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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| I had strange dreams. Waking nightmares. Wolves, giant ones, stalking through brick walls and pouncing, ripping into my flesh. I'd awake with a scream in my throat that refused to leave, only to have the entire thing start again. Chasing myself through forests in my own mind. Part of me knew it was whatever medication they injected me with. Part of me knew I was just going crazy. I shivered myself awake. It took me several minutes to realize why: no clothing. I was just wearing a pair of cheap boxer shorts. Groggily I rose to a kneeling position, and brushed the dirt off my elbows, my chest. It took great effort to pull myself to my feet. I admit to falling once. The ground rising up to catch me the way it had done on so many drunken nights. It was as if I had spent an entire week drinking and was coming out of the bender. As if the world tilted itself sideways and dumped me in the middle of a forest, with jello for dirt and pin holes for sky. Part of my mind kept repeating the mantra, somewhere deep inside was remembering a half whispered promise by one of the wolves from my waking nightmare. "We will wait till sundown," it said, in it's perfect European accent. "When the sun is gone, the hunt begins. When daylight dies, the hunt is born. When you awaken, run little rabbit. The wolf will be chasing you." Each tree reached to the heavens like hands searching for a savior. Dark dead leaves crunched under bare feet, that had just begun to feel the stones and thorns. Daylight didn't die in a bath of purple and red as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. It just faded, streaking towards the trees before it gave up entirely. Then a lone howl called out. Answered by two others. Run, run, run, I thought as I started moving away from the howls. Each step staggered. Wobbled. My back and hip started becoming alive then, calling, crying out to me. As I dodged a bush, moving across and around a tree, a root caught my foot, pulling me to the ground. The pain was like an energy surge to the system. Somewhere in my brain, computer banks were powering back on, monitors were lighting up. The world was coming back into focus. "Think Jason, running like a lunatic isn't going to save you," I said. "Only a pack of pissed off werewolves chasing you, that's all. Nothing to panic about." I felt her hand before I smelled her. Cold flesh clasped around mine and helped pull me upwards into a standing position. She gave me a comforting smile, full of maggots and flies. A once beloved grandmother. A mother and lover of life, now a zombie trying to be helpful. "Shit" I whispered. "Look, I can't help you," I whispered at her, misinterpreting her entirely. "In a few moments, I may be joining you." She shook her head, then pointed to the left. I head tilted, like a confused dog. She looked upwards as if hearing something, then pointed again, frantically. Confused, I followed the former grand mothers pointing, pressing myself through the under brush. More cold hands grabbed me, the scent of dead flesh now stronger. They pressed me downward, hiding me in the bushes. Behind the trees. I couldn't see what the older zombie was doing. I heard dirt being kicked and moved. As if someone was shuffling around across a track. Then I heard growling and loud sniffing. A predator was near. More than one. "He was dropped here," Verner snarled. "I know where I placed him." "Well," a female werewolf snarled. "He's not here now. Just these damn corpses." "Tricky son of a bitch," Verner snarled. "He cannot escape. Do I need to remind you what happens if he lives?" What happens if I live? What the hell are they on about? I wanted to peak my head up and see, to see who they were talking to, but the female werewolf snarled, "I smell faint traces of him, but there's too much of those corpses around for me to get a good lock on his trail." "Start here," Verner snarled, "begin circling. We'll catch his scent soon." The two that were holding me began to slowly pull me backwards as the older zombie in front started shuffling towards them. More began to gather. "I thought you said this was clear," the female werewolf snarled. "There's got to be a cemetery nearby." "Ignore them," Verner snarled. His heavy snuffling and breathing grew close. I held my breath. My heartbeat loud in my ears. He paused. Sniffed more. Then stopped. Moving away a few steps. I gave a slow exhale. "He's here," Verner shouted. I think the attempt was for him to explode through the trees. I didn't stick around to see. The two zombies holding me let go, and lunged forward at the werewolf as I turned to run, and ran