Lycanthropy: Charlotte's Story Chpt 3

For the first time since I’d moved in, Harriet was not in the kitchen when I went to make breakfast. The heat was already starting to slide into the house; the sun had been up for hours, slowly warming up, saving its heat for the middle of the day. I closed the kitchen window and hoped it would make a difference.
Harriet emerged sometime later, stretching her arms high above her head. I set the diary face down on the table, marking my page as she came in. She always looked younger than she really was- country life I suppose. Not enough stress, I thought, feeling amused. She put the kettle on and slid gracefully into a chair.
“No gardening today?” I asked, looking up. I’d decided to stay in the kitchen and eat breakfast there, rather than taking it back to my room.
“Not today, no.” She gazed around the kitchen. “I have a group gathering on Wednesday nights, it usually goes quite late so I try to sleep in.”
“A gathering?” I was trying to think what kind of gathering she would partake in. Book club?
“A meeting, sort of. Just some friends from around town, you know.”
Not really.
I frowned. “But I’ve been here for ages now, and you’ve never had people over. The only people I’ve met in Rosehill are you and the bus driver Bill.”
“Well tonight you’ll meet a few more.” She smiled. The way she looked at me made me stop and narrow my eyes.
“What?” I asked suspiciously. She waved her hand evasively.
“Oh, nothing.” Then she smiled again. I rolled my eyes, and pushed away from my chair.
She raised her eyebrows. “Going back to your room?”
I nodded. Her eyes fell on the diary and she pursed her lips thoughtfully. I followed her gaze, and immediately felt the need to ask questions.
“Whose is all that stuff in my room? All the clothes and the books still in the furniture?” I asked quietly, trying not to appear too eager. She gave a small sigh that I probably would have missed if I wasn’t looking at her so closely.
“Have you read much?” she asked, indicating the book with a jerk of her head.
I stared at her briefly. “A little. I’m enjoying it.”
She looked at me sharply and pursed her lips again.
I frowned. “Have you read it?”
“Of course. It’s been in that room with that other junk for years.”
I nodded slowly. “Who’s stuff is it?”
She grimaced. “Well you’re obviously not that far in.” she said, indicating to the book again.
I grinned and lifted the book from the table. “I’d better get reading then.”

As I continued to read his diaries, I found that many of the entries were written by someone as lost and lonely as myself. After his encounter with the wolf, Malachai withdrew from his family, especially his sister. He could not forgive himself for what he had done, for the life he had helped end. What sickened him further was his Father’s pride and the awe from his friends. He thought his Father, of all people, would understand his grief, his regret. But he was alone. My own loneliness cried out to him as I read his words, my own grief pouring into the pages.

