Mike The Werewolf: A Humorous Werewolf Thriller, page 6
Could those be traced back to me? I had no clue, but there was no way I could take any chances.
Instead, I grabbed another gallon of acid cleaner while hoping Rob and Nora knew what they were doing when it came to destroying evidence.
♦ ♦ ♦
It was vile, disgusting work, made even worse by the thick fumes. But it was also cathartic in a strangely disturbing way. Cleaning up a mess introduced order into chaos. It was one of the reasons I’d become a trash collector to begin with.
As far back as my childhood I’d never liked germs or filth. Heck, playing in the mud had totally skeeved me out. But eventually I came to the realization that I could either spend my life wrapped in plastic and slathered in hand sanitizer, or I could choose to tackle my fears, desensitize myself in a bid to keep my phobias under control.
The best part? It was a strategy that had worked. Or at least it had until I found myself ankle deep in Robert and Nora Chadworth.
GAH! So disgusting!
The loss of life was bad enough, but it was like my inner beast had acted like a giant toddler in a highchair – playing with his food in the most horrific manner possible.
Don’t imagine what they tasted like. Don’t you dare!
Much as I wanted to run screaming back to the shower, though, I couldn’t stop. I needed to see this through so I could finally get out of there.
Sadly, I still had no idea where there actually was.
Sure, the Chadworths probably had a cell phone somewhere, but it’s not like I was about to search through their gooey remains looking for it.
That meant waiting until dark, then hoping there were no neighbors close enough to spot me making my escape. My best bet would be transforming into my wolf form and then...
I paused in the middle of sweeping a pile of intestines into a plastic bag.
What if changing woke up my inner wolf? More importantly, what if he ended up in control again?
If there were any neighbors nearby, I could easily end up in this same situation again – except next time my victims might not be serial killers.
No. I can’t test it out unless I’m sure it’s safe.
The only problem was I couldn’t be sure that was a promise I could keep.
My wolf form was stronger, faster, and had the advantage of being able to see in the dark. In order to make a clean getaway, I might have to...
Clunk.
I inclined my head at the sound the push broom made as it hit the floor. What the? Curious, I lifted my foot and took a step, once more hearing a hollow thud from below.
As drenched in blood as everything still was, I couldn’t just ignore it.
Don’t think about what you’re about to do, just do it.
I bent low, then used the fingers of my double-gloved hand to feel along the floorboards until... There!
It wasn’t much, just a shallow indentation with a small lip for a handhold. A trapdoor!
Judging by the overturned end table close by, it was easy to guess it was probably normally hidden from view.
The bigger question now was where it led to and whether I was going to be stupid enough to press my luck and investigate.
Oh, who am I kidding?
I could either keep mopping up a crime scene I had zero chance of fully concealing, or see if maybe there was something below I could use to my advantage.
At this point what else did I have to lose?
THE PLUNDER DOWN UNDER
I wasn’t sure what was worse – the open trapdoor leading down into inky darkness, or the congealed blood on the floor which immediately started to dribble down into it, making it seem more like a hungry mouth.
Needless to say, that wasn’t helping my motivation to see what might be down there.
I took a deep breath and tried to push the fear away. This was ridiculous. I was a freaking werewolf, one of the so-called things that go bump in the night.
In the past couple months I’d faced off against others of my kind, my witchy ex-girlfriend, and even an economy-sized sea monster. Sure, that last one hadn’t gone in my favor, but that wasn’t the point.
I was the predator here, me. Not the two dead psychos who owned this house, and certainly not the well-fed porker they’d kept as a pet. A cellar wasn’t something to be afraid of.
And yet I wanted nothing more than to shut the trapdoor and forget it ever existed.
Stop acting like an idiot.
I took a deep breath and steadied myself, glad my inner wolf was taking a catnap. He would’ve surely had no shortage of opinions, none of which would’ve helped the matter.
I tried to logically assess the situation instead. A narrow wooden staircase led down below. The light up here didn’t penetrate far, illuminating nothing more than a patch of concrete floor at the bottom.
That wasn’t so bad. It didn’t look much different than any other basement or root cellar, minus the pooling blood of course.
More importantly, I couldn’t detect any sound from below. I took a moment to sniff the air, but that just made me cough thanks to all the caustic cleaner.
It was a pointless endeavor anyway. My human nose was somewhat more sensitive than a normal person’s, but it was nowhere close to its intensity in my alternate form.
As a werewolf, scents weren’t just heightened they were a whole new dimension of input. One whiff would create a kaleidoscope of colors and images in my brain, vivid enough to navigate by. Heck, sometimes it was almost more information than I could process.
Changing was out of the question, though. Not only was there the danger I’d mentioned before, but my other form was simply too large. When fully transformed, I stood over a foot taller with about three hundred pounds of muscle added to my frame.
I had no idea where that extra mass came from or returned to once I changed back, but had a feeling the answer was the sort of thing that would give a physicist a stroke.
Regardless, no way was I fitting through the opening as a werewolf.
