by Amy Cross
I think about this for a moment. “Me too,” I say.
He looks deadly serious now. “It chews the meat straight off their bones. If you don't disturb it, there's nothing left inside of about half an hour. Just bones”. He squeezes his eyes tight shut. “Fuck, girl, I've seen some crazy shit around here. There's no way you'll get me walking these streets alone at night. No way. Fair warning to you, don't do it”.
We shake hands. “Jess,” I say.
“Andrew,” he replies. “I saw you were here with a friend”.
“Yeah, Sam,” I say. “She's just stepped outside. I think she smokes”.
“Better not leave her out there too long,” Andrew says. “Remember what I said”.
“What is it?” I ask, staring at him. “I saw it, but it looked human even though... Do you know what it is?”
Andrew shrugs. “Don't know. Don't want to know, not of it means getting close to the damn thing. I'm just passing through here, I'll be gone in a few days. Whatever that thing is, I don't really care if it stays here. Just as long as it doesn't follow me”.
I stand up slowly. “Why doesn't everyone know about it?” I ask.
Andrew stays seated, looking up at me. “Fear,” he says. “They know about it, alright. But they don't want to admit it”.
“Makes sense,” I say. “I'm going to go and find my friend”.
“Be careful,” he says. “Sometimes it comes into the buildings to hunt”.
I look around. “Then why don't you go somewhere else? Why don't you hide?”
He shrugs. “There's nowhere to hide. It's fucking everywhere. Just have to make sure you don't get caught alone”.
I go and look for Sam. She's not in any of the other rooms, and eventually I find myself down on the ground floor of the building. It's fairly well lit, but still... I'd rather not be down here alone, not after some of the things I've seen and heard recently. At the same time, I've met this creature – whatever he is – and he didn't hurt me. So I'm not convinced he's quite as dangerous as Andrew suggested. Besides, it's all crap anyway. Sure, I sure a guy eating flesh from a dead body, that doesn't mean there's a killer running around. It just means there's some crazy guy who's probably long gone by now.
“Sam!” I call out, but there's no reply. I'm sure I saw her coming this way. “Sam!” Damn it, I hate when people do this. We were supposed to stick together. Has she just split completely? That'd be pretty shit, it'd make her a bad friend. Then again, is she even my friend? I only met her this morning...
I spot an open door and head over. It's raining outside, and dark, but I peer out into the night. At first, I don't see anything. I step out into the yard. It's dark, but there's enough moonlight to allow me to see Sam on the ground. She's rolled onto her side, facing away from me.
“Sam, get up,” I say nervously.
She doesn't respond.
“Sam,” I say. “Stop fucking about”.
She stays where she is, not moving. I look around. There doesn't seem to be anyone here, though I can hear distant revelers in and around the local bars.
“Sam!” I hiss. “What are you doing?”
Suddenly her stillness becomes ominous. She's not sleeping, she's not resting. This is something else. A kind of stillness I've only ever seen once before. I step toward her, keeping an eye on the rest of the yard, just in case it turns out that there's someone else here.
When I reach Sam, I kneel down and prod her back. She's still rolled up on her side, facing away from me.
“Sam,” I say. “Sam, what's wrong?”
No response.
Nothing.
Slowly, I roll her onto her back, and I immediately fall back when I see what has happened to her. Her face is fixed in a deathly, shocked gasp, a single trickle of blood running from her mouth. Further down, her entire chest has been ripped apart into a bloody mess, and her twisted ribs are jutting out into the moonlit night. It looks like her guts have been gouged out, and rain is falling into the cavity.
I just stare at her, waiting for her to wake up. This has to be a joke, right? Some kind of sick prank? But as I sit there, hearing my heart beating fast, I realize she's really dead.
There's nothing to say. I edge away from the body, my mind spinning as I try to work out what to do. I can't be seen with this body, but at the same time if I run, people will think I had something to do with her death. And I touched her; there's evidence that I've been with her.