I do not trust myself to speak anymore. I do not know what to say or how to say it. I am moody and aggressive and I know this is not me. My Mother visits me in my room and brings me meals but yesterday I said something to upset her and she has not been back today. I cannot remember what I said.
I can hear her crying downstairs. The low rumble I can hear is my Father’s comforting voice. I wish he would use his voice on me, I could use the comfort. I do not know what is wrong with me. I am ill, I think. It is weeks after my attack and the doc declared me fully recovered, but I think this has something to do with the wolf. I do not feel fully recovered. I feel like a different person. I wake with a headache each morning and it does not go away until I fall asleep at night. I feel feverish and cannot eat, which is good because my Mother will not bring meals to me anyway.
I hear Samantha outside my room and I turn to look at the doorway. She is standing there, unsure. I do nothing, but continue to stare. Silently, she steps inside and closes the door. She sits on the edge of the bed and gazes at me.
“It’s happening to you too, isn’t it?” she whispers.
I stare at her and am unsure of what to say. A low snarl escapes my throat and she gives me a half smile.
“I knew it.”
I still say nothing.
There is a light in her eyes, and she looks thoughtful. “When you sent me for help, when the wolf was there, I was not frightened for you. I should have been, but I wasn’t. I knew what you could do, even if you did not. I knew you would survive.”
“What are you talking about?” I spit. Her smile fades.
“We’re something different, Malachai. Where have you been the past few months? Haven’t you noticed what’s been happening to us?”
I had not. I had been selfishly keeping to myself, refusing to look at the things around me. My sister took pity on me.
“It’s alright. I’ll show you when you’re well.”
I looked up, hope showing in my face. “How do I get well?”
Her eyes softened. “Let go.”
“Let go- of what?”
“Of yourself. Of this life. It’s not for us, Malachai. We were made for something different. Something better.”
“What are you talking about?” I say again.
She does not reply. She leans forward and holds my gaze until she is inches from my face. I see nothing until the light shifts- for a fraction of a second the sunlight flashes over her and her face is transformed. Her eyes flash and the pupil dilates- her teeth sharpen and grow pointed fangs and her face loses all recognition. I jump from the bed and stumble into the wall in my haste to get away from her. I am gasping. She laughs.
I can barely breathe. “You’re one of them.” I say, pointing at her.
She nods. “And so are you.”
I shake my head violently. “No..”
Her smile vanishes. “Yes. Why do you think we were never taken? Why do you think you survived when that wolf attacked you? You knew what to do, Malachai. We think the same way.”
I am struggling to stand. “No, no. I’m not, we’re not. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I only knew what to do because of the dogs!”
She held me up. “I know it’s hard. I felt the same way, at first. But Malachai, the things I can see, the things I can hear. It’s amazing. And together, we could do so many things.”
“I’m not one of them.”
“Stop being so blinded! You are what you are, you can’t change that. I thought I could change it, but I can’t. It’s happened now and there’s no going back.” For a second she looks saddened, then her face hardens and she loses her temper.
“Either you’re with me or against me.”
I have never been faced with such an ultimatum but I already knew my choice.
“I will not be a killer.”
“Then I cannot help you.”
I feel I am losing her. “Samantha. We can do something. We can get help.”
She laughs manically. “You can’t help me. It’s too late for that.”
“It’s never too late.” I gasp. I’m so tired I can barely stand.
“You don’t get it do you? It’s too late for us. How can I get you to understand?”
“Sam, we’re just sick, it’s not real. It’s not real.”
“Sick?” She laughs again as she struggles for something in her pocket. “Sick?” It is a knife she has. As I step toward her as she slices at her arm- a long deep gash opens and the blood wells out. My own blood rushes from my face- I feel light headed.
“Sam! What are you doing?”I gasp.
Silent tears streak her cheeks. “Watch.”
I gaze helplessly at her arm and am about to reach out to her when it begins to heal. Before my eyes, the skin sews itself back together, and all that is left is the blood- dried and smeared across her skin. The scar that is left behind looks like it is years old- a childhood accident. I moan and slump to the floor.
My sister looks down at me, bitter anger in her words as she says, “You cannot help me now, brother.”
She turns from me and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. She leaves me alone with my fear and my thoughts and I wonder if what I have just seen is real. I try to think that it never happened, that what she told me isn’t true. She cannot be right. How would we come to be like this? Samantha has had no contact with the wolf-men at all, and the doctor told my Father that I was not in danger of becoming one. I do not understand how her arm healed in front of my eyes, but I refuse to believe that I will become the thing my village hunts each night.

I close the book carefully, thinking of Malachai yet again. It made me think of Lee, and how it used to feel between us. I could still remember the feel of his body against mine, the way his lips curved down at the corners and the way he called me stupid things like “honey” and “sweetheart”- I always hated that. I thought back to the first day I realized he liked me. He was giving essays back, and as he came around the class he approached me from the left. As he placed my essay on the desk, he put his hand on my shoulder- it was just an absent touch, but when he didn’t remove it, I looked up and saw him watching me. I gave him a smile and that was it. I found him waiting when school was out- parked in his beaten up white Ford, watching for me. I let him take me home and the rest was history. I went to leave and he reached over and kissed me, gently on the lips, so carefully. We kept our secret for many months before my parents found out, and those months had been the most exciting time of my life. Having that kind of secret made our relationship stronger somehow, probably extending its life a lot longer than either of us had anticipated. It wouldn’t be long before he came for me- he was making the arrangements now, looking for a unit we could rent together. He’d told me the night before how much he missed me, that he spent every night looking so I could come home.

