Werewolf Of FeverPeak

Chapter 16 - The Mark of the Beast

Richie sped down the narrow, winding road leading to Lonny's house, the flip phone lying ominously on the passenger seat. The thickening darkness blanketed Fever Peak, and the festive decorations scattered throughout the town took on an eerie glow in the dim streetlights. Pumpkins carved with jagged grins and haunted house posters fluttered in the wind, casting long shadows across the empty sidewalks. Richie could feel the knot of fear tightening in his chest as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

A bead of sweat dripped down his brow. He reached into the glove compartment, fumbling around until he found the small silver cross necklace. He stared at it for a moment, as if willing it to give him courage. "Might need this," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the car's engine. He slipped the cross over his head and tucked it beneath his shirt, hoping it would offer some protection from what awaited him.

Pulling up to Lonny's, Richie killed the engine and sat in silence. The house was old, sagging under the weight of years of neglect. The distant sound of crickets and the rustling of leaves only amplified the isolation of the place. For a brief moment, Richie considered turning around and driving back to town. But the weight of responsibility-and the fear of what the mayor might do if he failed-kept him glued to his seat.

With trembling hands, he reached into the glove compartment again, this time pulling out a small flashlight to cut through the oppressive gloom. The creaky steps groaned under his weight as he made his way to the front door, his boots heavy against the wooden planks. He knocked, the hollow thud of his fist against the door sounding louder than he expected in the night's stillness. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Dammit, Lonny," Richie muttered under his breath, anxiety gnawing at him. "Open the damn door..." Finally, the door swung open, revealing Lonny. He stood there with a beer in hand, his wide, sloppy grin spread across his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and the thick stench of alcohol mixed with something more feral hit Richie like a wave.

Lonny laughed, his voice slurred. "Holy shit, Richie, my man! Come on in!" Richie forced a smile, but every fiber of his being was screaming for him to turn around and run. He stepped into the musty, dimly lit living room. The air was thick, stagnant with the smell of sweat and stale beer. The furniture was old and mismatched, cluttered with empty bottles and discarded plates. It was a mess, but Richie barely noticed as his eyes were drawn to Lonny's son.

Sitting at the dining table in the corner, the boy gnawed on a large, bloody steak. The meat looked raw, barely seared, and blood pooled around it on the plate. The boy's cold, predatory eyes never left Richie as he tore into the flesh with a savage grin. Richie swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. He forced himself to look away from the unsettling scene and turned back to Lonny.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice tense. "You've gotta stop what you're doing and lay low for a while."

Lonny smirked, leaning against the doorway. His demeanor was relaxed, almost too relaxed, and his grin never faded. "Oh, Richie... you didn't come all the way out here just to say hi to an old war buddy, did ya?" He let out a harsh laugh, which quickly devolved into a fit of rough coughing. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Lonny's eyes darkened as his grin returned. "You think I'm just gonna stop, Richie? Nights like these... I haven't felt this alive in years."

Richie shifted uncomfortably, his nerves unraveling. His gaze flicked back to Lonny's son, still eating, his eyes never wavering. They bore into him, like a predator sizing up its prey. Richie's throat tightened as he tried to steady his voice. "Come on, Lonny," he pleaded, stepping closer. "The mayor's up my ass about this. I did you a favor-got you a house here, helped cover up your boy's messes. Those pets, those homeless people... But you can't go after the townsfolk and my detectives. It's getting too hard to cover up."

Lonny's smirk vanished in an instant. He turned on Richie, his beer bottle slipping from his hand and shattering against the wall. The sound of breaking glass rang through the room, and Richie instinctively stepped back, fear gripping him. Lonny's whole demeanor had shifted, the air thick with aggression. His voice dropped to a threatening growl. "My boy and I haven't eaten like this in years. I'm teaching him how to hunt. And you're trying to take that away from me?"

He stepped forward, towering over Richie. "You of all people should know you don't take food off a man's table without a fight."

Richie backed up toward the door, his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm not taking anything away from you, Lonny. But you can't keep going like this. Whatever happens to you and your boy-it's on you. I'm ending this deal. Fever Peak isn't your playground anymore. This isn't Afghanistan anymore."

The tension in the room snapped. Lonny's expression turned dark, colder than Richie had ever seen. "No... the fuck... you're not."

Before Richie could react, Lonny's body began to twist and contort, the sickening sound of cracking bones filling the room. His skin rippled and stretched as fur began to sprout from his body, and his eyes turned a deep, menacing yellow. The transformation was grotesque, violent. Richie's stomach lurched as Lonny's human form melted away, replaced by the towering, monstrous shape of a werewolf.

Lonny's son clapped his hands, laughing maniacally as his father completed the horrifying transformation. "Get him, Dad!" he yelled, his voice filled with twisted glee.

Richie stumbled back, pulling the silver cross from beneath his shirt. His hands shook uncontrollably as he muttered Bible verses-snippets of prayers he barely remembered from childhood. "The Lord is my shepherd... I shall not want..."

Lonny, now fully transformed into the massive werewolf, stood nearly nine feet tall. His yellow eyes glowed with malice as he loomed over Richie, his lips curling into a snarling grin. His growl was a deep, guttural sound-half-human, half-beast. "You won't do a damn thing, Richie," Lonny growled, his massive clawed hand wrapping around Richie's throat, lifting him off the ground effortlessly. "Because if you do... I'll have nothing left to lose. And tomorrow night, I'll tear through that festival-feast on the children and adults alike. I'll paint this town red... and save you and that prick Crowley for last, just to show you what I'm capable of."

Richie's body trembled uncontrollably as he nodded weakly, his pants soaked in fear. "P-Please... spare me..." Lonny's distorted voice was thick with mocking laughter as he dropped Richie to the floor. He opened the front door with a single clawed hand, the wood splintering beneath his grip. "Get out, Richie. And remember-I have your scent. I have *all* your scents."

Richie scrambled to his feet, slipping in his panic as he rushed out of the house. Lonny and his son's mocking laughter followed him, echoing in his ears as he stumbled to his car. Fumbling with his keys, Richie finally managed to start the engine, tearing off into the night. As the dark road stretched out before him, Richie glanced at the flip phone sitting on the passenger seat. His hands shook as he reached for it, flipping it open and dialing the only number stored on it.

"I'm sorry, brother... but this ends," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with dread.