Deep Within

“I found something!” Thom Raines carefully brushed away the dirt from the small, square object buried in the soil. He dug out the dirt underneath it a bit, just enough to get a hold of the artifact and pull it out. It was a small box, perhaps the length of his hand square, made of stone impeccably chiseled into shape. It's surface was covered with fine markings almost reminiscent of hieroglyphs, but with a hint of Celtic script.  The stone appeared to be obsidian, with a faint gleam to it even dirty.

“What? What is it? Is it gold?” his best friend and partner, Geoffrey Hollander, called as he ran over to where Thom knelt on the hillside. Panting, he put his hands on his knees and peered over Thom's shoulder.

“No, it's not gold. It's a rare piece of history, preserved through time, just waiting to be found.”

“Rare means valuable, right? Because we could really use something valuable right about now.”

“Geoffrey, this belongs in a museum somewhere, not in some collector's private collection. Now go get my bag, I want to get some pictures of this before I open it.”

Grumbling under his breath, the wiry young man jogged off, returning soon with a green backpack in his hand, grasped by one strap. “Why am I always the one to go get stuff?”

“Because that's your job.” Thom grinned, “Besides, if I'd left you with the box, you'd have it open and probably broke before I got back.”

“I love how much confidence you have in me,” Geoffrey said dryly.

Thom had his camera out now, and snapped a few shots of the stone box from several different angles before replacing the digital camera in his bag.

“Now we open it.” Picking the box back up, he breathed deeply before cautiously grasping the lid with the fingers of one hand, lifting up. Nothing happened. The lid was firmly in place. He pulled harder, with no luck.

“Need a hand?”

“No, I've got it.” Thom reached into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss Army Knife, opening the bottle opener attachment. Carefully inserting the screwdriver blade into the thin crack between the top and bottom of the box, he pried at it gently. It lifted just a hair. Doing the same at all four corners, he soon had enough of a crack to grip with his fingers and lift off the lid.

“What's in it?” asked a now excited Geoffrey.

Thom set the lid down in the grass in front of him, and looked into the box at what lay nestled inside. It was a carven wolf's fang, made of some almost pure white, tusk-like material, nested diagonally in a cushion of deteriorating cloth.  The cloth bore the familiar pattern of a Scottish Highland tartan. There was a hole drilled through the base of the fang, probably with a push-drill, and a crumbling leather thong ran through it. Thom lifted the artifact carefully from its resting place, and examined it more closely. There were markings cut into the base, similar to those on the outside of the box. Not quite hieroglyphs, but not quite Celtic script or Sanskrit either.

“What is it, Thom?”

“This, my friend, is one of the extremely rare Rienold Fangs. They're named for the archaeologist who found the first. There have only been five others like this found in the world, and never before in Scotland. No one seems to know where they originated, or why they were made. Just that they all have the same markings and were all found in a small stone box with similar markings. The markings on the box seem to be slightly different depending on where they were found, but the markings on the amulet are always the same. See this one that looks like a crescent moon? And this one, here, that looks like a wolf's head. They are repeated on all of the others. This is a remarkable find!”

“So... It's valuable, right?”

Thom shook his head, chuckling, then gently placed the fang back in its box, replacing the lid. “Let's go get some lunch.”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Thom Raines paced the floor of his large study impatiently. A large wooden desk, antique by any definition, sat before one of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, its surface immaculately organized, the dark wood polished with use and care. Upon the mahogany monstrosity sat a small paintbrush, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, and a soft cloth spread out carefully to protect the worn finish. The stone box containing the Rienold Fang rested comfortably on this cloth.

Occasionally in his pacing Thom would turn his dark-haired head to gaze at the desk, as if undecided about something. He seemed oblivious to the towering bookshelves to either side. After a few moments, he seemed to give in to some wayward thought and strode quickly to stand in front of the antique. Sighing, he started to reach for the box, then hesitated. Shaking his head, he went back to pacing. They would be here any minute, anyway. He wished now that he hadn't agreed to sell it to the private collector, though. Yes, it was a lot of money. But what need did he really have of more money? What was he even going to do with the money? Buy another car? Sure, that's what Geoffrey would probably do with his share. Thom had no desire for another vehicle, though, it was just something else for the government to tax him for.

