Mack’s been perched upon the highest branch for almost an hour, drifting in and out of consciousness. Where the heck did his friends go? Is his hiding spot so good that he was able to lose them? Or is he the butt of a cruel joke while the other boys are laughing, taking their shoes off and getting cozy up at the house?
It’s the night before Halloween and a year ago to the day the boys were playing this same game, it’s become something like a tradition. While some kids their age are dressed up in cheap costumes, bobbing for apples at some corny mom and dad chaperoned party or gallivanting around town wallpapering their neighbors’ mailboxes with Charmin Ultra Soft, his gang braves the dark woods with nothing but flashlights and adolescent foolhardiness. Their game is simple. Whoever’s “it” takes a flashlight and tries their best to elude the others. It’s sort of like a more stirring “Hide and Seek”, as kids get older it has all the traits of a make out fest. Night time, heavy wooded area, heavy petting.
Mack was “it” last year when something made its way out of the darkness, bit him and took off so quickly that Mack never noticed what it was. Both his Father and his family doctor said judging from the wound it could have been a whole host of animals native to the area and they all agreed that luckily whatever it was, wasn’t rabid. Of course his friends have been convinced ever since that it had to be the mythical wolf like creatures that supposedly lurked in that area.
Mack’s parents began to worry soon after the bite when the blackouts and sleepwalking started. Most recently he woke up with his head on second base at the little league field. Most kids would never go out in those woods again, Mack, he’s always been a bit braver then most kids. He makes his way down the tree, cold and angry. When he finds his friends he may kill them.
Suddenly there’s a howl.
He’s been in these woods countless times with his father and has never heard something like that. The sound surrounds him. It echoes through the trees, so loudly it blows leaves off branches. It continues a bit louder. It gets lost in the wind, a symphony from a strange world.
Mack is sprinting in the direction he came, flashlight snug tightly in his grasp, dodging downed branches and shallow ditches. He runs and runs till he tires and falls against the edge of a large tree. The howling continues, but it’s a bit further away, he feels safer.
He spots a figure with a flashlight up ahead.
“Yo!” Mack screams.
“Who’s there?” A gravel voiced man answers. Mack quickly realizes it’s not one of his buddies, but a strange man is better than the wolves.
“I’m Mackenzie Grey. I think I’m lost!”
As their lights meet they recognize each other. Mack knows the man’s bearded face from his father’s gun club and when he spots that he’s carrying a rifle his blood warms a bit, his heart slows.
“Grey? You’re Marvin’s boy ain’t ya?”
“Yes sir.”
The man notices rips in Mack’s clothing but figures it’s just the wear and tear from the usual teenage tomfoolery. “What in God’s name are you doing out here? These woods are dangerous this time of night.”
“I was playing night tag with my friends but I can’t find any of them.”
“When did you see them last?”
“I guess about an hour or so ago.”
The symphony resumes, reaching its crescendo. It’s peculiarly beautiful and bone chillingly frightening.
“You hear that?” the man asks rhetorically.
“Yes sir.”
“You bout ready to go home?”
“Yes sir.”
The country music in the dusty pickup truck would be bad enough if the speakers weren’t blown, muffling the hillbilly’s crooning on the radio. Mack and the man aren’t speaking. Minutes go by without a word. It’s getting thick in the truck. Here comes the ice breaker.
“So how old are ya these days?”
“Thirteen.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What kind of crazy father permits his boy to leave the house at all hours of the night?” The clock reads quarter to nine. It was still light out when the boys made their way into the woods.
“I was supposed to be home at nine thirty, I was –
The man cuts him off. “You have a cellular phone?”
“I lost it a while back. I’ve been sleepwalking.”
“Well I don’t keep a cellular phone.” The man’s face reddens as he clenches the steering wheel. “A boy in the woods on a night like this, left to his own devices with no means of communication. I’m ashamed of your old man. I tell ya.”
The man is condescending and his breath smells like a foul mixture of tonsil stones and the bathroom floor of a truck stop. Mack was glad to see him ten minutes ago in the woods, now he’s getting irritated. There’s a bit more silence, this ride is taking way too long.
“Are there wolves around here?” Mack acknowledges the elephant in the room.
“Lately there’s been.” The man answers. “Not just wolves though. Sort of wolves, but they walk upright, with the eyes of a man.”
Mack chuckles nervously as the insides of his stomach begin to entwine. The rain clouds part for the first time in some while, traces of moonlight splash the truck.
The corners of his mouth moisten as he smells the blood flowing in the man’s veins.
“You okay kid?” The man asks nervously.
“I’m fine.”
