by Stead, Nick
Even stranger was the way she didn’t seem to mind the fact I was naked, handing me a pair of trousers and a t-shirt without comment, as if this were something she saw every day. I didn’t ask where she’d got the clothes from. I probably didn’t want to know.
Turning away, I dressed as quick as I could, too dazed under the influence of her spell to ask any questions. I was barely aware that almost every inch of my skin was as dirty as my hands.
When I turned back to her my mind had cleared of the hazy shroud she’d placed on it, and though she was no less beautiful, I was ready for it this time and it didn’t hold me entranced. I could see that she wanted to sleep, and given our current surroundings, the fact that she had chosen a coffin out of the light, and the effect she’d had on me when I first laid eyes on her, I could guess what she was. And if I was right, that meant I had to accept the fact that my memories were true, and not some kind of hallucination brought on by alcohol. The possibility of that excited me, but I felt cheated that I couldn’t remember what it was like to experience the world with a wolf’s superior senses. It would explain why my vision had improved overnight and the blood in my mouth, which, young and naïve as I was, I assumed to be the blood of animals. After all, most wolves avoid humans, let alone hunt them.
I’d already researched all the different werewolf myths and legends way beyond the point of obsession, but how many of those myths were true and how would this change my life? I knew that there would be changes – the hunger and craving for meat were testament to that – but exactly what would change I couldn’t be sure, since not all myths agreed on the same thing. Take the lore around silver. Plenty of stories seemed to agree that was the way to kill a werewolf, but others said mortal wounds made by any weapon would do it. I wanted to know what to expect.
I felt slightly resentful towards this strange woman for placing me under her spell: I didn’t want to be used, and if she could control me so easily there was no telling what she could force me to do. But if she was really what I suspected her to be, I felt sure she would have all the answers. So I pushed those feelings aside. Besides, whatever she’d done to me was temporarily keeping the hunger at bay, which could only be a good thing after it had almost had me digging up graves.
The woman seemed to sense I was burning with questions and began by introducing herself.
“My name is Lady Sarah of Wilton.”
“Nick James Stead.” Somehow it just seemed right to give her my full name, even if I didn’t have a grand title like she did. “You can call me Nick.”
“You are newly turned,” she observed.
“So it’s real then? I am a werewolf?” I couldn’t keep the eagerness from my voice.
“Indeed,” she answered. “And there is much you need to understand, for these are dangerous times to walk among the undead. I will tell you the tale of your origins, for there is much truth in it, and also the origins of those who hunted you this night. Listen well, young wolf, and if you still have questions afterwards you may ask them of me, and I will answer as best I can.”
She paused to gather her thoughts while I waited impatiently for the truth behind the werewolf myths I knew so well. Just as I was about to start asking my questions she began to speak again, a weight to her words which had not been there before. She’d earned my full attention now, my love of stories keeping my questions at bay.
“From the dawn of mankind war has raged; bitter struggles for power, led by those who would seek it. So it has always been and so it will always continue to be, for the heart of man is corrupt and always longing for that which is out of reach: wealth, fame, immortality. Those men that would chase such are never satisfied, no matter how many tales are told of their deeds, no matter if they hold all the gold in the land: they always hunger for more.
“The rise and fall of such men is remembered even to this day, but the one this tale concerns sat the throne of Arcadia in Ancient Greek times. His name was Lycaon, and it is believed it was he who was the first of your race.
“Lycaon’s shadow already engulfed the region of Arcadia, but the sights of this tyrant were fixed ever outwards, beyond the border of those lands. Driven by the same greed that afflicts all men with a thirst for power, he sought to conquer and further extend his reach. And as is so often the case, power bred arrogance, and in his arrogance Lycaon fancied himself the equal of the gods. This mortal man took it upon himself to test Zeus by serving him human flesh, to see whether Zeus was truly omnipotent. But gods are not so easily fooled and in doing so Lycaon sealed his fate.
“Doomed to roam the Earth as a wolf with the rise and fall of every full moon, through Lycaon this new scourge was unleashed upon Arcadia. For Zeus cursed him with a terrible lust for human flesh above all other prey, and the power to spread the curse to some of those he wounded, but failed to kill. Those descended from apes were safe from the hold of lycanthropy, but those born of wolf would soon join the tyrant’s great and terrible pack.
“A curse this was intended to be, but to a man such as Lycaon it was viewed a blessing. Possessed with greater speed and strength than any mortal creature, none could stand against the fierce might of these supernatural predators. Lycaon and his kind learnt to transform at will, though the transformation at full moon remained involuntary. Most men ran before them, and cowered and hid, but his prey could not escape him and the streets ran with blood. Some rebelled, as is man’s wont, but those with the courage to fight fell to the jaws of their oppressors. Savaged and mutilated, they suffered brutal, bloody deaths. That first pack alone would doom millions, either bringing death to its victims or passing on the curse to them.
“And so the curse spread across the land like a plague as Lycaon extended his rule ever outwards, fancying himself a god now of the mortal realm. There was no cure to lycanthropy except death, and to kill a werewolf was no easy feat. Only a fatal wound to the heart or the brain could stop these beasts, the curse healing all else. Not even time could tame Lycaon, for the constant regeneration during each transformation rendered him immune to the same ravages it inflicts on mortal men.