Ruefully, he berated himself mentally for giving in. True, he had no particular use for the artifact, but it would have been nice to have given it to a museum somewhere. Geoffrey had been insistent, though, and he had finally succumbed to his best friend's desires. As soon as he thought that, he almost chuckled aloud at how it would sound if anyone heard him say that. He grinned for a moment, then looked back at the box resting contentedly on the desk. Sighing again, he walked the short distance to the desk, hesitated for a brief instant, then picked up the box.

Just one last look. Then he'd wrap it in the cloth, tie it with string, and wait as patiently as he could for the buyer to arrive. Gingerly, he opened the box, carefully placing the lid back on the desk after pausing to admire the markings. He had meticulously copied those markings, and the ones on the fang itself, earlier. His eyes were drawn to the long white fang resting in its nest of ancient tartan. It almost seemed magnetized, he couldn't look away. Lifting the alabaster carving from its box, he ran his fingers gently over its dully gleaming surface. It was smooth, worn, the texture just like that of a wolf's fang.

The carvings at the base were raised, the edges rounded and smoothed. Thom caressed the runes with reverent fingers, marveling at the fact that this artifact had been carved hundreds of years before he was ever conceived, hundreds of years before his father's father's father was ever conceived. The hole through the base of the fang was just large enough for the scrap of a leather thong that hung from it to go through. The carvings represented a stylized wolf's head, facing outward, on one side, a crescent moon on another, and on the third side there was a strange form that seemed a mix of wolf and man. The point of the fang was surprisingly sharp, Thom mused, testing it with his finger.

At that moment, the heavy wood door of the study swung inward, and Geoffrey hurried in, exclaiming, “They're here! They just came through the gate, they should be at the door any second now.”

“Ouch!” Thom yelped, almost dropping the fang, box and all. He had jumped when the door opened unexpectedly, and in doing so the fang had pricked his finger. Looking down, he saw a drop of blood well out of the wound. He raised his hand to his mouth to suck at the injury, hoping to relieve the sharp stinging. When his finger left his mouth the wound was already closing up, as if it had never been. Its only reminder was a slight but constant throbbing.

“Knock next time, will you?”

“Sorry. You coming or not?” Geoffrey's eyes wandered down to the object held in Thom's hands. “Isn't that supposed to be in its box, ready to go, anyway?”

“I'll be there in a second. You go get the door.”

“Okay, but hurry it up, we've got some money to make!” With that Geoffrey hurried back the way he had come.

Was that all he ever thought about, Thom wondered, money? Shaking his head with a bemused chuckle, he placed the fang back it its box, wrapped the cloth around it, and went to greet his guest.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~

A week later, Thom stepped out of the shower into a ray of moonlight coming from the bathroom window. He reached for his towel, and nearly doubled over in pain. It hit him like a freight train, coming from out of nowhere. He gasped, his eyes bulging as he fought back nausea. It felt as if every nerve ending in his body was exploding, burning with a fiery pain. His knees gave out, his legs crumpling beneath him, and he hit the tile floor hard. Suddenly his body jerked, his back arching, spasming. It felt like he was being stretched in a rack; he felt his spine straining, then it gave way with a sickening crunch, separating in several places. He screamed out in sheer agony, but there was no one to hear.

Within his body, he could feel his bones cracking, every bone in his body. His rib cage seemed to fold outward, pushing his chest upward, shoving his sternum out. He was sure he felt at least one other pair of ribs growing from his separated spine. His legs ached with a pain beyond anything he'd ever known, and his hips felt like they were rotating ninety degrees. He curled into a fetal position, gasping for air. His lungs burned, but felt as if they were expanding somehow. Drawing in a great breath of air, he felt his spine begin to repair itself, vertebrae lengthening and more discs growing in to fill in the breaks. The skin at the base of his spine burst, and more links grew out, forming a tail. New flesh and skin knitted its way over this new appendage. His tortured mind could only blindly scrabble at the beginnings of the question: What is happening to me?

Then all coherent thought faded a his fingernails began to grow before his eyes, lengthening and thickening until they resembled a dog's. The bones in his arms seemed to expand, thickening and lengthening, and muscles wound and knitted their way up them, in inhuman groups. The bones and muscles in his legs did the same, now more closely resembling a quadruped's limbs than anything human. His abdomen also stretched, his back now far longer than it should be. His ribcage was now well over three times its natural size, and it felt as if his very heart had tripled in size. As if that wasn't enough, a new, stinging, burning pain appeared in his crotch as what felt like a bone grew up the center of his member, wringing another, higher whimper from his tortured throat.

