Burnt Blood: The Werewolf Within

Twenty Nine

A trembling hand reached out to touch the torched remains of a home in Surrey. The place was riddled with an unexplainable fear, and instinct compelled the hand to squeeze the trigger—not once, but twice, ensuring the evil force was extinguished. The result was a macabre masterpiece; the floor was painted with crimson streaks until...

As the dim light crept into the darkness, the unmistakable scent of blood and charred wood filled the air. I lay amidst the morbid artwork, trying to grasp the reality of what had just transpired. Inhaling the acrid mix of blood and burnt timber, I realised that at least three, maybe four pints had been spilt. With reluctant eyes, I opened them to a chilling sight.

One... Two... Three... Four... Five. Five fingers emerged from the crimson puddles that surrounded me; their tips stained a dark, haunting red. My body screamed that it had endured something horrific. But how had I survived? I felt a surreal sense of existence—almost as if I had cheated death. My fingers tentatively traced the bullet holes in my chest and abdomen, anticipating horrific cavities in my flesh. I encountered nothing but slightly grey scorch marks and dried blood.

With a trembling hand, I removed my bloodied shirt, and a peculiar rattle filled the room. It was a disturbing sound, leading me to inspect my shirt further. My trembling hands revealed two crumpled bullets, the remnants of my supposed demise. It was a miracle—I should have been dead. My body had somehow expelled the bullets. The triangular symbol on my wrist had reached a count of twenty.

Recollection of the events that led me to this moment flooded my mind. I gradually sat up and gazed at the wall and the front doorway. The heartbeats of scouse and Yorkshire that had echoed in my ears were now eerily silent. Panic gripped me as I checked my pocket, expecting to find it missing. To my astonishment, it was still there, untouched. What had spared it from their grasp?

Summoning every ounce of strength, I rose to my feet and turned to face the hallway. My jaw fell open in horror. The scene that awaited me was nightmarish—bodies, severed limbs, and arterial sprays of blood painted the walls. The attackers had met a gruesome end, and it was impossible to discern who was who amidst the carnage. Only one gun lay on the floor, the same weapon that had fired at me. I couldn't decide if this was a miracle or a curse.

Intrigued and bewildered, I inspected the limbs in search of the branding Skip had described on Mathew. I found not the branding, but strange symbols etched into their skin. Could they have been followers of Mathew, explaining their confusion about the "families"? And why was Mathew so crucial in this twisted puzzle?

Delving into their pockets and exploring their legs, I hoped to discover some identification or clues to the larger conspiracy. However, their pockets were disappointingly empty, save for obsidian coins or tokens with a golden rim, like a railway track. One side bore the serpent symbol, while the other displayed a phone number—'0100 666 6311 and 6227.'

The sinister allure of the coin gave way to an idea—perhaps it was a key to a hidden world, one accessible through specific train stations and turnstiles. Countless stations in London made it a needle in a haystack. This was a lead best pursued when I had allies and a clear name. As I contemplated this, I realised I was navigating a gruesome tableau, and the weight of the unknown bore down on me.

The odd brown bundle in my pocket begged for my attention. I took a deep breath, preparing to unravel the mystery it held. As I untied the cord that secured it, a cloud of dust escaped, revealing two enigmatic objects. The first was a wooden pendant on a leather cord. It emitted a faint, familiar scent reminiscent of the burnt doorframes upstairs. Upon opening the pendant, I discovered a family portrait—a smaller version of the one displayed on the wall. The inscription on the back read, 'Family never dies.' Was this my family? The revelation that I knew nothing about my past brought tears to my eyes.