood will be spilled...
 ..and Humanity shall perish.

 1

"AM I IN HELL?"

The figure above him answered that yes, he was in hell.
Judas Iscariot closed his eyes.

The figure above him spoke again.
Judas opened his eyes again, this time the figure was clearer, The dark skin and bearded chin framing a gentle smile, while the long dark hair tickled his nose.
He moaned.

'Then why am I seeing my teacher and best friend. If this is indeed hell then I have dammed our Savior to satan's hand.'

'I am not your Savior brother, but one who would give you eternal life on this mortal plane.'

Judas grinned painfully, rose to answer then fell back coughing. His throat hurt.

'I cut you down from the tree before you could leave us. You will heal in time.'

'Why save such a wretched life as mine, surely I deserve death for what I have done.'

'I didn't say anything about saving you Judas.'


 2
The sun fell from the sky, exactly on the West point of the compass as it always did at this time of year. Being the longest day, all night creatures slept longer in their burrows, holes and lairs, the intelligent ones dreaming dreams of the past, which, for the darkest and most ancient of them held no mercy.

He arose swiftly from his slumber, dreams and memories of a time when he had last seen such a magnificent light, drawing away from his grasp, the feeling of rough hessian weave on him fading, the sharp pang of his makers teeth on his throat the last sensation to fade as the thirst began throbbing in his chest. He would feed tonight, self imposed fasting ending in the taking of another, an innocent, the only one he would take as an annual reminder of where he had come from, and what he was.

An innocent that awaited for him outside his door.

The grateful villagers had come good again, keeping to the covenant they shared.

3
Animal nature took hold of him.

He awoke, his maker above him, moonlight illuminating the beautiful features.

'You need to be careful with your feeding youngling. Death can still claim you if you drink too much. The heartbeat must slow, but never stop.'

'But we are death father' came the insolent reply

'Typical answer for one new' he sighed 'We are still God's creatures even though we live in his shadow 'Rules must be observed.

'But surely rules are for mortals?'

'We are all mortals in his eyes'

The ancient one watched his younglings thoughts. How they sped through the cold clay of his brain, a fast flowing current of immaturity through a stream, of the overriding, steady beat of the Thirst - Not even slightly slated on his young victims blood.

'I need more'

'Of course you do'

4
He materialized outside the impenetrable granite slap that stood as a door to his resting place, lungs filling with damp night air that held a million scents, each one tantalizing to him. He allowed himself the luxury of a deep breath, drawing everything in to his being.

5
He had never smelled anything like it in his hundred years a vampire.
'What is that horrible stench?'
His maker did not answer strait away, but continued to watch the dance.
'That, youngling, is what we have come to find out' The firelight sparkled in his black eyes as he spoke, gaze never shifting from the scene. It was a marvelous thing to watch, though, somehow it troubled his. The younger could see that it mattered greatly to him, though he did not know why. Humans had never held such fascination before, or trepidation and it troubled him that his father was worried. Why, he thought. It was just drums and dance, nothing they had not seen before, albeit, not in this country, so far from where they had lived before.

'The one who dances' explained his maker, on hearing these thoughts 'is a Shaman, who is invoking the Wolf Spirit Beskarr. A powerful one who may cause us some problems'

'Is this why we left Rome in such a hurry?'

His maker nodded.

'This is why we left our home. To see if the rumours are true'

'And are they, true I mean'

His maker opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak a shout arose from the group.

They had been spotted.

6
A cry, just under mortal ears, came to him from behind a nearby monument.
The darkness blurred then Arthur stood beside the source of the sound, A small tight bundle, cloth soft, rich with vibrant colour only one such as himself could see. It moved faintly, squirming under his gaze as if it knew what was about to happen next. Another cry, louder this time.

7
Events erupted.
His maker was the first to move, toward the fire rather than away from it. Artorius took a moment longer to react, hesitating as to what to do, only becoming animated when his makers voice softly echoed in his head

"We need to stop this, NOW!"

The urgency was lost on him, not knowing why his maker was afraid, only faith that he was doing the right thing finally moving him. He followed, arriving by his makers side quickly, even for a vampire. A quick approving look, then the steel of the charge returned.

8
Arthur knelt down, sitting on his haunches, arms on thighs, with hands dangling off his wrists. The bundle had stopped moving, emitting a last wail before being resigned to its fate. He reached down and gently began to unwrap the cloth.