The pain wracked him, beyond excruciating, past unbearable. Yet somehow he was still conscious. His skull was next. It began to expand, shifting on his neck, cracking, fracturing into jigsaw pieces that then knit themselves back together again, in a new shape. An alien shape. His jaw extended, his nasal cavity moving lower onto what could now only be called his muzzle. His teeth lengthened, becoming fangs, and his tongue grew long, the tip lolling from his mouth. The skin on his face crawled, rippling and sprouting fur, his nose widening and flattening itself at the end of his muzzle. His eyes, often said to be his best feature, were now set to the sides of his face. His ears were no longer flat to his head, but long and standing tall, like a wolf's.

He had never had much body hair, but now he felt hair, or more precisely fur, growing all over his body, enveloping him in a thick double coat of fur. The skin on the pads of his fingers and toes, and on the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet thickened, growing hard and tough. His hands and feet were now paws, nearly the size of dinner plates. Another seizure shook his body, then subsided. The pain lessened now, the transformation nearly complete. Some sort of instinct seemed to take over, and he scrabbled feebly at the tile, needing to gain his feet. Finally his paws got a grip on the wet stone and he scrambled his way to all fours.

Some remnant of himself tried to continue to stand normally, but his new muscles wouldn't respond in that way, and he nearly lost his footing. Trembling, he looked up at the mirror, and whimpered at what he saw. Staring back at him in the reflection was a huge wolf, far larger than even the largest timber wolf. Cold blue eyes glowed with a predatory hunger, a wet nose wrinkled, sniffing the air instinctively. Ears, perched atop a long lupine skull, twitched. Heavily muscled limbs flexed, strength slowly coursing through new sinew. A huge, barrel-like chest expanded and contracted, moving with every great inhale and exhale. A long, sleek tail flowed from the smooth lines of a muscular back.

For an instant he wondered where this monstrous creature had come from, and then he realized: That's me.

That was his last conscious thought before his human mind was shoved aside, muscled out of the way by an animal instinct. Thom could no longer form intelligent thought; his mind seemed to have been left with his former body. All he—it—knew now was a hunger. A great, all-consuming hunger. He must satiate this hunger or die, his new, simple instinct-driven mind told him. And he could not die.

Cobalt eyes sought the exit to this confining room, its four walls a hindrance. The mirror was no exit, he knew that much. The door was closed, and doorknobs were of little use with paws. Finding the frosted glass of the window, a growl came from the wolf's throat. It snorted, and pawed at the cold stone tile. There was its escape. The beast gathered itself, and leaped.

Glass shattered, bursting, wood crosspieces splintering as the great wolf burst forth from the second-story window. It hit the ground below lightly, seemingly not bothered by the height from which it had jumped. Its nose twitched, sampling the night air, searching for the scent of prey. Those sharp blue eyes scanned the area, seeing the beautifully landscaped lawn, the gravel drive, the small copse of trees to the side. The tall, furred ears atop its head turned independently, seeking any sound that might lead to its prey.

The sounds of car engines and an ambulance siren in the distance were almost covered by the hooting of an owl nearby, and the crickets chirping in the grass. An assortment of smells assaulted its sensitive nostrils; the sweet scent of fresh-cut grass, the lingering stink of lawnmower gasoline and oil, the stench of rotting roadkill out on the highway, the usual assortment of nature's smells. These it filtered out, one by one. Then it found it; a faint, but enticing scent, wafted on a slight breeze. Perfume, something fruity. It came from the east, toward the road. Tongue lolling from its mouth, the wolf broke into a hunger-powered lope.

Bounding across the lawn, the huge creature moved gracefully, with a beautiful power to his stride. There was no remnant of humanity to it now, no scrap of logic, only the hunger. It had only one objective; to feed. To taste the coppery blood upon its tongue, to drink that life-giving nectar, to feast on succulent flesh and tender organs. The wolf growled low in its thick, fur-ruffed throat. It was entering the trees now, the undergrowth slapping at its sides as it ran. The scent of perfume grew stronger.

Eagerly, with no thought to stealth, the wolf sped up, closing the distance to its as-yet unseen prey. Nearby, an owl hooted eerily from its high perch. Nothing else stirred but the wolf. Breaking through the treeline near the road, it slowed and took a great whiff, sampling the air. The decadent, fruity smell was stronger still, as was the reek of road-kill. Panting, the wolf jogged along the roadside, almost hidden in the tall uncut grass beside the rural drive. Any moment now it would spot its prey.