On the flipside, heading down as I currently was brought a definite risk of slipping in the blood and breaking my neck at the bottom. I wasn’t sure whether that would kill me or not, but it would almost certainly ruin my day.
For a while anyway.
I’d seen other werewolves grievously injured, only for them to quickly recover a short time later. Not only were we pretty durable, but the change from one form to another seemed to trigger an enhanced healing burst – one capable of fixing even major wounds in mere minutes.
I was pretty sure there were limits, though. For instance, Hobart’s generous offer to eat one of my testicles had come with the implication it wouldn’t be growing back afterward.
♦ ♦ ♦
Then...
“Don’t take any offense at this, Hobart, b-but ... I think I’m gonna pass.”
“Come again?” he replied, as if we were having a pleasant dinner conversation rather than standing naked in the dark woods.
I let out a nervous sigh, sensing he was trying to bait me. Into what, though, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, hearing the howls of other werewolves, ones that should’ve been powerless with the full moon still three weeks away, had unnerved me. I was beginning to suspect I was in over my head.
All the same, following Hobart’s rant about dominance, I had a feeling that showing any weakness would be tantamount to handing over my left nut.
“You know darned well what I mean,” I said, hoping to impress upon him that I was no threat, “but I’ll spell it out if you need me to. I have no interest being in charge of anything, much less out here. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you eat my balls.”
Are we really having this conversation?
“I want you to think real hard on this, Mikey,” he replied, dropping the friendly cadence. “We ain’t like the rest. Our gift comes with power the others in the pack don’t have, but with that power also comes a terrible burden. Think of it like a beehive. Can only be one queen. No exceptions.”
I had no idea whether that was true or not, but it’s not like I had my phone to check Wikipedia. “Fine. You want to be the queen, be my guest. I’ll buzz off somewhere else, but you ain’t eating my honey.”
Hobart raised a quizzical brow, probably trying to make sense of my nervous pun vomit. Then his gaze became hard as stone. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. You might have the gift, but you ain’t got the stones to use it. Because if you did, you’d feel the call, same as me. Hell, it’s no wonder Myra ditched you like a bad habit.”
His words hit me in the gut like a bowling ball, the pain of our breakup still way too fresh. “Myra doesn’t have anything to do with this,” I warned. “She and I ... well, it ain’t none of your bee’s wax.”
Okay, maybe it was time to drop the bee puns. The moment had passed.
“You may think that’s true, Mikey, but it’s not. See, Myra’s got what you and her sisters don’t, ambition.”
“You do know she’s an only child, right?”
“Her coven sisters, you idiot. You think she’s the only witch in these parts?”
“Wait. How do you know she’s a...?”
“Power knows power, kid. I’ve got it, so does she. She sees what you don’t, that these last few weeks represent a chance for us to rewrite the status quo, to change our lot in life. You might be content to empty my trash twice a week, but she and I intend to grab that brass ring and ride this fucker to the very top.”
He was losing me again. I had no idea what he was talking about, but the fact he and Myra had come to some sort of understanding seemed clear enough. As to what that might entail...
“You hear them, don’t you?” Hobart asked, cocking his head as another distant howl echoed through the night air. “You do know what it means, right?”
I actually didn’t. Before this night, I’d thought myself the only one who could change at will. Then, seeing Hobart, I figured it was just the two of us. But now...
He grinned, no doubt enjoying my confusion. “I know what you’re thinking, boy. How is it any of the others are out here with only half a moon in the sky?”
He wasn’t wrong, but it seemed unwise to admit my ignorance.
“That right there is my doing, kid. I’m the one who set them free.”
“You did?!” I tried to make my response sound casual and failed miserably. Heck, I probably wouldn’t have sounded more surprised had he claimed to be my long-lost sister.
“Yep, and you could probably do it too, that is if you weren’t some slack-mouthed pretender to the throne.”
“Hold on. There’s no need for name calling...”
“But doing it by myself takes too much time,” he interrupted. “It ain’t quick like I need it to be.”
“What isn’t quick?”
“But it will be soon enough,” Hobart continued, talking over me. “Myra’s working on a way even as we speak. She thinks she knows how to make it happen, to unleash them all at will.”
Unleash them? All at once it made sense. The other werewolves. Hobart could somehow force them to change outside the cycle of the moon, but it sounded like it took some effort. That’s why I was only hearing a couple of them out there. But if Myra was working on a way to fix that...
“She’s a clever one,” Hobart explained, his voice dropping an octave, “far more clever than you ever gave her credit for. Ain’t too hard on the eyes either. That’s why I’m letting her join the pack.”
“What?”
“I could use a lieutenant, especially one who knows the things she does. Her sisters, on the other hand, well, I’m starting to realize they ain’t got what it takes. And that means they gotta go. Shame they ain’t the only ones.”
I wanted to ask what he meant, but the gravelly tone of his voice in those final words made it crystal clear. Mere moments later, his body began to change once again, growing larger, stronger, and infinitely more deadly.
I was never the fastest learner but I wasn’t a complete moron either.
