High Moor

by Reynolds, Graeme

  Something seemed odd about the vehicle that she could not put her finger on until she got closer. Someone had let the front driver’s side tire down. A wooden matchstick protruded from the valve, and she could just hear the last of the air hiss out.

  “Oh, that’s just perfect.” She looked up the street and saw a small child’s head vanish behind a wall. “Thanks a lot, you little shit. Shouldn’t you be out playing in traffic?”

  Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help but be amused. She’d done much worse as a child. She opened the boot and pulled back the carpet to retrieve the spare tire only to discover that it was missing.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  Marie retrieved the mobile phone from her coat pocket and turned it back on. The display showed six missed calls, all from John, plus three text messages and two voicemails. She ignored them and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she wanted, then hit dial.

  “Hi, when’s the soonest I can get a taxi from Shafto Road in High Moor? Going to Treworgan farm. Yes please, I'll be waiting in the bus shelter.”

  ***

  13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 17.48.

  The white van drove along the country lane and passed the turning for the old farm. It stopped, reversed back, and turned onto the track. The lights flicked off and the engine stopped. Billy, Lawrence, and Simon clambered out of the vehicle.

  Simon pulled on a black balaclava and rubbed his arms. “Why do we have to walk all the way? It's miles, and it's fucking freezing.”

  Billy punched him on the arm. “Don’t be a tit. We don’t want him to know we're coming. He might notice us driving a bloody transit van up to his front door. And why are you putting that on now?”

  Simon adjusted the balaclava until the holes lined up with his eyes and mouth. “I don’t want anyone to know it’s me. Besides, it’s nice and warm.”

  Billy rolled his eyes and turned to Lawrence. “You got all the gear?”

  Lawrence opened the van’s side door and removed a large canvas holdall. “Yeah. Got it all. Cable ties, duct tape, hammer, blow torch, hacksaw. Once we’ve used that lot up, we might have to improvise a bit.”

  Simon shuffled from one foot to the other. “Are you sure about this, lads? I mean, we could get in a lot of trouble for this. I don’t want to go back inside.”

  Lawrence hefted the bag onto his shoulder and looked at the other man with disdain. “Stop being such a big bairn, Simon. We’ll go there, have our fun, and make sure he knows that if he goes to the cops then there’ll be worse on the way. I’ll break a couple of fingers when I’m telling him, to make sure he gets the message.”

  “What if something goes wrong?”

  Billy slapped Simon on the shoulder. “You worry too much. There’s three of us and one of him. What could go wrong?”

  ***

  13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 18.04.

  John had been a nervous wreck since Marie’s call. He’d tried to call, but her phone was still turned off, and he’d been expecting her to turn up on the doorstep at any moment. Now the moon was rising. He could feel the beast stir inside, testing his defences. In another ten, maybe fifteen, minutes, he wouldn’t be able to keep it in. He had to be locked away before that happened. He couldn’t wait for Marie any longer.

  He opened the door to the basement and was about to descend into the darkness when he heard two sharp knocks on the front door.

  “Oh, Christ. Not now, Marie.”

  He had to get rid of her. There was no time to be pleasant about it. Better that Marie spend the rest of her life hating him than any harm come to her. He almost sprinted across the living room and pulled the front door open.

  “Listen, Marie, I…”

  The person at the door was not Marie. Three masked men surged forward as soon as the door opened, grabbed John’s arms, and dragged him into the living room.

  He lashed out with his feet and tried in vain to free his arms. “God, don’t. You don’t understand. You have to get out of here.”

  One of the men took a claw hammer from his pocket and brought it down onto John’s right knee with a sickening crack. “If it’s all the same to you, John, I think we’ll stick around for now. We’ve got one or two things to chat about.”

  ***

  13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 18.05.

  The taxi stopped at the bottom of the lane. “Sorry, luv. That van’s blocking the track up to the farm. I can’t get you any closer than this.”

