When Wolves Rise

By Michael Jones Newton

Logan is knocked unconscious outside his dorm room. When he awakens he finds himself in a dungeon, strapped to a chair and having the father of his pregnant teenage girlfriend in front of him with numerous torture devices. The angry father brings his girlfriend into the room and plans to torture or kill them both..but neither the father nor the girlfriend know that the young man is a werewolf. Logan must quickly find a way to escape the dungeon before the full moon hits, forcing his transformation which would lead to both the father and his girlfriend's deaths.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trellis Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201431396

Book preview

TABLE OF CONTENTS

WHEN WOLVES RISE

WEREWOLF

MURDERESS

THE LAST VICTIM

MISTER SLASHER

COMPULSION

SCALPED

Logan spent the day before the new moon as he always did. He left campus early in the morning, well before sunrise, so he would not have to explain again why he would be absent for the first game of the season. He left almost everything important or valuable in the dorm: his laptop, his debit card, most of his keys, and all the clothes but what he wore on his back. For the trip he was planning, it would seem to an outsider that he was trying to get lost or stranded in the mountains...and they would be right.

He pocketed only two keys, one for his room and one for his car, his phone, and a twenty dollar bill before slinking out the door without waking his roommate. A trip down two flights of stairs and a short walk to the parking garage later, he was on his way, racing the sun to the far horizon.

The trip itself, long, arduous, and winding as it was, made for a pleasant getaway even though Logan knew the trek back would be something far more grueling. He reached Taberache by midday, a lonely town on the outskirts of a deep, deciduous forest. The auto-repair shop was his destination and the people there knew him, not quite as a friend, but an odd patron, somewhat of an enigma. They never knew why, but every time he come up here, and it was always regularly every twenty-nine or thirty days, he would give them his old car (and his shoes, strangely, always exchanging them for an awful pair of sandals or something), explain that nothing was wrong with it, but tell them he would be going into the forest without it, and informed them that he would be back with a dire need to collect it the next day. This is, of course, exactly what he said today as well, dropping his name and number though they already had over a dozen notes with his same information pinned to a corner of the corkboard at the front desk. Once he left, they all took bets on how badly he would be torn up when he returned: half naked, scratched to hell, sopping wet, or bearing the flu—it was all fair game.

Just as he was out of sight of the town, he took his phone, unspent bill, and room key and stuffed them in a pocket fitted to the inside of a probation ankle monitor that was actually a size or two too large. From there, he headed straight for the forest’s heart. If he came upon broken bottles, loose garbage, or any sign of human visitation, he veered in the other direction. He went as far off beaten trails as was possible, not that there were many in this place. By the time evening was waving its hand over the sun and started blowing a cool breeze through the towering trees, he was already surrounded by the untouched, natural world.

But by the time darkness started to creep in, that uneasiness Logan knew all too well to expect, began to follow. He began singing softly to himself a small song, almost a lullaby that would calm him, at least for a little while.

Under a tree that sits high in the hills

A songbird whistles a tune.

Mockingbird, mockingbird, what have you seen

That you now sing of their doom?

The sinister air around being deep in the unknown, engulfed in true darkness unbleached by human light, was not off-putting Logan’s thoughts. In fact, he would rather be lost and alone out here that trapped with this awful energy that was ripping through his mind. He could not help but think in red, in flashes of violence and hunger, as if a side of him, a dark, feral side, was finally taking over.

Families somberly sit outside their homes,

Listening to its mocking sound.

Mockingbird, mockingbird, o’ can you see

The dead things walking about the town?

A wrench in his gut and he knew it was time to give up walking. He tossed off his dirty, old sandals. He nearly collapsed but managed to catch himself before curling up on the ground. He screamed, wailed, partly to scare off anything walking nearby, a warning of what to come. But mostly it was in agony as he felt himself one harsh breath from being unwound. He felt like stranger swimming in a madman’s mind, trapped and a victim to his wicked visions. 

But it was not long that only his mind was pained, but his body now too and it contorted and swelled. His feet especially which would have ripped apart any shoes he was wearing stitch by stitch. As he kept muttering the tune, his voice became more and more guttural, demonic even. His old shirt tore slightly as muscle grew beneath it and tufts of thick, grizzly hair sprouted from the seams. 

Through an opening in the trees as if with a malicious smile and a disdainful kiss goodnight, the full moon drifted through his vision. It was the last thing his human mind saw before feral, black blood began pumping through him and the hunter, the beast, the wolf began its vicious prowl.

