A Collection of Short Stories and Poetry

The Terror of Black Moor

                   

Walking in the forests of Black Moor at night has proven to be a foolish thing to do, purely because of what stalks them after dark.

My mother told me, when I was very young, never to go walking in the forest after dusk, but I – young and foolish as I was – went anyway. With no means of knowing my way back and no torch, to light the way, I went walking in Black Moore's dense forest with three accomplices.

As we walked, many thoughts flickered through my mind. Many questions but the most prominent was: Why?

Why are we doing this? What do we hope to find or achieve?

This I wondered and, despite my instincts strongly advising me to turn back, I continued onward. We had reached a clearing in the middle of the forest when I heard something crack under my weight. I cast my gaze to the ground and I saw bones; the skulls of humans and animals, alike, with holes pierced in them. Decaying carcases scattered about the clearing.

"We've entered a wolf den," one of my accomplices pointed out.

"Certainly seems that way," said another.

The next words spoken were full of fear, "It's here," the first speaker whispered.

"What's here?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

He looked up, the full moon was a jewel set in darkness, "Look at it!" he hissed, "It's full! We're as good as dead!"

Another accomplice, the only other girl, laughed, "Don't tell me you believe in those silly superst..."

She hadn't the chance to finish her sentence, for at that very moment a bone-chilling howl split the air. It was that of a wolf, but higher in pitch. Hungrier. One could even say blood thirsty. Most importantly it sounded close, very close. We stood still, our only movements fearful shivers. Fear of what could burst out at us at any moment.

"What was that?" asked the girl who'd laughed.

"That is an excellent question," I answered, making no effort to supress my hopelessness.

My first accomplice – the one who'd pointed out the phase of the moon – ran forward, shrieking something my fear-frozen mind couldn't decipher, bones and dried twigs cracked and crunched beneath each step. He disappeared into the darkness that lay behind the trees, we were too afraid to stop him. Shortly after, a blood-curdling scream slaughtered the silence of the night. I assumed he was dead and we'd be next. I loathe being right, sometimes. An enormous figure burst through the trees before us. It was a wolf, but it was no ordinary wolf. It was a werewolf. It was huge – as large as a small horse. It was the most magnificent thing I'd seen – silver, black and white with bright yellow eyes, that reflected the silver moon beams – the fur on its muzzle had been stained red with fresh blood.

The girl, who'd laughed, swallowed her words right then and there. The beast charged towards us and, since she was closest to it, grabbed her and tore her to shreds, right in front of us. Rachel was her name, and I shall not soon forget her screams as she died. I realized I was screaming, hysterically, and crying, whether out of fear or loss I do not know. I closed my eyes, so did my last remaining accomplice – Jonathan. We were awaiting death. Instead, to my complete astonishment, three gun shots echoed through the emptiness of the space we were in. I cracked an eye open then followed it with the other, just in time to see the last bullet pierce the wolf's chest.

A man dropped from the tree tops, above, shouting some unintelligible battle cry. He landed on top of the wolf; it was then that I realized that it was not yet dead. The man raised an exquisite, silver dagger above his head then, swiftly, brought it down, plunging it into the wolf's heart. The creature writhed and thrashed, wildly; its blood splattered the man's velvet coat. Eventually, the wolf became still and the man let go a sigh of relief. He stood, taking a step backwards. Where a monstrous beast had once been, a beautiful woman lay. Her pale, naked form: broken and bloodied. Her black hair was matted with sweat and blood and dirt caked itself under her fingernails. He dropped the dagger and knelt beside her, he crouched as if kissing her.

When he rose, I found my voice, "Th...thank you," was all I could manage. I was still shaking like cattail reeds in a thunder storm. He grunted in response.

I looked at Jonathan; he was staring, in wide-eyed awe, at our rescuer, "Who are you?" he asked, excitement practically dripped from his words.

The man turned to face us, the wide-brimmed hat he wore – dipped low over his eyes – obscured his features in shadow, "It matters not, who I am," his voice was a deep rumble in his throat, "but what."

His pistol was in his hand – cocked and loaded – before I even had time to blink. He fired at Jonathan. The bullet struck his forehead. A crimson bead welled up in the wound then ran down his face. Jonathan pitched over, backwards – dead. I was screaming again and, this time, I was sure it was fear.

I turned and ran, as fast as my legs could carry me, back – as far as I knew – the way I'd come but he was next to me in less than a millisecond. His speed was supernatural. I veered left and tripped over a thick root. I looked up and he was standing over me. I felt tiny in his elongated shadow. The next thing I knew, I was being dragged back to the clearing – the cold, damp forest floor scraped by in a blur. Rough stones and undergrowth tore at my bare skin and clothing. When we were back in the clearing, he threw me down on the ground with such force my right shoulder dislocated then he hauled me to my feet. I was too scared to do anything but stare at him. My plea for mercy could be found in my tear-filled eyes. A wicked, white-toothed grin tore through the shadows that covered his mouth and he grabbed my injured arm – pulling me closer. I slammed into his chest; it felt like I'd run face first into a solid brick wall. I was holding my breath, but I could smell him – the scent of pine trees and death overwhelmed my senses. I wondered, briefly, what his intentions were, I didn't need to wait long to find out.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and, violently, jerked my head back. He lunged; fast as lightning. I tried to pull away, but it was too late. His needle sharp fangs had already pierced, deeply, the skin of my throat. I began to choke on my own blood as Death tightened his icy grip around my soul. I was alive for far too long. Pain enveloped my entire body and I couldn't even scream. Eventually, the pain subsided and, first, I lost consciousness, then breath, then life. He put me on the ground beside the woman's corpse. I lay there with my unseeing eyes fixed on the silver moon. I was dead...