Suddenly Sam's hand moves. I stare in horror as her eyes twitch toward me and her mouth opens slightly.
“No...” I say quietly. The one thing more horrific than the idea of her having died like this, is the idea that she's somehow still alive, somehow feeling everything that has happened to her. Can she feel the rain falling into the holes in her body?
“It's okay,” I say, crawling over to her. I can't help looking at her twisted torso. She's surely got just a minute or two left. It's a miracle that she's still alive. “It's going to be fine,” I say, taking her hand and squeezing it.
Sam opens her mouth, trying to speak, but of course she can't. I'm not even sure if she's really still alive. Maybe she's just a twitching bundle of latent nerves and spasms?
“You should have let me help,” says a voice from behind. I turn to see the man from earlier, the one who followed us from the cafe and asked for my help, standing over us. “She was wearing your coat, wasn't she? Killing her was a mistake. He intended to kill you”.
I look down at Sam's body. Her ribs have been pulled apart, and something has been eating her heart and lungs. Was this really supposed to be me?
Duncan
When I get home, my master is waiting for me. I expected as much. I was out for longer than usual, and he always becomes suspicious when I change my habits. He knows that I am a creature that likes to do the same thing every day, and any change in my pattern means that something is wrong.
“You were gone a long time,” he says, barely looking up from the large cooking pot that he's stirring on the stove.
I shift into human form and walk over to look into the pot. “I got distracted,” I say, staring at the bubbling meat sauce.
“You get distracted too easily,” my master replies. “One day you're going to pay with your life. The city isn't a place for creatures like you, I don't know why you insist on going out into the streets so often”.
“I'm curious,” I say, reaching my hands toward the pot, to take a sample.
He slaps my hand away. “What's wrong with you?” he asks. “Didn't you eat tonight?”
I nod. “I ate”.
“This is mine,” he says, stirring the pot some more. “I can't spare any”.
I shrug and turn to walk away.
“You'll tell me sooner or later,” my master says, stopping me in my tracks. “I know you. I know what kind of thing distracts you. And I know that sooner or later you'll make a mistake. Just try to remember what humans are like. Remember what they did to you. They're all the same”.
I think about what he's saying. “I know,” I say eventually. It's true. Humans can't be trusted. Sure, sometimes they seem to be friendly and trusting, but that's when they're at their most dangerous, because you start to get close to them and suddenly then turn on you and... I remember what it's like to make the mistake of trusting a human. It's not a mistake I plan to make again.
“What's her name?” my master asks.
I turn to him. “Who?”
He smiles. “I can't help but think a human female is responsible for the change in your mood lately”.
I shake my head. “There's no human female,” I say, although a heavy feeling in my heart reminds me that I'm lying.
My master seems unconvinced as he focuses on the cooking pot. “Females are more dangerous than males,” he says. “You of all people should know that”.
I instinctively touch the side of my neck, where the scar starts. “You don't have to keep telling me,” I say. “I'm not a fool and I don't forge
t”.
As he serves up a bowl of food for himself, my master notices that I'm staring at him. “It's good food,” he says. “I would give you some, but I have to keep you hungry. It would be bad for your instincts if I just gave you food, you have to go out there and hunt it for yourself”.
“I understand,” I say, and it's true: I do. I don't want to become some kind of domesticated lapdog, unable to hunt for my own food. My master is right to keep me alert and sharp. I have a feeling I will need my sense to be finely tuned if Frank Marshall is after me again.
Jess
“There was a deal,” Frank says as we sit in his hotel room a few streets away. It's not exactly the Ritz or the Hilton, but it'll do. There's a sofa bed in the corner, and he's volunteered to let me use it for the night. He says that at his age, he can't offer me the bed because a night on the sofa bed might put his back out permanently. I'm just grateful that he's letting me stay for one night. It has been a while since I had a roof over my head like this, and there's a certain luxury to staying in a hotel. I'm even thinking I might push to see if he'll let me have breakfast here in the morning.