  Marie took a ten-pound note out of her jeans and handed it to the driver. “That’s alright, mate. It’s a nice night. I can walk from here. Keep the change.”

  “You sure you’re going to be alright? It’s a good half-mile up to the farm from here.”

  She unlocked the door and stepped out into the cold night air. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’ve got your number in case I need to get picked up.”

  “You want me to wait here for a while?”

  “No, seriously, I’ll be OK. I think this might take a while.”

  The driver shrugged. “OK, have a good night, miss.”

  Marie watched the taxi turn around and head back to town. When the tail lights disappeared around the corner, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and started the long walk up to the farm.

  Chapter 27

  13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 18.11.

  The hammer came down again, splintering John’s other knee cap. A wave of pain and nausea washed over him and he screamed in agony. Lawrence grabbed his arms and tied them behind his back with vinyl cable ties. Simon removed a roll of duct tape from the holdall. Billy swung the hammer again, this time connecting with John’s ribs. Two shattered, driving bone shards through his skin.

  John could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He felt the damage repairing itself already, the bones in his kneecaps crunched back into place, and the bone shards from his ribs sank back into his body. He spat blood onto the floor and gasped. “Stop, you have to stop. Oh God, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Billy laughed. “You hear this, lads? We don’t know what we’re doing.” He leaned in close. “I think you’ll find we know exactly what we’re doing, John. This won’t be the first time we had to teach someone to mind their manners.”

  John raised his head and looked into Billy’s eyes. “I’m going to kill you all.”

  Billy turned to Simon. “I’ve heard enough from this prick. Tape his mouth up.”

  John thrashed his head when Simon pulled a strip of tape from the roll. Lawrence grabbed a fistful of his hair and held him steady while Simon applied the tape.

  Billy put down the hammer and removed a Stanley knife from the holdall. “Peace at last. Any more clever comments, John? No? Didn’t think so. Lawrence, you go and check the house. See if there’s anything here worth nicking. Simon, get your phone out and record this. Mal will want to watch it later.”

  The beast hurled itself at the walls in John’s mind. It flooded his consciousness with a stream of emotions and images.

  Let me out. Kill them. Eat their faces. Feast on their hearts. LET ME OUT.

  Billy brought the blade up to John’s face. “I’m going to take one of your eyes now, John. Just the one. I want you to be able to see what we’ve done to the rest of you.” The blade sank into the skin of John’s left cheek, and Billy sliced through the flesh in a slow, deliberate journey to John’s eyeball. He felt the warm blood trickle down his face.

  The beast redoubled its efforts; pain and fury combined in a furious assault. John felt his defences crumbling. The moon was moments away from rising, but it wouldn't happen fast enough to save his eye. John had no idea whether he'd heal from an injury like that, and he didn't feel like finding out.

  LET ME OUT.

  Left with no alternative, he tore down the barriers in his mind and set the beast free.

  The change began at once, hitting John like a jolt of electricity. His muscl
es went into violent spasms, and he fell back onto the floor.

  Simon’s hand wavered as he held the mobile phone in front of him. “Billy? What’s happening to him? Is he having a fit or something?”

  Billy shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve hardly touched him yet. Get the tape off his mouth. He might be having trouble breathing.”

  Simon inched forward to where John thrashed on the floor and tore the strip of tape from his mouth. “There you go, mate. No harm done, eh?” Then he saw John’s eyes and backed away. “Oh Jesus…he’s…it’s…”

  John turned his head to look at Billy. The cut on his cheek was gone, and his eyes had turned from blue to yellow. John’s jaw dislocated with a loud snap, and the front of his skull warped as the bones shattered and reformed. Hair burst from John’s pores, covering his pale skin in a thick brown carpet. His arms swelled with new muscle tissue, and tendons like steel cables stood out on his neck and forearms. The vinyl ties around his wrists burst open as the transformation completed, and the creature that had once been John Simpson got to its feet.