9
Just before the impact Artoriuse's vision blurred. The man; a Shaman his maker had called him, seemed to change shape, a horrible mix of many limbs, heads and torsos, before it solidified into canine form. A very large canine. Its jaws opened, front teeth easily as long as his forearm.

Then a solid mat of fur hit him with a bone shattering crunch.

10
He paused just the once.
The moon, full in its glory slid from behind a veil of cloud, its Majesty illuminating the whole graveyard, each monument, tree and bush etheric in the cold light. He remembered that day long ago when the one who had made him was unmade by the shapeshifter shaman, the pain of seeing his ripped limb from limb, wanting to help, the only thing stopping him was the calm voice in his head telling him to run, to run now, as fast as he could. He wanted to argue with that voice, to tell it that he could never survive on his own, that he could take this beast easily.

Then it tore head from body, and the voice stopped.

It was like his world ending.

He remembered then, as his hands finished unwrapping the still bundle, that he had decided to live. To continue on, so that one day he could have his vengence against the one who had done this, for surely he would only grow stronger, as he got older, while this beast would only grow older..weaker. Then he could have his vengence.

Arthur looked down as he remembered his naive promise to himself, the problems it had caused later.

And he saw what lay on the ground.

The moon fled.


...TO BE EXPANDED....

Shifters: Traitor

A scent filled her nostrils.
"It could only be you. And your bitch"
There was a low complicated growl

You had better believe it pack mother!

The red haired woman laughed
"Now then ladies, as much as I would enjoy, no fighting. We are on business here"
A pale form materialized from the shadows, closley followed by a very large white wolf with green, intelligent eyes.
"we wouldn’t want to let all our hard work go to waste, now would we?"
The woman nodded her answer, the wolf lay down by her masters side. This servility did not go unnoticed, by the other two, the mans hand gently stroking the beasts head, the red haired woman’s lips twitching in a silent snarl.
"sit"
The woman remained standing.
a sigh.
"I insist" he said, sweeping his hand in a graceful gesture
She sat, slowly lowering herself to the stone floor, aware that he to was doing the same. The beast behind the man shut its eyes, as if to sleep, if for the fact that a faint glimmer of green showed that this was not so.
"I have come to broker terms of surrender"
"of course you have. I have no doubt that..
"Of your surrender"
The mans jaw dropped.
"Our..?
The woman sat stock still, expression hard as the granite beneath her
"put your teeth away vampire and listen"
Not used to this tone, even from his king, he obliged, face reddening in anger as the stolen blood rushed to his cheeks.
"I want you to withdraw from our northern territories and the heartlands with the solemn promise that you will not bother our kind again."
"Not sure you are in a position to demand anything from us" the man rubbed his chin "In fact, I am not sure the king will even listen, IF I was to return to him with your…terms. Out of personal curiosity though, how do you intend to enforce your will? your northern clans have all but been wiped out by us? Surely you have received news by now of the massacre at Dunedin Field?" He removed his hand and leaned forward "You haven’t, have you?" The vampire threw his head back and laughed, a loud screech his caste kept for redicule. The wolf behind him jumped, then retreated back, ears flat against its head, whimpering.
The woman across from him didn’t even flinch
"I can kill you here as you sit across from me, and you would not even know until satan was burning your tail with a blowtorch!"
"possibly" she replied calmly " but your king would not like that, would he? Not on holy ground"
"He does have his fancies. Still. I could wait until you stepped off the site..
" then three Beskarr Wolves would tear your fucking head off before you could reach me"
"Beskarr eh?"
she nodded
"Not seen one of them in a while..Must let Sire know of this"
"I am sure Arthur would love to know"
She could smell the blood again, bubbling and hot at the sound of his Sires name being mentioned by a shape-shifter, to his credit though, it didn’t show on the surface. She began to respect her adversary a bit more. Whatever else he might be, he knew the right person to send for the job.
The vampire clapped his hands, a loud dry sound “Right. fun over. Heres what is to be done. I will return with news of your acceptance of our terms, which I can draft up quickly on the way and..
"We have accepted your terms"
"and will bring them before Sire, who you will pay tribute to when you arrive a week hence"
"pay Tribute a week hence"
"yes. Good" he stood up, regarding her blank expression for a moment before carrying on "yes..indeed..I am going to leave now. You will leave exactly five minits after me, with the memory of a pleasent evening, having a productive chat with me. You will be a happy little doggy" he paused for a moment, waiting. When nothing happened he finished "Au revoire. It has been a pleasure talking with you, now I must retire for the evening"
He vanished.
Two minuits later she rose, laughing softly to herself. The woman shook her head. She had been wrong about him. He was so obviously the wrong underling to sent to parlay with her. It was a known fact that a shapeshifter could not be Glamored by a vampire. But he was right about one thing. Heads would roll, his being the first when he reported to his Sire.