There she was. Standing beside a small car with the hood up, waiting for someone to stop and provide assistance. There would be no help for her this night, though. The wolf slowed, lowering his belly into the grass, and slunk cautiously nearer. His sensitive nostrils absorbed the scent of motor oil, vinyl seats, and the faint tinge of sweat mixed with the bottled odor of fresh strawberries. Spittle drooled from his tongue, dripping into the dry earth. Soon its hunger would be satiated.

Moving almost at a crawl now, nearly invisible in the dead grass, the wolf drew even with the rear bumper of the vehicle. A low growl formed deep in its throat. Eagerly, it crept forward. He was nearly on her before she saw him. Just as the wolf gathered itself to leap, the girl somehow caught him in the corner of her eye. They both froze for a split second as she turned her attractive head to face him, and then, at the same instant, he pounced and she fled.

The girl ran faster than she had any right to, her legs fueled by fear and adrenaline. She hadn't screamed yet, the wolf, deep in the back of his instinct-driven brain, wondered why. No matter, though, the chase was on. If he could have, the great beast would have grinned. As it was, a fearsome leer formed on his frightening visage, his three-inch long fangs gleaming in the moonlight. His eyes, an eery shade of cold blue, almost seemed to glow as his powerful legs pushed off from the packed soil, and he gave chase.

She was now running down the middle of the country road, slim legs pumping. She glanced over her shoulder at the pursuing creature, locking eyes with him for an instant before almost stumbling on the rough asphalt. She was afraid; he could smell her fear. He could almost see the delicious scent of her terror, trailing from her lithe body as she ran. It excited him, made his hunger grow stronger. He would let her run a while longer, then just when she realized that he was toying with her, that she didn't have a chance, he would pounce.

He let her get a bit farther ahead now, let her think he was falling behind. She looked back again, and he sped up just enough to drop the distance between them by half. The fear in her eyes made his stomach rumble hungrily, and his long rough tongue flapped out of his mouth like a ribbon in the wind. He licked his chops almost lasciviously, a broken growl forming in his belly and emanating from his wide maw. The girl was panicked now; he could smell the adrenaline coursing through her veins, increasing her stamina as she called up another burst of speed.

The food—yes, that was how the wolf considered this slip of a girl running for her life; food, to be enjoyed—veered to the right and leaped across the wide ditch, entering the woods. The great wolf followed effortlessly, not even out of breath. The chase was invigorating to him, stimulating. It would make the resulting kill all the more satisfying. The girl ran just ahead of him, just out of reach. He could change that by speeding up slightly, of course, but he was enjoying this far too much to end it so soon.

~*~*~*~

Tree branches slapped at the girl's face, catching in her hair, tearing at her clothes. The only thought in her mind was to get away. She couldn't hold out much longer, though, and she knew it. If only she could climb a tree, she might could get out of reach of this monster. The animal was like nothing she had ever seen, it was far larger than any dog she had ever seen, and there were no wolves in this part of the country. Besides, it was bigger than any wolf she had ever heard of. What was this thing? No time to think now, she'd have time enough for that once she got away from it. If she got away from it. She had the horrible and terrifying suspicion that the creature was playing with her. That it was letting her think she stood a chance when it could catch up at a whim.

She had to find a way to get away from it. If only she had thought to just lock herself in her car. But then, the monster didn't seem like it would be stopped by mere steel and glass. At least she could have reached her cell phone, though. With that, she suddenly remembered the small can of pepper spray in her pocket. Her mother had insisted that she carry it, for just such instances as what had happened earlier in the night; her car breaking down, as it did several times a month these days. She should have walked to that drive she'd passed a half mile before, the guy that lived in the mansion on the hill had given her a drive once before.

She hoped desperately that she would live to regret not doing so.

She was almost too tired to carry on now. Her breath came in sharp jerks, her legs ached, and her sides burned. Frantically, her eyes, not yet fully adjusted to the darkness of the woods, searched for a suitable tree to climb. There, that one, with the low branches. Without slowing, she veered to her right a bit and, jumping up, caught the lowest branch and pulled herself up just before the snapping jaws of the gigantic beast close behind could close on her ankles. Scrambling for purchase on the rough bark, she pulled herself up to grab a hold of the next branch up, climbing hurriedly, knowing if the beast leaped up it would have her.