  Simon and Billy bolted for the front door. The werewolf snarled and was about to pursue them when Lawrence walked back into the room.

  “What the bloody hell is going on in…”

  The creature turned to face him and peeled back its black lips to show twin rows of razor-sharp fangs. Blood-flecked saliva ran in rivulets from the werewolf’s mouth. It bunched its muscles, ready to pounce.

  ***

  Lawrence turned and ran through the nearest door, into the basement. He leaped down the stairs and twisted his ankle when he hit the concrete floor. The werewolf filled the doorframe. He hobbled into the open cell, pulled the door closed behind him, and locked it.

  The werewolf was at the door a second later. It's terrible face filled the small hatch, and it slammed against the metal door.

  Lawrence was sick with fear, but the relief he felt at his narrow escape elated him, and some of his bravado returned. “Ha, you can’t get me in here, can you? What you gonna do now, you ugly bastard?”

  The werewolf cocked its head, as if studying its prey. Then it reached down and the deadbolt began to move, and then slide back. The click as it unlocked the door had a terrible finality to it. Lawrence whimpered and watched the door swing open. “John, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  The werewolf filled the open doorway and sniffed the air, then walked into the cell. Lawrence’s whimpering became a high-pitched, thin squeal of horror as the creature brought its face to within inches of his and sniffed him. He felt his bladder loosen, and hot urine streamed down his leg. “Don’t…please…I’m sorry…I’m…”

  The werewolf darted forward and bit down. Fangs tore through muscle and ligaments and shredded flesh. Blood ran from the creature’s mouth and mingled with steaming pool of urine at its feet. The werewolf pulled its head back and ripped Lawrence’s face off, leaving a screaming bloody skull with staring eyes. It swallowed its meal and howled in triumph, then shoved its claws into Lawrence’s chest and cracked his rib cage open like a lobster. Lawrence was still screaming when the monster pushed its snout into his open chest and sank its fangs into his heart.

  ***

  Marie shoved her hands deep into her pockets and made her way along the dark trail to John’s house. The stars were visible, but shed little light, just enough to cast faint shadows against the darkness that gave it the appearance of a living, moving thing. A silver halo appeared on the eastern horizon, and Marie was thankful for the extra visibility. She saw the lights of John’s house through the trees and hurried onward, keen to get out of the cold.

  The moon was completely above the horizon when she came to the end of the long track. She was about to cross the yard when the front door burst open, and two men dressed in black combat gear and balaclavas ran from the house. She stepped back into the shadows and took cover behind an overgrown laurel bush. The two men looked as if they would run straight at her, but then they changed direction, sprinted into the disused barn by the side of the house, and pulled the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

  A long, savage howl sliced through the silence. After a second, a desperate scream followed, increased in pitch, then cut off.

  Marie felt her heart race. She looked up at the full moon, now clear of the treetops, then back to the house. A dark shape emerged from the front door and sniffed the air.

  “Oh no.”

  ***

  Billy and Simon crouched in the barn between a pile of mouldering hay bales and the wooden walls of the building. Simon pulled his balaclava off and looked at Billy with wide eyes.

  “What the fuck was that, Billy? What just happened?”

  Billy shook his head and struggled to catch his breath. “Christ only knows. Either someone slipped us a shitload of acid, or our old mate John just turned into a bloody werewolf.”

  Simon’s voice stammered as he spoke. “Do you think it got Lawrence?”

  “What the hell do you think? You heard the screams same as me.”

  Simon grabbed Billy’s arm. “It’s going to come after us, isn’t it? What’re we gonna do?”

  Billy shook his arm free and hissed at his friend. “If you don’t keep your fucking voice down, then yes, it’s going to come right at us. Now shut the hell up and let me think.”

  A howl reverberated around the courtyard. Simon turned white and backed against the wooden wall. “Billy?” he whispered.

  Billy’s eyes were wide open in abject terror. He crouched behind a pile of hay bales and tried to control his breathing. He hissed at Simon through his teeth. “Quiet. See if you can see anything through that window.”