scribbling

The figure kneeled on the cold floor, hands tougether as if praying. Nothing moved, even the air was still as if in reverence of what was about to happen in such a sanctified place, or rather, a recently desecrated ruin that still held the wet blood of sacrafice in its stone slabs; seeping, soaking into the very foundation.

A single rivulet, fat and crimson slowly made its way down the discreet slope of the Altar, towards the praying man, bringing with it memories of an uremarkable life, but for the means of which it was ended.
It stopped, still a few feet away, pooling itself under an extended finger, embracing the sharp nail as it tried to carry on, to no avail. Another finger appeared, closing in on its other to cup the sticky liquid and lift it whole from the dirt. Mid air they parted again, the blood firmly in its place until the nail was placed on a waiting toungue.

The Vampire opened his eyes...

Three days of Samhain. pre publish.

This story is not original to me. It was written by my wife and I took it and rewrote it, so the credits are hers, I ghost wrote it.

Eva knew she was special, her friend had told her so, as did her mother and father. She didn't know why her family thought this, but she knew why Jack thought so. Her had told her one day after she had made her promise not to tell.

Jack had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, although she only got to see him for three days every year. He had bright red hair and piercing blue eyes, belying an energy that showed in other, as he always seemed to be moving even when sitting still. He made her laugh and feel safe, even when it was dark. She was very afraid of the darkness, sometimes, eva was very, very afraid if it was windy, and the black clouds cast nasty shadows on the wall opposite her bed. At such times she would cover her head and light the secret lantern that Jack had given her years ago. It was a magic light that never needed batteries, invisible to everyone else except her.

This comforted her, in the way that she always felt, even though she could not see him, when she used the torch Jack was with her. He told her that they were inseparable, always being together. Eva liked this, pleasing Jack.

Every year on her birthday, Jack would be with her, playing games and laughing together, Always fancy dress they would make up stories, according to what they were dressed as, with Eva eating the candy she had amassed on the usual rounds, for you see, her birthday was October 31^st. Halloween, or on the Pagan calander; Samhain. The last harvest. And on her sixth birthday Jack had told her that the last Harvest was always best, for it was special. Like the two of them. How it was was never clear to Eva. When she asked Jack had always smiled and told her that she would know one day. When she was old enough. And thus it would remain a mystery to her until four years later.

Her tenth birthday was nearing. Jack being with her all day, until the first of November, solid as ever, from the moment she awoke, which was earlier than usual as she always wanted to sped as much time with him as she could, until, for some reason, to about dinner time. Then he would vanish for another year. She was always sad when he had to go. He promised her though, that even when she could not see him, he would always be there, all she had to do was switch on her torch. But for now...

On the morning of her birthday Jack, lively as ever, even more so for some reason. He was smiling brightly, his face bright as the sunshine. When she asked him what the matter was, he replied that she would have to wait and see, just that this birthday was a long time in coming.

They laughed and played the whole day, all the while Eva giving him puzzled glances, him saying nothing. Even during her usual party he seemed more quiet than usual. Quiet, but not moody, but plesantly contented, as if he was at peace.

It was Eva's bed time and mummy and daddy were both there to tuck her into bed. After-ward they sat by her bedside and brought out a little book. They told her that now she was a big girl they had something to show her. Eva opened the book and saw that it was full of pictures. Photographs of two babies; twins. Mummy said that they were called Eva and Jack. Eva started to cry, but Jack, who would normally be gone by now appeared beside her and held her hand as daddy told her that her big twin brother Jack had went to sleep, and was waiting for Eva in a special place, that they would be together again someday.

Eva told her parents that she knew about Jack, as he is always with her, and keeps her safe at night by lighting up the dark.

When her mummy asked how he light up the darkness, she replied that he did it with a lantern. In fact she could show the it. She went to the cupboard where the lantern was kept, but when she looked in there

Jack's Lantern was gone.

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-->