Burnt Blood: The Werewolf Within

Forty

The puppeteer's voice rattled out, followed by a sudden loud clunk. Chains quickly pinged in the air, cogs spinning out of control, and the helpless body now hung at head height. I could hear the pain, bones cracking and breaking, and my toes curled each time.

Terrifying squeals ripped through me, making my blood run cold. Dalton and Skip looked in a helpless daze, mouths hanging open. The wooden beams let out a worrying creak, the chains fighting to break or tear-free. We could do nothing; Dalton grabbed a crowbar, jamming it into the latch on the beam, trying to bust it free. Skip and I joined in, pulling on the chains. Even with our extra strength, it felt like a lost cause. There was a little give; two heavy-duty nuts broke free just as I thought we could.

The cogs raced, and I heard loud crunching and gurgling from the body; they were choking on their blood. A thousand trees snapped in a forest, echoing all around. Bones cracked, and then...

I dropped to the floor, holding three chains attached to a dismembered right leg. The other passed Dalton's face, sending a glaze of blood across his cheek. Skip and I pulled as hard as possible, and the bolts felt loose. The cogs spun too fast; the crank was too strong, and the body ripped apart as easily as tearing paper.

Skip slumped against the workbench, spewing his guts; all I could see was blood, intestines, and torn limbs. Charlie remained unconscious in the cupboard. Neither of us saw that coming; perhaps we should have. The little details were pointing to him. Not that I could imagine that, even after I'd been warned.

'Now for the twist.'

That's what the puppeteer said, and he wasn't wrong. The head came to rest in the corner, facing away; neither of us was ready to see, except I knew we had to know. See who the latest victim was, maybe even chalk a name off the suspect list. I still couldn't see myself killing the puppeteer's family, as he said, or remember.

Dalton was a mess; his suit was sprayed with blood, and he was leaning against a beam, still holding the crowbar. My hands finally let go of the chain, planting amongst the dirt and blood to push myself up. My movement caught some attention, waking the other two. Tentatively, I shuffled forward. Stepping over the torso and spilt bladder, the hood came free in the dismemberment. Seeing the hair close gave me an idea of who it was without touching the head. It's Kelcher.

"You hear that?" Skip was looking at the ceiling, wiping his mouth.

I listened closely; footsteps again, six pairs trying to creep. Their heartbeats were calm, giving an air of confidence. Two by the hatch, four had found their way inside. Strange, because the door had locked on me. Something was off, more than the surrounding carnage.

"Half a dozen; they're not rattled in the slightest." I moved in unison with theirs, edging towards the steps leading to the hallway.

Until my ears buzzed, Skip heard sirens in the distance, heading our way fast. None of them spoke; all three of us were looking in the same direction. My hackles ruffled; I was getting a bad feeling.

'This is the police; there's no way out; it will be easier if you give up now,'

That would explain the calmness; how would they know? If Harkes's body could linger for days without being called in, how would they suddenly know to come right after a body had been butchered?

"This could be great; get some help with this mess. Now, there are no games,"

"Dalton, we're covered in blood; this is Kelcher's body," he was clawing at the front of his suit as if that would clear the blood; Dalton was panicking.