  Simon edged his way along the wall to the single windowpane and peered through. The moon highlighted the trees in silver and cast soft, wavering shadows across the open ground between the forest and the barn. An owl hooted nearby. Then all was quiet. Simon withdrew from the window and stood with his back to the wall once more.

  “I can’t see anything. Do you think it’s gone?”

  Billy’s eyes widened even more. He tried to speak, but his voice had deserted him. He raised his trembling arm and pointed to the window.

  Simon's heart lurched in his chest. He looked across to the window, but saw nothing except a large patch of condensation on the outside of the glass. “What? What did you see?”

  Two clawed hands burst through the rotting wood to either side of Simon’s head. Talons sliced through his face and dug into his skull.

  “Oh God, Billy. Help me. Do something. Do…”

  The arms yanked Simon back through the splintered wood. A two-foot-long shard tore into his back and burst out from his stomach, bringing a section of his intestine with it. The werewolf pulled again, and the massive splinter sliced through the man’s torso with a ripping sound that made Billy want to throw up.

  Billy shook off his terror and grabbed his friend’s feet in a vain attempt to pull him back inside. Simon’s scream turned into a gurgling wail, and his legs thrashed about in Billy’s hands.

  The splinter creaked and then snapped, separating itself from the main barn wall. Billy braced himself against the base of the wall and pulled with every ounce of strength. He felt Simon slip towards him and, heartened by this, he redoubled his efforts, despite the fact that his friend had stopped kicking.

  A wet, tearing sound filled the air, and the lower part of Simon’s body separated from the top half. Billy fell back onto the floor, still holding Simon’s legs. The upper half vanished through the hole and into the night. The blue-black loop of his intestines caught on another jagged piece of wood and then unravelled after the werewolf and its victim like a wet, meaty streamer until it pulled taut and snapped.

  Billy stood shivering for a moment and looked at the gaping, blood-smeared hole in the barn wall. “Oh fuck this,” he said, and sprinted out of the barn, onto the long dark lane that led to Lawrence’s transit van.

  ***

  The beast rammed its snout i
nto the man’s chest, relishing the crunch of bones under its teeth and the sweet taste of the marrow on its tongue. It raised its head and howled in elation. After years of confinement, it knew the taste of freedom once again. The moon shone down on the creature and made its blood sing, and it let out small yaps of pleasure as it consumed its prey.

  The beast could smell the fear on the other human and listened to the sound of its heart as it threatened to burst in the man’s chest. The prey was running. Millennia-old instincts awoke within it. The chase, the anticipation, and the kill. It turned away from the eviscerated corpse and bounded off in pursuit of its next victim.

  ***

  Billy ran faster than he'd ever done before. Terror gave strength to his trembling legs, and the cold night air burned his throat as he fled for his life. He tried not to think about his heart pounding in his chest, or the pain in his lungs. His only thought was to get away, to put as much distance as he could between himself and the monster that had killed two of his friends.

  He emerged from the shadows of the tree-lined driveway, and into the open countryside. He saw the van at the end of the track, its white paint turned orange by the street lights that flanked the main road.

  I’m going to make it. I’m almost there.

  He fished the keys out of his pocket without breaking stride, gripped them in his fist, and urged his tired legs to greater speed. Then he glanced over his shoulder.

  Two green eyes bobbed in the shadow of the woods, getting closer at an alarming rate. The werewolf dropped down onto all fours and emerged from the darkness at a full gallop. Its ears flattened against its head, and its tongue trailed from the side of its open mouth as it ran. Muscles moved beneath fur with a sinuous grace that would have been mesmerising if it had not been so terrible.

  Billy squealed in horror and tried to go faster. Then his foot caught in a pothole. The bones in his ankle broke with a wet snap, and he collapsed onto the track. White-hot pain coursed through his leg, and he cried out in misery and desperation. He looked behind him and whimpered.