I’d been reading all day, moving slowly from one side of the bed to the other as the sun streamed in through the window. It eventually got too hot to stay on the bed so I took the book to the kitchen and settled at the table. There was no sign of Harriet.
The entry I was currently reading was the entry I had first read, and came after his sister’s confrontation, when he could hear his friends coming from down the street. Having read it before, I skipped past it to the next one. This entry made it obvious that there was a large gap in time missing between this and the last one.
Malachai had been frightened, dismayed even, about his impending fate- to become like his sister- to become the hunted. He had been horrified, sickened at the very thought of it. And then his body began to change.
His hearing was the first to be altered, I knew that much from the episode of being able to hear people outside the house- and then he didn’t speak of it anymore.
The large gap held the most important part of all- the part I had been dying to read- his transition from man to wolf. He didn’t include one scrap of detail, not one memory.
It did not explain how his sister went missing, as I knew she did, from a future entry. It did not explain what he had become.
I wanted to know what had happened to Samantha. But the new entries did not include her. She must have disappeared during this time. The first details after this time gap that appeared on the pages shocked me.

I’m running; running, running. Free as anything. More free than I’ve ever felt before. The house is far behind me, my old life slipping away. I do not need the moon’s light, though it is full above me- for my eyes can see everything everywhere. There is nothing that can hide from me. I run through the bush, making as much noise as I like, and I catch a scent. It is a man I know- he used to watch Samantha and I as small children. I feel the glee rise up in me and I am after him, running through the trees, athletic and free. But with a purpose. The scent becomes suddenly strong and I slow down; slinking forward I see a house, and then I see the man. He is older than I remember, but that will not matter when I tear him apart. Old people tear just as well as young ones do. I creep forward. He hears me, and turns slowly- he is carrying a bucket. He has been weeding his garden, a lantern providing his light. Even though he cannot see as well as I, he cannot miss me at this close range. He drops the bucket in surprise and before he can shout, I have torn his vocal cords from his throat. I stand, my front two paws on his broad chest, and lift my bloodied snout to the sky in triumph. He gurgles beneath me and I feel his life slipping away. I gaze down at his now still form, not at all disgusted by the way his insides have been exposed to the warm night’s air. The red flows out, like a warm, bubbling river. I do not eat him; old men are too hard to digest. I look towards the house- he might have a young family. Hopeful, I trot up the wooden steps and nose my way in carefully, listening. Unfortunately, I hear nothing. He lives alone; I smell only him upon the furniture. Vaguely disappointed, I leave him leaking into his garden and begin my search for more exciting prey.
What I find is the first thing of interest I have seen since I became a werewolf. I am at the creek, just a few kilometers from home when I smell her. I am tired, happy to end my hunting, but the smell is intoxicating. I follow it down the creek, away from the path that leads to home, until I stop at a small, yellow brick house. In the moonlight, it is almost pretty, however shabby. When I reach it, the smell of her overpowers me and I stop in my tracks, my eyes closed, my nose held high, breathing in that delicious scent. I find her room easily and peer in at her through the open window. I could easily jump in and be drinking her blood within seconds, but for some reason I do not. I have never held back before, and it puzzles me why I suddenly am waiting for the kill. I see her blood pumping through the large vein in her neck and I lick my lips. She is not pretty, but there is something about her that I must have. I back away slowly, and plan to meet her the next chance I have.