Realizing any hope of talking this through was over and done with, I reached inside myself and triggered my own change.
Sadly, Hobart had a head start. He finished the transformation from man to wolf beast while I was only at about three quarters of the way there. It wasn’t a huge advantage, but it was more than enough as he charged forward with a snarl.
I was vulnerable and he knew it.
Good thing I did too.
My power might not have been on par with his yet, but I was still a lot stronger than I’d been just minutes earlier. I just barely sidestepped his attack, managing to give him a shove as he raced past, using his own momentum to send him careening into a bramble patch.
Argh!
It was a good try on my part. Too bad I’d caught a pair of claw slashes in the side for my troubles. Trust me when I say those did not feel wonderful.
Thankfully they were nowhere close to fatal as my own transformation completed itself.
Every instinct inside of me screamed I should launch myself at Hobart and tear him to pieces while I had the chance.
I ignored them all and took off running instead.
He must’ve taken exception to that because it wasn’t long before his shouting voice followed after me, my super sensitive ears catching his words despite the distance I managed to put between us.
“You’ll keep running if you’re smart, boy! You ain’t no Dominant! You ain’t nothing! These woods are mine. You cross me again and I’ll make sure you regret it!”
♦ ♦ ♦
Now...
I chuckled, despite there being nothing remotely funny about the memory. I’d stood up to Hobart that night, and it hadn’t been the last time either. And yet there I was, refusing to face the terror of a simple set of stairs.
Hobart and Myra were both still problems I needed to deal with, but in order to do that I needed to get back home.
That’s what finally got me moving. Steeling myself best I could, I slowly made my way down the stairs on legs that felt like rubber.
The scents finally began to change once I’d descended far enough for my head to be below floor level. There was still the caustic stench of cleaner, true, but beneath it all, just barely perceptible to my human nose, was something else, a rottenness which sent a shiver down my spine.
I paused in my descent, unsure if I wanted to go further. However, that proved to be my saving grace as I spotted a pull chain barely a foot away.
Thank goodness!
I grabbed hold and gave it a yank. The darkness instantly retreated as a high wattage bulb flared to life, leaving me feeling more than a little foolish.
As I reached the bottom, nearly slipping on the now slick concrete floor, I took in my surroundings. The basement was unfinished, mostly concrete and support pillars. The floor was only broken up by a double wide French drain covered by a stainless-steel grate.
In front of me stood a heavy worktable. A large duffel bag was shoved into one corner, but it was the space above it which caught my eye. Rows of hooks ran the length of the wall, from which hung a seriously unhealthy collection of knives, chisels, and sawblades.
A spigot protruded from the wall right next to the workspace. A contractor grade hose was attached to it, one almost certainly meant to work in conjunction with the drain.
Oh boy.
To my left were the only other items of interest in sight, but they were more than enough to paint a gruesome picture. First was a column of metal shelves attached to the wall, upon which stood rows of gallon-sized plastic bottles.
Please be detergent and fabric softener.
No such luck as I spied labels warning of the dangers of hydrofluoric acid.
Then, next to the shelves, rounding out this nightmare, was, of course, a stack of quicklime.
Yeah, it was probably safe to say the Chadworths hadn’t been using this room for arts and crafts.
That appeared to be it. Far as I could tell, the only way out was back up. Much as I didn’t want to dwell on it, I had a feeling this space had seen double duty as both prison and torture chamber.
A prison... That’s it!
Crazy as the idea sounded, it dawned on me this place might represent an opportunity to test my transformation without the risk of anyone getting hurt. Or at least anyone who hadn’t already been hurt.
There’s only one way to find out.
Rather than risk overthinking things and realizing what a stupid idea this probably was, I clambered back up the stairs intent on closing the trapdoor, only to notice something odd.
Why is the lock on this side?
Everything about this basement screamed inescapable prison, so then why put the keys to freedom on this side?
The only ones who could answer that were scattered in bloody chunks upstairs. Far more important was the latch appeared to be solid.
That, combined with the narrowness of the stairway, would hopefully hinder my escape just in case my worst fears proved true.
Good as I’m gonna get, I suppose.
Crossing my fingers, I locked myself in, the heavy clack of the deadbolt telling me it meant business. Whether it was enough to hold an enraged werewolf, however, remained to be seen.
I looked around once more, debating whether I needed to do anything else. Hopefully my inner wolf wasn’t stupid enough to chew on bottles of corrosive acid.
Werewolf constitution or not, that didn’t sound like fun.
Realizing it was time to crap or get off the pot, I undressed – stripping off first the gloves and surgical smock, then the clothes I’d purloined, all of them now liberally stained with gore.
I set them on the work bench alongside the duffel bag, not quite wanting to know what was inside.
Last chance to back out.
Sadly, this was a question I couldn’t afford to not know the answer to.
Would I still be myself afterward, possessing the precious control that stood between me and becoming yet another of Hobart’s minions? Or was I destined to learn he was right all along, and there was room for only one Dominant in Harris County?