Once she was as high as she thought safely out of reach, she fumbled for the miniature can in her hip pocket. She almost dropped it pulling it out, but just managed to catch it. In doing so she almost lost her balance, and had to grab at the trunk of the tree to avoid falling. Breathing heavily, she righted herself, and the can in her hand. Below her, the wolf-like creature was pacing, growling deep in its throat and looking up at her with glowing blue eyes colder than glaciers. She was still terrified, but now she had hope. Or so she thought. Aiming carefully, she depressed the button on the pepper spray, sending a concentrated stream of the skin-burning repellent at the creature's muzzle.

It missed. Shaking, she tried again. And missed again. Against her will, she whimpered under her breath, and screamed a curse at the wolf, the first sound she'd made since the chase had begun. The animal only sat on its haunches, tongue lolling, and gazed up at her hungrily. She could see the hunger in the predator's stare. Hands shaking, she pressed the button again. This time the stream hit its mark. The wolf jerked, letting out a strangled half-yelp, half-growl, and shook its fierce head vigorously. One massive paw came up to bat at its nose, where the pepper had splashed.

~*~*~*~

He couldn't believe she had gotten so lucky as to hit him with the spray. It burned beyond belief, and his nose was now next to useless; all he could smell was the burning odor of pepper. His eyes watered, and he had to blink hurriedly to keep from losing sight of his prey. Shaking his heavy lupine head briskly, he let loose a horrible growl, long and menacing. It was time to end this. With a great surge of his powerful hind legs, he leaped clear of the ground, his forepaws outstretched. Catching hold of a lower branch with his huge dinner-plate paws, the wolf scrabbled for a foothold with his rear paws at the trunk, and pulled his heavy body up.

The girl had nowhere to go. He jumped, pushing off the trunk of the oak, hitting her in the midsection with one huge shoulder. With a crash, they both fell from the tree, landing hard on the leaf-covered ground below. The wolf landed atop the girl heavily. The sound of her ribs snapping like twigs sounded sharp in the quiet night, and her pained groan was sweet music to the wolf's ears. He lowered his muzzle to her face, gazed straight into her green eyes from inches away, and whuffed. Flecks of spittle blew into her face, her eyes wide and staring into his. A brief flicker told him that she saw it, deep within. She saw him. She gasped, and before she could inhale again, he tore her throat out.

Her blood tasted sweet, a coppery nectar of life. He savored the flavor, holding his mouth over the wound and letting it spurt into his gaping maw. She jerked, spasming as the life flowed out of her, and into him. The wolf swallowed repeatedly, drinking her crimson blood like the finest of wines. After a long moment, she ceased to move and lay still in the bed of leaves, her eyes still wide with the recognition of what he was. Licking his lips, the wolf stepped back, the flow of blood reduced to a trickle. Panting, the great beast hesitated only a moment before tearing at her bosom with his fangs, now glistening red from her blood.

Her flesh gave way as his fangs tore at her sternum, peeling her ribs back to get to her warm, tender heart. At last, his hunger was nearly done. He ripped her ribcage apart, shaking his wide head, tossing bits of flesh and bone in all directions. Then it was revealed in all its delicious splendor. With a huffing exhale of breath, the great wolf closed his jaws around the still-quivering organ, pulled it from the girl's chest, and swallowed it whole. As the warm meaty lump slid down his throat, its last thumping beat just fading, the creature shivered in delight. Then he went to work devouring the rest of the cooling corpse.

When there was nothing but a head and a bare skeleton with ragged bits of meat hanging from the bones, the wolf collapsed to its belly, fully satiated. After resting a moment, it rose to its feet and began to jog back the way it had come, back to the mansion on the hill.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Thomas Jefferson Raines woke with a start, gasping. He must have had a bad dream. He could remember vaguely something terrible, but no more. He rolled over and started to climb out of bed, only to notice the shattered door of his bedroom hanging from one hinge, the door jamb splintered, and large, muddy, dog-like tracks leading into the room.  Then the incredibly vivid dream of the night before came rushing back to him, and he fought back bile at the memory of that poor girl's death. At the same time, though, he started to grin as he recalled the feeling of sheer exhilaration from the dream.

And then the bile fought its way out as he realized it had been no dream.