into a wall of fur. "I got you," a male voice snarled. "Hey look what I fo..." The werewolf's voice became a whine as a rotten foot from one of the zombies kicked so hard it lodged itself in the groin of the beast. He grabbed his nuts, letting me drop to the ground. I crawled away, turned right and began running. Well, as well as I could run through a forest. Snarling werewolves right on my tail. One unfortunate former high schooler who must have learned too late not to text and drive pointed with a rotted hand to my left. I followed his directions. Following an old deer path, I sprinted through the old forest as best as I could. Ignoring the thorns and branches pulling and scraping at loose flesh. More of the walking dead started emerging from the trees. It was the size of a typical dead man’s party, and seemed to be growing. They moved towards the growls, the snarls. I heard a shout of "get out of my way," as the werewolf must have caught sight of me. They started moaning, then growling of their own, arms raised to grab, ensnare. I don't know if they attempted to bite him. I don't know if that would have helped. I tried to shut my ears to the absolute carnage happening behind me. After the numerous jokes that the zombies had played on me over the years, (think the bobbing for apples incident in the first zombie party I was part of), I knew that they felt no pain. They functioned on an entirely different level. More of a body getting one last celebration for its use as carrying the soul rather than a strange need to eat for no other reason than it's scary according to one Hollywood producer or some focus group. Still, I cringed as I heard the ripping and tearing. He gagged at least once. I turned to look as I ran two steps, and a root of some kind grabbed my toes, pulling me to the ground. "I will kill you," Verner shouted, his good arm swinging left and right. His amputated arm holding back two other zombies. They were caked in muck from rotten flesh. The smell was horrible. "I must!" He snarled. Then a zombie somewhere grabbed his legs and pulled. Down Verner went. But only for a moment. He was up almost as fast as he fell, taking two great strides towards me. "I will feast upon your bones!" Five feet now. Three. I was crawling backwards, trying to scrambling to my feet. But it was too late. He was on top of me now. Over me. The zombies at this point had him. By the shoulders, by the legs, by the arm. They had slowed him down, but a zombie doesn't have great strength. And a werewolf is much stronger than a regular human. So despite there being more than a dozen then there all trying to save my life, they did little more than slow him down. In my mind, I was saying my last goodbyes as I Glared up at him. I refused to close my eyes to death. Refused to wince. Kneeling over me, the silver and black werewolf's lip curled in a snarl on his muzzle as his ears folded back in vicious anger, he growled, "Now! You..." That's as far as he got. I couldn't see who it was in the faceless horde of death. But one of them shoved their hand as far down as they could into his mouth and yanked to the side, snapping the limb off. Forcing Verner to literally swallow its dead, rotting hand. He gagged, falling backwards onto the ground, groaning. "Oh God, I can taste it," he snarled. Trying to vomit. "You vile! Sick things!" He tried puking again, dry heaving on the ground. "Eww, why won't it..." more dry heaves, "come out..." It was about this time, that familiar black furred arms grabbed me. "Jason," Crash snarled in my ear. "Let's get you home." "What about him?" "I'd love to kill him. But right now, the rest of us have our claws full. His day will come." It's not the answer I wanted to hear. But it's the one I had to accept. The last view of Verner that I had was the horde of zombies standing around him as he continued to gag and dry heave. Two sounds that I never for the life of me ever thought I'd hear them as somewhat comforting. After a few minutes, we came to the edge of the forest. "Jason," Crash said, his ears were folded back as he set me down. Looking all in the world like a dog who had gotten caught stealing food. "I...I'm..." he began, then looked towards the ground. What else could I do? I hugged him. As hard and as tight as I could. "I'm alive," I whispered in his ear. "Don't you dare apologize for that." One of those ears popped up for a moment, pointing back towards the woods. "Backup's coming," he said. "Let's get you home." "Home?" "Err. I mean back to Roam's." "To safety." I said. "To safety and to family." "Yes," Crash said, his tail even wagging a couple of times at the thought. "To the pack." |
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