Burnt Blood: The Werewolf Within

Eight

The light flickered dimly, guiding my stumbling path. Clumsy as ever, folks might say I've got two left feet. I manoeuvred my body awkwardly, turning stealth into a full-blown challenge. Mom used to say I was like a bull in a China shop, but this wasn't any ordinary shop—it was more like a sketchy basement, set ablaze, with a spine-chilling voice calling for help. I couldn't take a step, turn, or stand up without colliding with a pillar or a rack that sounded like it would shatter at the slightest touch.

As I delved deeper, distant bangs echoed from upstairs. Footsteps, maybe the water fairies winning their ethereal battle. Whatever the deal, there was no time to figure it out. I pushed forward, my feeble light dancing cautiously toward the ominous red glow in the darkness. It flickered in sync with blinking eyes; the intervals stretching longer.

'Hhhheeeellllppp.'

A young whisper, gravelly and desperate. I inched closer, letting my feeble flame dance, only to be jolted out of my wits. Another charred body, like the others, hunched over, shackled to the wrists, hanging limply from a worn-out pillar. It was small, a child maybe five or six years old—older than my Rosalind. My stomach churned with the memory of earlier beef stew threatening a reappearance. I was staring at someone else's dead child.

Bending for a closer look...

'Hhhhheeellllppp.'

The whisper threw me off balance. The burnt, child-sized figure emitted a mix of emotions I shouldn't have felt. Pain and sadness for a stranger, yet I pictured my Rosalind in that charred place. The severity of the burns suggested no chance of survival. Blood and flesh boiled beneath scorched cracks in the skin. How could this small one muster the strength to call for help repeatedly? Why the red eyes? Too many questions for my pea-sized brain. Why did this one still have its head, unlike the rest?

Searching for something to break the chains, I found bolt cutters hanging on a rusty nail. They looked like they'd snap rather than cut. "It's okay; I'll get you help," I mumble, trying to sound optimistic in dire circumstances. Lies had no place; too much had already happened.

The chains clunked to the floor, and the body tumbled, fused by roasted flesh. I stood there, cutters in hand, rust biting my skin. I felt the stinging, keeping me lucid, but I didn't know what to do next. My brain checked out, eyes scanning the surrounding horrors. The gloom thickened, and I half-expected one of the bodies to stir, headless. Zombie films flashed in my mind, but I needed something to cover those red eyes.

Glancing at the blood-dripped circle on the wall, I saw it with fresh eyes. Underneath was an old carpenter's workbench, a sanctuary for blood. My candle flickered across small puddles of blood. A vice gripped a bony appendage, rotting away with a wrist poking out. I checked if the other dead were missing more than their heads. Probably someone older, forties maybe, but not from them. What was the 'Conrad Family' into? I needed to get the small body safely, leaving the flashy-suited plonkers to handle the rest.

Sifting through boxes, I found an old dust sheet.

'Hhhheeeelllllpppp me,' the whisper came again. I clutched the sheet and cutters, not knowing what to expect. This time, it sounded close, too close. My throat felt like a gravel driveway. The wind whistled through, and I thought the words carried. That was my fear of talking; deep down, I knew it wasn't possible. Nor should the body move closer; it shouldn't be moving at all.

Yet, what should and shouldn't be possible seemed out of the window. Was it even human? The voice had to be, but the red eyes weren't normal. Shuffling forward, hands full, the candle left in place of the sheet. A dead weight crunched onto my leg. I first thought of a dog bite, barely staying upright as the cutters dropped.

My trouser leg ripped, tugging at my calf, sending searing pain through my body. Panic set in, freezing me, tears dripping from my eyes. Should I reach for the cutters or the candle? Upstairs, footsteps creaked louder, echoing my racing heart. In the background, faint sirens echoed. I turned my radio down, unaware of any calls. Had the water fairies found something? With the candle in hand, I shone it downward, getting the shock of my life.

A char-grilled black arm hung from my lower leg. The brutality of the burns was clearer. Fingers, more like claws, buried deep, blood spurting free. Hair and clothing incinerated another dead body in waiting. The head spookily spun, burnt flesh cracking, revealing ruby-red eyes. So deep, so consuming, I swam in two pools of dark red, creepily soothing. They wanted to reveal everything they'd endured, their innermost, darkest secrets. 'Save me,' chills ran down my spine, yet I had to try.

I noticed the other hand; the sheet was about to drape over its body. Claws, a bear? Or a dog? Dripping with blood, not their own. Torn between common sense and the notion that this child could be a terrifying beast, I didn't know what to do. Police officers aren't equipped for such scenarios. Fear gnawed at me; the world as I knew it was scarier. I spread the sheet, struggling with pain, pressing and tucking it around the body, inhaling the putrid stench. Fully covered, I hoisted the body, taking another look at the sadistic basement of horrors. The red glow drifted away as the eyelids closed. The body was light, and I could still grip the candle.

Moving through the jungle of death, my leg ached, but the feeling of being watched persisted. Praying that whatever I held would survive, I approached the steps. The breeze grew stronger, a welcomed rush of damp air. A sudden gust whooshed through, killing each flame, including the one in my hand.

The whistling grew louder, haunting—almost a howl. I scuffed through the dirt, hoping my toes would stub the bottom step. That was my only option unless I wanted to wait for someone to pop down and help.

'Don't do it... Unless it's death you seek,'

My body went numb, unable to move. So close to freedom, stopped dead by a stomach-churning growl. The air turned arctic as each word rumbled through the air like thunder. Life slowly returned to my limbs. There's a saying I like, 'Know thy enemy,' and I needed to put a face to the fear. My shaking hands gripped the fragile shell; my terrified head slid to the right.

"Wwhhoo, are you? I'm not here for trouble, but they need my help." I struggled to summon the courage, my words trickling out as lifeless as the body I cradled. The burning sensation in my calf climbed steadily, and my body temperature skyrocketed. Sweat rained down, and my stomach churned and knotted.

"Don't worry about me; I doubt you'll be alive long enough to be of consequence. You, people, live your lives so two-dimensional, never stopping to think the world may not belong to you. Trouble? Yet trouble seems to have found you."

"Then who does it belong to? Who am I holding?"

"Are you that naïve? Who created the campfire stories? That fear of what goes bump...in the night has always been there."

"Stories are fictional thoughts to amuse those interested. So, what are you trying to say?" I felt as though my backside had fallen out.

"That life as you know it will change, and the boy is nothing more than a glimpse."

"I don't want any part of that. No trouble. I only wanted to help this... a boy, you say?"

"A boy. The beginning. An experiment. Many things, and by the looks of it, he's nearly dead." Every word grated on my nerves, rumbling through the air. My soul fought to check out while the blood surged through my veins, boiling. I contemplated dashing it, but with the pain consuming me, I wouldn't have made it far.

"Maybe if I leave now, we can still save the boy. And trouble can forget I was ever here? I'm a nobody. I can safely be oblivious to my two-dimensional world and not say anything." It seemed farfetched. And who would believe me, anyway? Fully turned to where I'd picked up the body, I was back, staring into the black abyss. Only to have my throat shredded to pieces by dryness. From the furthest point in the room, another pair of darker, blood-curdling red eyes emerged, at least seven feet in the air. I was damn near on the verge of losing control—a deathly red in the darkness.