Hours later, when bright light and blue sky had dethroned the moon, Logan awoke soaking wet beside a river, clothes torn and arm scratched and bleeding. After following the GPS of his phone, still handily strapped to his ankle, the employees of the Taberache Auto Repair watched him stumble out of the forest, returned his car and shoes, and exchanged bets once he had disappeared down the road.

That was twenty-nine days ago.

This night had become all the more indicative of autumn, leaves falling in droves by the day and harsh winds forcing students into sweaters and parkas. Despite the worsening weather, Logan was prepared to begin his ritual again, sneaking back to the dorm late in the evening.  It was easy on a Sunday night with his dorm mates drudgingly preparing for the school week to start up again. His walk back was quiet and lonesome and hardly anyone could be seen along the brickwork paths—though that did not mean there was no one there. 

As Logan walked past the chemistry building, one surrounded with thick bushes and crawling vines, he joined an unseen figure in the shadows. A firm arm burst out, constricted his neck, and before long black dots blotted his vision, leaving him unconscious without a shout.

Blurs of vision, bouts of consciousness, a few sounds and words maybe, but that was all he remembered. That was until he slowly woke in a painful haze, a heavy thumping in his head. He tried putting a hand to his forehead but it was stopped, tied down to the arms of the chair...a chair? What chair? Where was he? He looked about with his clouded vision but it seemed as though he were in a garage or basement of some kid, unfamiliar and deeply dark.

So you’re up now, are you? a face illuminated by a lighter and ashy cigarette smoke flashed in the distance. Immediately the smell burned Logan’s nose, About time. I’ve waited too long as it is. It was definitely a smoker’s voice, the voice of someone who spent too much time in dark, unsavory places. Do you know who I am? he stepped closer. Logan tried to look, to concentrate despite his head spinning from throbbing sores and fright. He looked and, no, he didn’t. Do you? Do you have any idea who I am?

Neck still sore from being crushed, No, he shook his head.

No? No, huh? She didn’t tell you? You’ve been dating her for, what, three months? And she never told you about me? he shook his head again. At this, the shadowy man hurled the chair he had been on straight at Logan, the legs splintering as it crashed into his body. Logan howled in pain and fall sideways, slamming his head on the concrete floor, still strapped to the chair, Anthony! That’s my name, and I’m her baby’s father, okay? Me, not you! He reached down and with one swift jerk pulled Logan’s chair, now chipped and unsteady, back up a breathed into his face a sickening plume of nicotine breath, Do I really, he licked his gums, matter to her that little?

He shook his head nervously, I don’t know, man, I don’t know! Maye she didn’t want to freak me out or maybe she was planning to tell me. I know it’s not my baby though, I don’t know why she didn’t tell me! his voice was hoarse and ever word was like a loose nail in his throat.

You know what? Why don’t we ask her? he threw back the chair, almost launching Logan backward, before going to a corner of the room. He pulled the chain on a lightbulb, foggy and facing its last days. Like a ringmaster he pulled off a car sheet cover to reveal a young woman, Logan’s age, strapped to a dolly, mouth gagged with leather.

Mia! Logan screamed and it seemed like she would have too if she could. Her eyes were pained, bloodshot, and terrified, tears streaking her makeup like a tragic damsel.

Well, what’s the answer, Mia? Why’d you never tell lover boy who your baby’s daddy was? he ripped off the leather and she spit.

Because you’re a monster! You are never going to see him. She was gasping, angrily now, though there was no less strain on her face.

Anthony did not seem all that angry, though, Mia, baby, you know how that breaks my heart. You know I’m Italian and we, he put his hands on his heart, never abandon our family. That would make me a monster. Mia growled but said nothing, And now, I have to deal with this man, coming in, and trying to break apart my family. I, well, I just can’t let that go. That’s not how my father raised me, certainly no how I’ll raise my son, he strode forward like how a snake slithers, his voice both light and charismatic yet menacing.

But he did not go to Logan, but to a workbench on the side of the room. What was on it, Logan could not see, but the clashing of metal against metal told him it was nothing good. When he returned to the light, something glinted in his hand, something sharp, a scalpel.

Gently, almost intimately, Anthony took hold of the collar of Logan’s shirt, pulling it close and kneeling, You know, he smirked vilely, you’re a very attractive man, Mr. Logan, I can see why Mia likes you, he pierced the shirt with the scalpel and slowly, with the slight screech of tearing polyester, dragged it down the front until it was ripped open, leaving Logan’s chest exposed. Anthony stood back and cocked his head like an artist measuring up his canvas, Tell me, Mia, do you love this man?