“So began the Age of Wolves, a dark time for those still human. Had Lycaon remained in power, man might have passed into the void, forever lost in the shadow of the new werewolf race. But as powerful as Lycaon had become, his downfall was inevitable.
“Man’s salvation came not in the form of the blood and steel of heroes reclaiming the lands they had lost, but in tooth and claw as the werewolves turned on each other. Lycaon spent so much time looking outwards from the borders of his lands that he failed to see his once loyal pack mates turning to their own quests for power in their names, not his. When he finally realised he’d lost his grip on Arcadia and other areas of Greece, it was too late. Werewolves turned on each other and hundreds died.
“There the curse might have ended, for tales of the monsters terrorising the country had spread beyond the borders of Greece, and people learnt to avoid the unholy place. The werewolves might have eventually wiped each other out in the power struggles they were now locked in amongst themselves, had some of the newly turned not tried to escape.
“Often forgetting what they were for their minds during the full moon were those of wolves rather than men, some tried to flee the curse which only served to spread the cancer to other parts of the world.
“But werewolves are not the only race of undead to walk this earth and vampires too suffer from the same corruption as man, since human we once were. Though other werewolves followed in Lycaon’s footsteps, seeking to claim lands for themselves, the vampires joined the struggle for supremacy and in doing so prevented any chance of werewolves rising to dominance again. And in the midst of it all men, defeated but not broken, rose up once more and seized their chance while we undead were weakened in the war we waged on ourselves. Thus were born the group who named themselves the Demon Slayers, and they fought against us with a new determination, bent on our destruction. We were forced to ally against them and a great
battle was fought, yet it was too late, we were too weak from the battles already fought among ourselves. The Age of Men was restored and our numbers swiftly fell, never again to hold such influence over the land. We were forced to flee into the wilderness and the shadows, our desire for power forgotten in the bid to simply survive. But the Slayers were not content with merely driving us out of their lands and they continued to hunt us down.
“In power once more, men learnt to control our numbers, staking the bodies of the dead so they would never rise as vampires, and burning any at the stake believed to be werewolves. Many lives were lost, including those of mortal humans and wolves mistaken for your kind. Men are ruthless, and the Slayers’ resolve to eradicate us was absolute. So it was our numbers dwindled yet further.
“Over the years, men forgot why they feared the night. They forgot the nature of the predators that stalked the long hours of darkness. Man turned to science, and the undead became no more than myth and legend to them. Only the Slayers remembered, and in the shadows the bitter struggle rages on, except now it is we who are on the verge of extinction, while the Slayers’ numbers continue to rise.”
She fell silent, waiting for the questions she knew I still had. There was a lot of information to take in from her tale, but the first thing my brain had latched onto was what she’d said about the werewolves learning to transform voluntarily.
“So if those first werewolves could learn to transform at will, does that mean I have the power to transform whenever I want as well?”
“You do, but it is something you will also have to learn for yourself, as they did. I can help teach you but not now. However, the full moon will always hold power over you, and there are other things that can bring on the transformation as well. Strong emotions can induce it, and things that call to the wolf’s mind, such as blood, so you will need to be careful.”
“You keep mentioning the wolf’s mind – what does that mean?”
“When the wolf was awoken in you it was not just the ability to change form you gained. You also have a wolf’s instincts, but the brain’s way of coping is to separate the two personalities of human and wolf. Your inner wolf is a part of you, yet separate, for the time being at least.”
“Okay, and what did you mean about humans who are descended from apes being safe from turning into werewolves but not those ‘born of wolf’?”
“Some humans evolved from wolves rather than apes, despite what your present day scientists would have you believe. Only those with wolf blood in their veins can become werewolves, and it has to be a high enough percentage at that. But those who can become wolves do not always do so from one bite, though I know not why. If it were as easy as biting everyone you want to turn, your race would not be on the brink of extinction.”
I considered that and thought over what other information had been in her tale. “You said something about me being hunted while I was turned. So that was the Demon Slayers?”
“Yes, and they would have killed you had I not been there. We can only hope they do not know who you are and where you live, for if they do then all hope is lost.
“As it is, I had thought your kind were extinct already, for it is years since I have heard the howling of your brethren beneath a full moon, years since I have seen you hunting in the great packs that once roamed the forests… I fear you may be the last werewolf and the one who turned you did it as a final desperate act, for there are few lupine descendants capable of becoming werewolves left now – the Slayers saw to that. A pity he perished on the same night he made you. You are either the last, or one of the last, of a dying race. Perhaps there are a few remnants of the old packs that still haunt sacred places, though even if there are I fear for you all.”
“Well that’s comforting,” I said, but she didn’t seem to hear me, seemingly lost in thought. I wanted to ask more about werewolves and the Slayers, but I had no way of telling the time and I knew I couldn’t linger too long in the cemetery if I wanted to sneak back home before my parents noticed I was missing. So I settled for two final questions, waving a hand in front of her face to get her attention again.
