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|Yeah...this is probably one of the best things I ever wrote. I got this idea while pondering the death penalty. This seemed like an interesting situation, and I followed where it took me.||
It was dark at the clearing. There were no ominous rain showers at the funeral, but nevertheless, the clouds were grey. The cold wind pierced the tears of all who showed. They all watched shakily as the casket was put into the ground, and Mick was finally laid to rest. The afternoon was slowly fading into evening.
Jean wrapped his arms around his mother, crying into her chest. His mother rested her tired head on his shoulder. He couldn’t bear to see the casket fall down into the earth. Jean quickly regained himself, and turned on the silver CD player that once belonged to Mick. A speaker was attached so everyone could hear. Jean pressed a few buttons, and Mick’s favorite song played.
A powerful hook led off the song; it was deep with emotion. This was a song that defines alternative rock. It had some elements from all kinds of rock before it: 80s, grunge, classic; it also had its own style to it. But that wasn’t why it was Mick’s favorite song.
It was the lyrics. They were powerful. They were moving. It showed a man that was loved by mostly everyone leave. Mick had always pretended the song was about him. Today, it was.
Jean didn’t talk to anyone. He was lost in thought. “Something was wrong,” he felt. It wasn’t the song.
“Damnit!” Jean yells. He turns off the radio. The song distracts his driving. It makes him remember all that happened. Not a happy memory to be associated with a popular song. His car almost swerves into the wrong lane, but he catches it just in time. A car drives by while the driver flicks him off. Jean doesn’t pay attention, nor does he care.
“If that driver finds out who I really am, next time he wouldn’t be so trigger happy with his middle finger,” Jean thinks. For Jean is a werewolf of sorts. He can change whenever he wanted to, from civilized, polite gentleman, to savage, bloodthirsty beast. Jean doesn’t like to think about it too much when he’s not doing his job.
He turns the radio back on. There is something about that song.
Everyone was running. Scared…everyone was scared. The song played until someone trampled over the CD player, breaking it and the CD. Someone else kicked the speaker down into the hole where Mick lay.
“Why is everyone running?” a young Jean thought to himself. Then he saw them. Wolves were staring at the sudden disturbance in the earth and air. Jean sat down and started to cry. The wolves came over to him.
“Please…don’t hurt me…I’m innocent…” he said softly, hoping the wolves would go away. “Please…don’t kill me like you did my brother…we found him mauled to death…” He felt something take hold of him, though it wasn’t one of the wolves. A voice then whispered in his head, “We are sorry for your loss.”
The phrase sticks with him to this very day. Then the song ends. He jumps back to reality.
Jean is a little late today getting to the county jail, and only his boss, Eric, has the balls to bring it up to him. But he says it jokingly. Even if they don’t admit it, everyone is at least subconsciously afraid of Jean.
“You’re late. The citizens demand you take care of our most sadistic immediately. They want blood,” Eric says, then with a chuckle, he adds, “You know, I think you encourage violence in the world. You better hope there’s no such thing as karma.” Jean smiles and nods his head. “It’s time to start,” he thinks to himself.
Jean enters a dark, padded room. He closes the door behind him. It is also padded. There are no windows, no cameras, nothing except a light bulb at the top hanging off the ceiling. Today there is also a man cowering in a corner.
“Hello,” Jean says menacingly, then growls, “What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing…nothing…I swear…I’m innocent…” the man replies in terror.
Jean closes his eyes. There is blood on the walls. He can smell it. He can almost taste it…
“Let yourself go free…” a soft voice whispers inside of him. Jean quickly opens his eyes. “Not yet,” he tells himself.
“What is your name?” Jean asks impatiently.
“No…please…sir. Please…please don’t hurt me…”
Jean laughs. Then he bites his tongue. He wants to rush right into the act, but he knows the anticipation is also quite fun. And it’s good to be merciful.
“I’m not who…who you…think I am!” the man stammers.
“SHUT UP!” Jean yells. He is leaning forward; he is feeling like he’s not in control of the change. Slowly, he regains himself, and smiles.
“So, person, how do you want to die? Slowly and painfully?” Jean quietly and mysteriously states. The man does not speak. He does not move. Jean can really tell he fears for his life. Jean wants one more thing to drive him over the edge. He wants one thing to make it mentally impossible not to release his human state. He needs one thing that will break the barrier of good and evil.
“No…please…don’t…” The man spoke ever so slowly.
That is exactly what Jean needed. Every killer was the wolf that slays Mick over and over again in his mind. A second later, fur is growing like grass out of his skin. His jaw and nose extend and fangs shoot out of his mouth. His eyes turn a deep red. Claws grow out of his hands and feet. A tail protrudes from his lower back. Muscles begin to bulge as they became stronger and stronger. His ears move to the top of his head. His shirt lies in tattered ruins on the floor. The pants he is wearing, already split to begin with, barely stay on his body. The old Jean is nowhere in sight.
Jean takes his left wolf paw and brings a sharp claw close to the man’s throat. He is ready to slowly open the veins and arteries and taste the blood.
Then, to both their surprise, Eric comes in through the door. “Jean! Stop!” he yells. Jean turns toward him, hand still close to the man’s throat, not returning from his werewolf form. He feels upset for being interrupted.
“Jean…I’m sorry,” Eric utters with sorrow. Jean sees a flash of metal and makes a lunge for him, but Jean knows it is too late. Jean cries out with a howl as he falls to the floor.
Jean hums the song aloud one last time. But this time he goes to a few days before the funeral.
Jean saw Mick. Mick was laughing. Mick was happy. He was in the clearing, the last place he was seen alive. Jean walked with Mick, towards the forest. They watched the playful wolves and laughs. Suddenly, the wolves looked at the two. They weren’t playful anymore. Their fangs were exposed and their tails were puffed up in back. Neither boy had ever seen such hostility before. Jean freaked out. He panicked.
“No…No…don’t…” Jean mutters. He starts to remember what happens next.
Jean pushed Mick into the pack of wolves. His instinct to survive was so great he gave up his brother to the blood thirsty creatures.
Eric helps the man up.
“Sorry we locked you in this room, Jake. We had to lure him. You’ll get a great paycheck and a great pension if you keep this quiet,” Eric says. Jake nods, and picks up a rag. Eric hands him a bucket.
“Sorry to ask you one more time, but we’ve got blood all over here,” Eric smiles and laughs heartily. Jake laughs meekly, still in shock from what has happened.
Jean lies on the floor. He cries as he kills Mick over and over in his mind. The last thing he sees is the blood on the walls.
But this time, it smells awful. It’s his blood.
|Of Wolves And Spiders|