Anathema

Prologue

PROLOGUE

...

The night was never calm. A rare and cherished breeze filtering in past a dead town, twirling a small business's dream catcher.

Half the lampposts lining each side of the streets were asleep, unenlightened with the dread of an eerie street.

The night blanketed the buildings, stars guiding a weary man home. The full moon hung over, yellow and taunting, kissing the sky and romancing the hills just due north.

A man, with a dark coat and dirty shirt, walked against the pavement, leaving feet slapping against the empty road, echoing against the silent country town.

He knew the likes of the small reticent old hollowed out municipality, their morals old, legends older, and their council members oldest.

In fact he bet everyone living civilian in the Godforsaken stretch between highway 49, and down behind highway 10 resided the open land of Wildbury township had never grown out of their family heirlooms, nonetheless accept the new direction of things.

Population of 1,876, since 1876.

For every old gossipy biddy that died, a desperate houswife replaced her, and put a child next in line.

This was the kind of place that accepted cajun lore, and still had healers. This was deep breed South without a direction, but an obvious motive of not giving up tradition.

The man's eyes shifted warily from dead street lamp, to dead street lamp. All was silent, but he knew that could easily change within the fragile blink of an eye.

The man's hands were shaky, unknowingly guiding shifting yellow eyes that'd be trailing him, to his exact location.

Silent ghosts in wrongful secrets made up their only too real fears.

He shouldn't be out here. He knew that, especially on a night with a full moon. However, his escapade into the night was by far- not his choice.

Abruptly a shrill uncanny howl broke the silence.

The man started to fasten his pace, breaking into a run. Sweat began to bead on his brow, limbs unsteady with panic and adrenaline.

The night was suddenly filled with the slaps of shoes on pavement, and soft paws trailing.

The man skid down a narrow alley, bracing his breath, and clutching his chest, trying to force air in through his trachea. He slumped against a dirty brick wall, attempting to slow his heart and calm his heaving chest.

Hoping to God, and however else that might listen that whatever was chasing him had given up.

And then he felt it.

Warm air hit his balding head, leaving condensation on his flaking skin. Arm hair stood on end, with the presence of gooseflesh bubbling out in terror.

His was too shocked to move at first, hand suddenly wrenched from his chest by a large furry arm.

Nails dug into his body, leaving claw marks, and tearing the fragile flesh of his arm.

He couldn't believe his bad luck, the unfortunate simplicity of his demise.

And as he met the yellow revengeful eyes of a beast, and behind that beast, another stood, every-time he counted them, another moved in his line of vision. Fuzzing up the edges, and shaving off his sanity.

Growls filled his ears deliriously, steps strayed closer to him, each step forward equaled a step back.

Until he hit the wall.

Then the screams broke everything, shattering the peace.

Leaving a man dying in a cold alley, and scrawled in that same blood, was one word.

One word that would start a war that'd been in tension of over one hundred years.

Wolves

A/N

So there's the boring ass prologue, but you know, that's how it goes.....

loves you's

-Madly