I am suddenly impatient with the moon. The first few months, the moon’s cycle seemed never to last long enough, and now it seems to last forever. I wait the next full day, not feeding, just lying near the creek, listening to the occupants in the yellow house. The next day, I creep closer, and the third day I sit ten metres from the house. I begin to watch her mercilessly. The girl gets up early and goes to her learning place- the same one I used to go to. Her smell is wondrous, and I follow after her immediately. She travels alone, each day, walking to and from learning. I watch her go back inside her house and I listen as she greets her mother and has dinner with the family. Then she enters her room and I shamelessly watch her undress. It is something I greatly enjoy seeing. Sometimes she sings to herself. Her notes are off-key but I don’t mind. I do not care how she sounds. I follow her each day- I am her shadow for three whole months. I sit outside her window at night and listen to her breathing. She snores slightly, which is a little off putting, but I look past it. It is not important.
She spends whatever extra time she has with her family or in her room. She lives with her mother and her younger brother, who is only a small child, around two years old. Her father is dead- I can smell him, but only very faintly. His scent is being drowned out by the young male that continuously returns to visit her mother. He comes late at night and they disappear for hours into her mother’s bedroom. It is no mystery what they get up to. Sometimes the girl sits up in bed, listening to them upstairs. Most times, she screws her eyes tight and tries to fall asleep. Sometimes the baby cries and she must tend to it, because her Mother cannot hear it through all her pleasure. I find her Mother amusing. She invites many young men into her house- most of which she does not know. More often than not she lures them up to her bedroom- but they must leave before her regular gentleman should show up.
I find it easier to watch the girl in my human form- my killing instinct is easier to push aside, though being a man has its draw backs. Lust has overcome me; I can think of nothing but her. The wolf never disappears, but his instincts are dimmed when I am human.
As I lean against her windowsill, gazing in at her, I long to touch her skin and it is then that I realize I wish to touch it with my fingers. It is the first human impulse I have had in a long time. Attraction. I do not know what to do about it; I have never had an interest in girls before. I do not even like her. She is sickeningly sweet and she has a bounce in her step that I dislike. She is not beautiful. Yet there is something still. Something that draws me to her. Something that makes me want to kiss her and kill her all at once. I do not know which I want more.
It is two weeks later that I am tested. I am making my way down past the creek, following the familiar path to the little yellow house, thinking about what she might do today, what she might see. I am not paying attention. I am over-confident. I am nearly there when something is wrong. I can smell her, all around me- her scent is everywhere, and it’s strong, recent. I stop and turn slowly and I realize how foolish I have been. She is standing behind me, her arms crossed over her chest. She looks angry, which amuses me greatly, for I know I have been caught. I do not care, though I am slightly disappointed with myself. I put it down to a youthful mistake.
She glares at me. “You’ve been watching me. Following me.”
I smile at her, but say nothing.
“I’ve seen you at it.”
I still say nothing.
“I know you’ve been doing it! What have you got to say?”
My silence infuriates her. I notice she smells better when she is angry. The wolf inside me becomes excited- I am closer to her than I have ever been, her scent intoxicating.
I decide to placate her. “Yes, I have. And I enjoyed every minute of it.”
She looks surprised. Then she blushes- it is not discreet, her cheeks bloom with blood, flushing her skin a deep pink. My heart beats faster, watching her colour change. She looks embarrassed.
“Do you like me then?” she asks, so naïve to my real intentions. She does not know that all I wish is to feel her blood drain into my mouth while she moans with pleasure.
I nod, smiling.
“You watch me a lot. Have you seen me naked?” She is very red again.
“You never told me not to look.”
She makes an exasperated noise, but then she smiles. “I didn’t know you would watch that!” She studies my face, and then she smiles again, slightly. “I have known you have been watching me. I am not sorry you have seen me naked.”
She has a lot of nerve, but with a Mother like hers, I am not surprised.
“May I kiss you?” My manners are impeccable, my own Mother taught me well. But we are from a different class, she and I, and I know what her answer will be. Already, my fingers are itching with excitement.
“Yes.” She pouts at me, and her red lips are suddenly dark and full. I cannot contain my excitement any longer, however I know this first moment is crucial. I kiss her softly, lightly, knowing that I am doing it perfectly, though I have never kissed anyone before. Her heart is beating faster and she tries to put her hands around my neck, but she is too short. She pulls me to my knees successfully- I will be her puppet now. But not for long.