“What kind of deal?” I ask.
“The Werewolves sought peace,” he says, swigging from a small bottle of whiskey before passing it to me. “They didn't want to fight, they just wanted somewhere to live. So a place was given to them”.
I nod, trying to take in everything that he's saying. It sounds like a huge fantasy, but I've seen just enough to know that there's a chance that at least some of it is real. And I guess the whole werewolf myth has to come from somewhere. “Werewolves,” I say, not sure how to react. “Werewolves? Like... real werewolves?”
He smiles slowly. “For two hundred years they have been locked up on a 200-acre royal estate in Scotland. They were supposed to stay there and not cause any problems”.
“So what went wrong?” I ask.
“Eventually...” He sighs. “Well, eventually one of them got restless and decided to make a run for it. It'd happened before, but I always managed to catch them. This time... the slippery bastard made it all the way to London”.
I drink from his bottle of whiskey “And now he's killing people?” I ask.
“He can't help it,” Frank replies. “He's scared, he's lonely, he doesn't know what to do or where to go. But he's got to eat. And he's like all werewolves. He has a brilliant mind. He can't resist playing with his food a little”.
I take another swig of whiskey “It was months ago that I saw him,” I say. “Why now? Why is he after me now?”
Frank shrugs. “For some reason, he never ventures far from Soho. Would I be right in thinking you haven't been in Soho for a while?”
I nod. “I've been south,” I say.
“Well, you finally came back to Soho, he picked up your scent, but when he saw your friend wearing your coat, he thought it was you and...” He seems lost in thought for a moment, then he stands up and starts un-tucking his shirt. After a moment, he lifts it up and reveals three huge scars running almost all the way up his chest. “This was him. Twenty years ago, the last time I got this close. He intended to kill me, but I had a little help to escape”.
“Twenty years ago?” I ask, staring at the damaged flesh. It looks like someone just sliced right down his body. “How old is he?”
“He's young,” says Frank. “That's part of the problem. He's too young, too immature. He's just a couple of hundred years old”.
“That's young?” I ask.
“For a werewolf,” Frank replies. “Especially for one who's never really been off the estate in Scotland before. He's new to London, I'm sure he's scared, that's part of it”. He looks down at his scars, runs a finger along them. “Werewolves are dirty creatures,” he says. “The bacteria from his claws gave me toxic shock, I almost died from blood poisoning”. He looks at me. “He can't continue to run loose in London, I have to find him and kill him”.
“Can't you just capture him?” I ask.
Frank shakes his head. “Werewolves are vermin,” he says. “They should all have been shot a long time ago. This one's worse than most, he's headstrong and he's determined to break the pact. It's not worth fighting with him, he's proven himself to be dangerous. There's only one thing to do”. He pulls a small gun from his pocket. “Silver bullets,” he says. “Straight through the head, or the heart. Best to do it quickly, so he doesn't suffer too much”.
“You've killed werewolves before?” I say.
“Hundreds,” he replies. “And before me, my father did the same job. Someone has to do it when they get out of control. Sooner or later, the powers that be are going to realize that there's no point sustaining this truce. Then I'll be sent in to kill every damn stinking werewolf that's still alive. The day can't come soon enough”.
“How many are there?” I ask.
“Between 280 and 300, according to estimates. And all of them except one are cooped up on the Queen's estate in Scotland. They know that if any of them dare to leave, they'll be hunted down and killed. It's an arrangement that worked pretty well until recently”.
“You can't just kill an entire species,” I say.
“They're dumb killers,” he replies. “They were noble, once, but they've degraded. They're unnatural, stupid beasts. The only thing they're good for is skinning to make coats”.
“The one I met wasn't like that,” I say. “He was intelligent. He spoke to me and -”
“They're devious!” Frank shouts, losing control. He slams his fist on the table by the window. “He was just manipulating you! If you don't believe me, then why is your friend dead? She's dead because she was wearing your coat and in the heat of the moment, Duncan thought it was you. It's just a fluke that you're still alive, and I promise you won't last much longer if I don't track the bastard down”.
