Weekly Drabble #6: The Change (Patreon)

Here we are - thanks to EBB for the suggestion of 'metamorphosis', though this may not precisely fit that defintion... ah well. Heh heh heh hehe.

As ever, I hope you all enjoy and I'm looking to get the next chapter of Ascension out in a panic-fuelled frenzy before the end of the month, since I've been slowed by certain issues much more than I'd like.

~

The Change:

What kind of animal was it? they asked. What did it look like?

It had been a lovely October night, Berthold recalled. Young lovers, out for a moonlight stroll through the forest paths. Annie had laughed and tittered at his jokes, coyly brushing her hair back whenever she looked at him. The stars had been shining down on them, the full moon lighting their way through the well-worn trails. They’d found their way to the pool at the bottom of the falls. She’d told him to close his eyes and count to thirty, that she had something special for him.

He’d been at seven when she’d called his name, and at eleven when he’d realized that the quaver in her voice wasn’t teasing or anticipation. He’d opened his eyes and seen Annie pulling her clothes on and backing towards him. He’d looked across the pond and seen it, skulking along the other side of the bank. It was a cloudless night and the moonlight that had lit their way here had shone into the clearing, making the thing’s red eyes glimmer. It was shaggy, with matted black fur, but wasn’t a bear or a wolf. It didn’t move like either of them, half-crawling, half-walking along the water’s edge, red eyes staring at them. Teeth glinted. It made sounds, low and soft and wrong.

They’d run. Then: howling a noise unlike any animal Berthold had ever heard before behind them. Something crashing through the bushes, fast and gaining. Annie panting. Her hand in his as they ran. His heart pounding in his ears. A roar. Annie screamed. She was knocked away from him, the beast standing over her, her leg bent. She couldn’t stand. It reached for her, drooling. Berthold grabbed a branch. It cracked against the thing’s skull. It turned. Red eyes and an open mouth flew at him. Rolling, tumbling. Tasting blood. He tried to stand. He couldn’t. Annie was screaming. He could only see part of her from where he lay. The sounds turned moist and gurgling and they went on, even over the wet ripping of meat and the crunching of bones. Finally, those were the only things he could hear. Wetness dripped in his eyes, stinging them. He tried to scream. He never knew if he did. Then… then…

Berthold had never told anyone what happened next. After eating its fill, the beast had walked over to him, standing on its hind legs like a man. It had towered over him, its black fur matted with Annie’s blood. Its lips were drawn back from its sharp teeth. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it staring at him. It was grinning. Grinning, like no animal could. It knelt next to him. It grabbed his face, claws digging into his skin. There was something dripping in its other hand. It forced his mouth open and it… and it…

The last thing he saw was the smile on its face and those red gleaming eyes.

They found him the next morning, coated in blood, clawed and battered. His left leg was broken and he’d been crawling towards the village, calling for help until his throat was hoarse. He’d been bed-ridden for more than a week until the fever broke. Hunters had scoured the woods for the beast. They’d killed wolves, coyotes and an old bear. None of the animals matched what he’d seen. There’d been rumours of missing and mutilated livestock from Westshire and Coalsack, but no one had expected something like this here.

Annie’s family wouldn’t speak to him.

Why did you go into the forest? her mother had demanded before slamming the door in his face. You took her there. You should have protected her!

He’d gone back to work, trying to forget but unable to, his bad leg slowing him down. The scars were fading, though. He was told that that was a good sign – he was healing quickly, but every night he woke up drenched in cold sweat. He remembered the beast that had stalked he and Annie by the pond. The terrible sounds of what it had done to her and the look on its face as it had crouched over him. That wasn’t all that he recalled. More and more, he was remembering the taste of Annie’s flesh. The saltiness of it, the way the warm blood had oozed down his mouth…

He’d made himself a roast last night, barely cooking it and tearing into it with his hands and teeth before he’d realized what he was doing. Berthold had used to love going to the pub to see his mates for a good drink, some laughter. Now whenever he went there, the room went quiet. He could see the pity and suspicion on their faces, hear their nervous intakes of breath, the stink of old beer and dinner on them and the fluttering beats of their hearts as they tried to cheer him up. He was starting to catch himself staring at the other villagers, the young women as they passed by. More than once, he’d felt wetness on his lips, brushing it away and hoping nobody had seen, but he was afraid. He heard them whisper, just like the men in the pub, wondering if he was cursed, if his survival had really been good fortune or something else.

What did she see in him?

It seemed like he was going mad. He could hear, smell and see things now that he shouldn’t have been able to. He’d talked to Father Voight. The priest had told him to pray for guidance in the wake of this tragedy. Berthold had spent half an hour with his hands clasped, but he couldn’t find the words. He’d simply started crying.

He’d stopped going out. 

His body ached. His joints burned and his bones felt like they were made of glass, fresh from a blower’s furnace. None of the doctor’s balms or medicines seemed to be helping and it was getting worse. He barely slept, pacing until he’d worn himself out, hoping that one night he wouldn’t dream and trying to decide if what he saw when he slept was worth the reprieve from his body’s pain. He wanted it to end. 

Berthold stared as the sun set, looking out his window. His cottage was close to the edge of town, only a few other small homes nearby. From here, he could see across the fields, all the way to the distant line of trees that marked Black Briar Forest. Before, he had never thought much of it. Now, every time he looked at them, he couldn’t help but remember that night. It had been a month .There were only a few clouds in the sky. It would be another clear night. Another full moon.

The young man braced his hands on the windowsill. His muscles felt as if they were stretching, his joints aching worse than ever. He hadn’t been in the forest since the attack. He’d been avoiding it, but now…  Now, it felt like something he had to do. To go to the pool, to walk the trail… to see that there was nothing there. It had been a wolf or a rogue bear. If the hunters hadn’t killed the beast already, it had been driven off. It was over.

He hadn’t seen what he had seen, Berthold told himself. It had all been grief and terror. He would go out there and prove it to himself. It was over. He just needed to go back there, just once and prove that the woods were safe. Tonight, then. He’d go tonight.

He’d have to hurry, though. The moon would be coming up soon.