But he’s not. He feels another blackout coming on, the second one tonight. His stomach is twisting, bending and curdling. His temples are throbbing inside his head. A fuzzy haze fills his eyes.
He feebly musters up a few words. “I feel like I might be sick.”
The full moon is high in the sky now, blanketing the trees and the road ahead in its still, powerful glow.
When Mack awakes he’s behind the thin metal bars of a dog crate. His legs and arms are asleep, full of pins and needles. He’s bent uncomfortably, barely able to move an inch. There are fresh scratches on his wrist and forearms. He wipes at the tickle under his nose and finds his blood on his fingertips. He moves his finger across dried some blood on his lips, his left eye is swollen shut. Boy is he in pain. A mangy yellow lab looks into the crate he knows so well, surely confused on why there is a human inside of it, he’s growling at Mack.
Mack takes a moment to examine his surroundings. A dilapidated shack filled to the brim with moldy, dust covered junk. Some religious artifacts are the only things there is any order to, a crucifix hanging there, a statue of Mary here. Across the shack he can see into the kitchen where the man sits, shoveling some slop into his mouth from out a bowl, slurping it down. Messy, fat, pig.
“Hey!” Mack bellows. “Hey!” The dog gets a bit more frantic and yappy, the man ignores their cries. “Please mister, why am I in a dog cage? What is happening?”
“Will you two shut up in there?” What a bastard.
Mack is sobbing. He’s confused and in pain. The last thing he remembers is the moon finally coming out, the rain clouds parting. He was thinking about how pleasant it would be when he got home. His mother would be waiting with some hot apple cider. His dad would be putting a new log on the fire. They would be anxious to hear their son’s spooky tales about night tag and relieved there wasn’t a bite or any other kind of bodily harm this year. The man makes his way quickly to the cage and punts Mack’s fingers through the bars.
“Stop your crying before I put a tranquilizer in your rear end.” The man exclaims.
“Why are you doing this? Where is my dad?”
“Listen your old man can’t help you right now. You need the hand of God in these matters. The priest is on his way. He’ll have the answers.”
“I just want to go home. Please.”
“You can’t go home in your condition. You’re sick boy. They got to you.” The man is sitting in a rocking chair, stroking his lab’s head. They’re relaxed now. The man is puffing on a slimy stogy ready to tell a story.
“People in town are living in fear boy. You know about the attacks and the howlin’. I lay in bed some nights and can’t get a damn wink of sleep in. That’s why Father, myself and some other good folks from town are doing something about it. We know whose handy work it is boy. It can’t go on any longer. I’ve been out there. I’ve looked into the eyes of these beasts. I almost killed me one of them. But never have I seen such devilish things as I did tonight.”
“I don’t understand. I just want to go home.”
“You’re some kind of wicked boy wolf and you attacked me, back in the truck. You don’t remember?”
“No. I don’t understand. I don’t believe you.” The boy cries.
“Hmph. I don’t really believe you boy.”
The young, fresh faced priest arrives in the driveway. He exits his car, bible, holy water and cross in hand.
“Here’s Father now.”
The man exchanges glances with the priest from the window of the shack. They’ve been ready for something like this. Their smirks tell the story. To them this is hunting season. They are part archangel and part adventurer. Oh you know, just some good old boys doing what they think is right. And tonight, tonight of all unholy nights they caught themselves something nice.
In the wink of an eye the priest is surrounded. There are at least a dozen of them, some on all fours and others standing six feet tall or more. Males and females, some are scruffy and gray, some have thorny hair as black as charcoal, all are hungry.
At first they are merely shadows with red eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight, creeping amongst the trees. Then in one swift move perfected by centuries of primal instinct they ascend on the priest. One by one they feast on him, fighting over a juicy bite, snapping at one another, biting, clawing. Each scratch tears flesh off the priest. The man witnesses this from inside and grabs his rifle, makes his way out of the shack. He’s about to let a shot off at the first moment he smells them, when from all sides he too is pounced upon. The first at him is a large male, smacking the gun out of his hand and inserting his incisors square into the man’s meaty neck. The man is much fatter then the priest, this entices the shy females circling the feast to make their move closer, pure excitement fills the air.
Howling, biting, clawing…dancing underneath the moon. It’s a two for one deal tonight, and one has enough meat to keep them satisfied for a couple more days.
It’s a rainy, cold Halloween morning when authorities discover a grotesque scene. The remains of the priest and the man, nothing much left of the shack he called home, an empty cage.
On the other side of town Mack is snoozing in the bed of his father’s pickup truck, sprawled out, belly full.
He especially savored the taste of the dog.
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