Burnt Blood: The Werewolf Within

Nine

'Sgt Morris 17th February 1962.'

The wailing of sirens ground to a stop, and creaking floors above caused dust to fall through the sliver of moonlight as it thrust forward down the stairs. The wind continued to whistle, keeping the hairs on my arms honest and to attention. Initially, adrenaline played tricks on my body, but that soon changed, moving my leg. The surge of searing pain continued to spread, leaving the source numb.

Realising it had become dead weight. No feeling, just a means to keep me upright, barely happening. I couldn't take my stare away from those damning red eyes. I'm not quite hypnotised, but they have an intriguing lure. Fear can make a person do strange things, and the human body reacts. If I was going to be killed, I might as well be facing forward instead of taking a cheap shot to the back, hobbling my way up.

The distance between us deceived me; if I guessed, it was at least fifteen, maybe twenty feet of darkness. The red eyes swayed side to side, tilting headlights. I was thinking about what to do next. It had been so sure about me not being alive long enough to be of consequence. I had landed in a trap, baited with the dead and one almost joining them. My heart raced with loud thumps through my eardrums. Could red eyes hear it, too? A no-win situation, and I had to inhale the nauseating stench of charred flesh while waiting to see if I would knock on heaven's door.

"How does it feel?" the terrifying voice broke the silence.

"Cuh, Cuh. How does what feel?" figuring it somehow knew of my wound.

"Don't play dumb. Do you think I can't smell it? That I can't smell you? You are simply dripping with intoxication," That was the problem; I didn't know what to think.

"I'm not. But I can't say what you could do because I don't know who or what you are," Shaking, stating the obvious. While hoping to be given a hint.

"The toxins are coursing through your veins; his claws penetrated and tore deep enough to muddy your bloodstream. So young and has no control. You will beg for mercy," making me look at my leg even though I couldn't see it, poisoned by the thing I was carrying. The thing referred to as 'he and boy.'

My eyes quickly shifted upwards, about to ask if there was anything I could do, not wanting to die. A few tears rolled free at the thought of losing control of my fate; looking ahead, the red eyes vanished. Twisting my body left and right. Feeling on the edge of paralysing fear. I had to try; maybe it left me alone. Letting the toxins do the job, drifting through my body. I was burning from the inside to out, in agony. I'd experienced a gunshot before, and that didn't compare.

Jabbing my good leg forward, scuffing across the hard floor, I attempted to drag my other leg along for the ride. I felt a rush of air zip past my cheek, about to pivot toward the steps. It wasn't the whistling wind I'd been used to; no, sharp, sudden and with spooky precision. It served as a reminder that I hadn't been left alone.

Frantic gasps for breath, straining my eyes to see anything that could help or give me hope. It happened again, this time on the other cheek. I was being toyed with like a cat caught by a mouse and wanted a little fun before tearing its prey to shreds. I'd become prey. Was that the fate of the headless foursome? Then again, it wouldn't explain what's in my arms.

Then nothing. An eerie silence bounced around in the darkness. Other than the persistent pounding of my heart. I slid my palm carefully through the sheeted back of the boy in my arms, barely feeling a heartbeat and out of rhythm. More worrying was the heat steadily rising. Barely clinging to life, the body felt different. The fragile, burnt carcass underneath felt a little thicker, becoming heavier and scaring me even more.