I stare at him for a moment. “Duncan?”
“Oh... for fuck's sake,” he says, turning away to look out the window.
“He has a name?” I ask. “His name's Duncan?”
“Yes, he has a name,” Frank says. “What's that matter? You can call a monkey Brian, it's still a monkey”. He walks over to me. “Don't make the mistake of thinking they're human. They're not. They're animals. They act like humans when it suits them, to try to get what they want. But they're pest-ridden vermin, and it's a sin that even one of them still walks the Earth”. He looks into my eyes. “He killed your friend. Violently. Painfully. Needlessly. Do you really think that's the action of an animal that deserves to live? Of course not! And I've got a much better chance of catching him before he kills again if you give me a little help”.
I sigh, look down at my feet for a moment, then look back up at him. “What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“I can find him,” Frank says, “but I need you to distract him. He's naturally suspicious, but he seems to have an affinity for you. He lets you get closer than anyone else. If you can distract him just for a moment, I can do the rest”. There's a pause as he waits for my response. “We need to get his killer off the streets,” he says finally.
I stare at him for a moment and then, slowly, I nod.
Duncan
The next night, my master sends me out hunting again. He tells me I must kill again if I'm to maintain my blood-lust. If I wait too long, he says, I will find my instincts starting to become dull. So I must seek out some wretched human, one who will not be missed, and slaughter it. Though I would rather not kill humans at all, I understand that it is necessary. It is part of me. I can't deny my identity.
Fortunately, it is not hard to find people in this city who will not be missed. Down every alley, behind every building, there are huddled masses of forgotten, broken humans who have lost all ties to their friends and families. No-one notices when they vanish, and no-one cares. In a place like this, no-one even pays much attention to the occasional piles of bones they find in the dirt. I can almost move freely here, whatever form I choose to take. My master thinks that I go and hunt strong, virile h
umans who are fit and healthy, but the truth is, I hunt the weak and infirm, and I hunt those who are close to death anyway. In many cases, they are glad to die, since their only desire is to escape the pain of their pathetic lives.
Tonight I go in my wolf form. I move in the shadows, waiting to find the perfect prey. I always target weak humans, the kind who are likely to die soon anyway. Preferably, they will be so far gone that they will barely even notice that I am killing them, and I always try to be quick and merciful. Perhaps this damages my instincts, but I cannot bring myself to hunt and kill healthy humans. After all, humans have long hunted and killed healthy werewolves, but that doesn't mean that we should turn and do the same thing back to them.
Eventually I find my target for the night. An old man, flat on his back behind some garbage trailers. There's no-one about, so I run over and start sniffing him. He's barely breathing, and he looks so pale. Putting my ear to his chest, I hear an irregular heartbeat. This man is dying. I look at his face: old and worn, with a dirty white beard and hollow eyes which slowly open to stare at me. For a moment, he seems unsure of what he is seeing, but finally his eyes open wide.
“Hey,” he whispers. “You beautiful thing”. He reaches a hand out and strokes the top of my head. I know I should growl, and I should snarl, but I don't. I just stay next to him. “Such a beauty,” he says quietly, smiling. Then he starts to cough, and I step back, fearful that I might catch something.
“Don't be scared,” he says. “Come on”. He gestures for me to come closer again. I oblige, resting my head on his chest as he runs his hand along the side of my snout. “I've never seen a wolf in London before,” he says. “You be careful, you hear? Watch out for traffic and... people”. He's fading fast, his breath becoming harsher and more labored. “It's okay,” he says. “We're both animals. I'll be done with this old body soon. You can do what you like with it”.
I consider shifting to my human form. I would like to talk to this old man, to understand what it is like to come this close to death. Perhaps I could even comfort him. But I must stay in my wolf form, because my master would surely punish me if he ever found out that I shifted in front of a human.