She was still panting in passionate fear and rage, Yes. More than I ever loved you. She was leaning forward as far as the belts holding her down would let her, her hands harsh like claws.

Is that so? And how often do you tell him you love him?

Every day,

Let’s see then, he tapped the dull end of his scalpel against his chin, You’ve been dating for three months, thirty days, so ninety times? Wow, you must feel so special. He smiled again, but not with his eyes. He knelt down before Logan and stroked the un-bladed end of the scalpel down his naked chest, But you know who doesn’t? Me. See, every time pretty Mia says she loves someone else, it cuts little Tony so deep, right here, right in my heart. So I just want you to feel what I feel Logan. Maybe then we can speak, man to man.

As if drawing out the moment for his own climactic amusement, he twirled the scalpel between his fingers before pulling it down like a brushstroke down toward Logan’s chest. The blade was not especially sharp so Logan felt it snag as the skin tore and wailed as it did, pulling downward deep into his skin. He screamed as he had never heard himself before. Mia joined in the wailing, begging Anthony to stop, pleading. But he just kept smiling with a drawn out One, like a child counting for hide-and-go-seek. And again he did with a disturbingly giddy two and three and four, getting a little faster each time. He kept cutting until he was practically slashing, getting more and more furious and less precise. As he laughed somewhere between vengeance and bloodlust, Logan kept on wailing and panting, hands in bestial talons trying to escape the straps binding his wrists. Flashes of red, bloody visions appeared with every snag and he remembered something terrible.

The last cuts weren’t as deep or as long but Anthony’s bladed tantrum was much more terrifying. He was hardly even counting anymore. After a while, likely far before ninety, he stumbled backward, panting and wiping the drool from his lips with his bloody hand, admiring what he had made of his canvas, You know what? I think we’re even now. You’ve felt what I’ve felt. Wouldn’t you say that’s fair?  Logan couldn’t respond, not really, he was still in a full body cringe, trying to block out the searing pain. It’s okay, I get it, you’re mad. I’ll give you a moment to cool off, he dropped the bloody scalpel on the floor with a smirk. He moseyed up the stairs and disappeared through a door. Logan thought, or maybe just hoped, that he saw a flicker of daylight bleed through.

Logan was still wincing, panting through his barred teeth, though already the bleeding was slowing.

Logan, I’m so sorry! I never thought he would do something like this! I’m so sorry you’re in the middle of it,

It’s okay, it’s okay, he puffed, half to her and a half to himself. The pain now was less of a concern than something much more pressing. Who knows how long they had been down here or what time it was, but he was sure, had this not happened, that he would be well on his way through the mountains by now. The inevitable transformation was looming, and there was not much time left.

He looked back at Mia, the pain now manageable and reality ready to be dealt with. The beast within him was an entirely separate entity from himself. He remembered next to nothing of his hunts and could only gleam the things he had done from the gashes and bruises on his body, the tastes lingering in his mouth, and the destruction left in his wake. He had once fought a bear, he found and had killed an eaten nearly a whole family of deer.

But what had occurred on one of those hunts had never left him, haunting like a cruel specter on quiet nights or times of great self-doubt. He was still a pup then but already a monster. It had been one of the first times he went on a hunt on his own. Every other time it had been with his mother, once a full pack, but had fallen victim to human hunters that only his mother was able to escape. Older and female, she was not as monstrous and had more control over her beast form, and was able to guide her aggressive pup through the mountains until dawn. But once he had gotten older and started venturing far from home, studying away from home, attending camps, concerts, and whatnot, it was up to him alone to protect others from his wolf form. While the first couple of times were incident free, at least has far as he could tell, the third was not so uneventful. He did not venture far enough away from civilization and transformed too near to a campground. In his insatiable hunger, an entire family that had been sleeping in their tents, protected from thieves and mosquitoes, could never be prepared for the beast that descended on their camp that night. The meal must have been enough to sate him like a holiday feast as he woke up in the camp amongst them. In his shame, his guilt, and his regret, he did not leave the forest for many days and for months after dedicated weeks to his journeys of isolation. 

And now it was all about to happen all over again. These straps would hold him now, sure, no matter how he struggled, but come nightfall and they would snap with a single flick of his grizzly wrist. Mia and even Anthony wouldn’t stand a chance and would be dead before they could run. And who knows where they were: in town? The city? A residential street? Wherever it was, there were probably enough guns to take him down as he rampaged through the streets, but not before he took many innocent souls with him, Mia, listen to me, this may be our only chance. We have to get out of here now.

She looked around and down to the scalpel