“And the Greek gods, are they real too?” I asked, out of curiosity more than anything. “Was it really Zeus who created werewolves?”
“I cannot say for certain whether any gods or deities truly exist, but I believe it was more likely to have been a witch who cursed Lycaon. There have been witches who wielded that kind of power over the centuries, though they too are in decline in this modern world.”
I nodded and asked my second question, to confirm my suspicions about who this strange woman was. “And you’re a vampire bard or storyteller or something, then?”
“Nothing so common,” she hissed. “A vampire yes, but royalty as a human.”
I realised I should have known that from her title but before I could apologise she had already launched into the tale of her own transformation into one of the undead.
“It happened in 1356 on All Hallows’ Eve, or Halloween as you call it now. I was born into monarchy, a princess to one day rule as queen. I had just lit a jack-o’-lantern and was preparing to go to my father’s banquet when the window opened. A gust of wind blew out all the candles and as I groped my way over to close it, I found myself transfixed by the full moon shining through. I gazed at it for a moment, before sitting back down on my bed. Then I saw the shadow of someone behind me and I spun around, but he grabbed my mouth so I could not scream. His eyes were hypnotising and as soon as I stared into them I fell in love, becoming spellbound. He was so handsome, even when his canines grew longer, and surprisingly gentle as he turned my head to the side, baring my neck.
“I felt his teeth sink into my jugular vein, the world swimming in and out of focus as he drained my blood, drinking all my body had to offer. And as I died in his arms, he bit his finger and allowed his own blood to drip into me. I felt younger, stronger and fresher than I had in a long time.
“There was a knock on the door and I fell to the ground as he made a quick exit out of the window. I didn’t even know his name.
“I then slept for a month as I was changed forever into some kind of monster, forced to walk the earth in darkness and drink the blood of innocent people for all eternity. At first life was easy as no one suspected anything was amiss. I was a princess, and nobody questioned why I had begun to sleep through the day and live through the night.
“My first few victims were servants in the castle but I soon realised their deaths would not go unnoticed, so I would feed on the peasants in nearby villages. I took my parent’s place on the throne and ruled over them for some time, until I was forced to fake my death to avoid suspicion.
“After that I found ways to live among humans, as I had become accustomed to, not quite part of the mortal world but not completely isolated from it. Yet as technology became more advanced people were becoming suspicious, and the Slayers were ever adding to their ranks. I was driven into hiding, and now I must dwell in places such as this and disguise my kills as the work of animals. I don’t even have my own coffin.
“But enough now, I must sleep as I have not fed and I shall need my strength for tonight when there will be more Slayers, always more of them and less of us… You should go home and rest as well.”
I nodded my appreciation. “Thank you. I’ll see you again soon?”
She didn’t reply, already lying back down on the coffin and closing her eyes. I left her to sleep and rushed home, aware that the blood and dirt on my skin could lead to awkward questions. Luckily it was still too early for most people and I was able to climb back up to my bedroom window without being seen. I scrambled through and climbed into my bunk bed, pretending to be fast asleep.
My mind buzzed with all that had happened and all I had learnt, but in spite of the detailed information Lady Sarah had given me, it would be some time yet before I fully understood the true nature of this curse. Perhaps deep down I already knew it was not merely the blood of animals staining my skin, w
ith the reference to Lycaon’s own craving for human prey in the vampire’s tale. Or perhaps I really was too young and naïve to consider it could be anything else. Even if I suspected, it was a truth I did not want to face, so caught up in the excitement of my new powers as I was. So I returned home that morning with the innocence of my youth, such as it was, still intact, while in an unmarked grave the body of the woman I had killed lay forgotten: she who was to be but the first of many in the months to follow.
CHAPTER FIVE
Back to School
I’d returned just in time. Minutes after climbing into bed, the door swung open and Mum’s voice floated up.
“Nick? How are you feeling today?”
I grunted.
“Back to normal from the sounds of it. Come on then, up you get. You don’t want to be late for school!”
Actually I’d have been perfectly happy to be late for school – the less time spent in that accursed building the better. The thought of going back wasn’t a happy one but what choice did I have? Mum would probably drag me down the street if I didn’t go willingly.
I waited as long as I could to make sure everyone was out of the way before climbing down and venturing into the bathroom. It wouldn’t do to let them see me covered in blood and dirt. How could I explain any of that to them? There was no sane explanation. If I told them I was a werewolf I was looking at a one way trip to a padded cell, restrained in a straitjacket for all eternity. It wasn’t exactly what I planned to do with my newfound immortality.
It looked like lycanthropy was going to have both its advantages and disadvantages, though it was hard to see why it was called a curse if I’d only killed animals. That was no worse than buying meat from a supermarket, right? As long as it was only animals I could live with that. And despite the part of the tale about Lycaon’s craving for human prey, I’d experienced no such feeling. The hunger had returned and I still craved meat, but it was just a feeling of being famished as if I’d not eaten in days, not a hunger for human flesh specifically. And meat had always been my favourite food, particularly beef, so that didn’t seem overly strange to me. There was nothing to suggest my tastes had changed.
