Werewolf Among Us

By Dragan Vujic

For decades, a pack of werewolves has dwelt undetected among the populace of a typical northern Ontario mining town. The abominations exacted a tribute which was resentfully paid on the zenith of every full moon. A critical event exposes the presence of these stygian creatures. After a ten year old child is brutally murdered and devoured, the villagers cry out for help. Bryan Boyd, a werewolf slayer of known repute, answers the call. Well aware of the tenacity and exceptional abilities of this unusual man, the dark beasts decide to flee all except one, who chooses to stay and fight. Troy Larson is the first to fall. His mate is slain shortly thereafter. Subsequently, the adventure begins. Bryan sets off on a mission to hunt down and terminate the remaining members of the pack. The quest proves to be lengthy, perilous and saturated with surprises.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491735312

Dragan Vujic

Dragan Vujic is a writer and an avid outdoorsman. He resides in rural southern Ontario, Canada where he enjoys a quiet, serene lifestyle. Dragan may be contacted at: [e-mail] or [e-mail].

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Copyright © 2014 Dragan Vujic.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3530-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3531-2 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 05/15/2014

CONTENTS

Abstract

Hot Pursuit

Huronhurst

Berkshire

Discovery

Memories

Enlightenment

Strategy

Revelation

Enter The Slayer

Death Hunt

Just Numbers

Seduction

Unexpected

Prelude

Last Werewolf

ABSTRACT

F or decades, a pack of werewolves has dwelt undetected among the populace of a typical northern Ontario mining town. The abominations exacted a tribute which was resentfully paid on the zenith of every full moon. A critical event exposes the presence of these stygian creatures. After a ten year old child is brutally murdered and devoured, the villagers cry out for help. Bryan Boyd, a werewolf slayer of known repute, answers the call. Well aware of the tenacity and exceptional abilities of this unusual man, the dark beasts decide to flee – all except one, who chooses to stay and fight. Troy Larson is the first to fall. His mate is slain shortly thereafter. Subsequently, the adventure begins. Bryan sets off on a mission to hunt down and terminate the remaining members of the pack. The quest proves to be lengthy, perilous and saturated with surprises.

HOT PURSUIT

A bright full moon illuminated a sparsely treed hardwood forest. September had made its debut roughly a week ago and most of the foliage had fallen. Thus, a person could clearly see through the bush. Deciduous arbors shed their leaves noticeably earlier in the northern regions of a Canadian province known as Ontario. Crouching down beside the edge of a shallow and narrow creek, a huntsman examined a recent paw print left in the soft mud. The splashing of water and the dirt that flowed down stream indicated that his prey was not far ahead. He had gained considerable ground. Despite his acute hearing, the pursuer could not distinguish if there were two creatures or only one. With a scoped rifle in hand, the hunter stood up and resumed the chase. He had to strike a delicate balance between caution and speed. Every thick tree, large rock or knoll was a potential ambush site. The abominations could be laying a trap for him anywhere. Therefore, the pursuer had to be extremely careful and mindful of his immediate environment.

Quietly hurrying beside the south bank of the stream, Bryan Boyd moved on. He was a large man in every sense of the word. Big boned and broad shouldered, he stood several inches over six feet. His body could best be described as athletic and well muscled. A full head of medium length black hair, combed straight back, appeared to be unkempt and in dire need of cutting along with his scruffy black beard which had not seen a razor in excess of several weeks. Beneath a set of bushy eyebrows, piercing blue eyes peered into the dimly lit forest. Dark clothing allowed him to take advantage of his current surroundings. A pair of size twelve brown leather boots kept his feet warm and dry as he took long strides on his trek. Due to the overhead nocturnal beacon and lack of vegetation, the human predator could see clearly enough without the assistance of a flashlight. The hunter was in hot pursuit and gaining ground. Soon, he hoped to be close enough to make a kill shot.

The firearm that he carried was a Browning BAR Stalker, a semi automatic rifle in a .270 WSM caliber. A Bushnell 3 – 9 x 40 scope was mounted on top. It had been sighted in at a hundred yards. His side arm consisted of a Colt 1911 in the .45ACP caliber. All of his ammunition was custom made and all of the bullets had been cast of silver. A silver dagger, honed to a razor sharp edge, was tucked in a sheath on his belt. He had all the tools that he needed in order to harvest his sought after game.

Bryan specialized in hunting exclusively a specific type of beast that could only be killed with silver. He hunted the legendary werewolf – a creature of myth and folklore. Some of the stories embedded in children’s fairytales proved to be true. However, the majority of the populace did not believe in the strange animals depicted in the fantasy world. Most considered the werewolf to be a mere figment of the imagination. Perhaps, therein lay the werewolves’ greatest asset – the failure of people to believe in the existence of these abominations. In any event, they were very real to Bryan Boyd. He had already slain well over three dozen of these dark demons.

Splashing water beneath fleeing feet ceased and the forest grew deadly silent. Bryan stopped and listened, but he heard nothing. Then, the crunching of dry leaves could be heard. The sinister incarnates had abandoned the water for dry land. He quickened his pace as he proceeded along the south side of the creek and searched for paw prints. Fifty yards later, the hunter found what he was looking for – smeared imprints in the soft soil on the north bank of the waterway. The stygian entities had left the valley and ascended a mild incline leading to an opening. A large meadow stretched from the perimeter of this bush to another wooded area. The distance between the two hardwood forests was approximately one hundred yards. Winter wheat had been harvested in this field at the close of August. Only stubble and weeds remained.

As he crested the hill, Bryan observed a huge dark shape standing roughly ten yards from the perimeter of the other forest and checking its back trail. Raising his rifle slowly, the huntsman set the cross hairs of the scope on the barrel chest of the black beast and calmly squeezed the trigger. A foot long fireball lit up the shadows of the forest. The werewolf noticed the flash and realized that it had been fired upon. Turning and attempting to flee, the abomination was too tardy in out running the bullet. Screaming silver ripped through the werewolf’s chest, perforating both lungs. Lurching forward, the creature fell five yards short of the bush. A blood curdling screech resounded from within the blackness of the nearby forest. Out of the darkness, a pair of crimson coloured eyes flashed acrimony at the slayer. It was the mate of the slain beast.

Bryan then realized that there was another monster ahead of him and that he had been chasing two werewolves and not just one. Peering through the scope, he could not find the second entity. Occasionally, the shooter would catch glimpses of flashing crimson. These were the burning eyes of the mate. However, the hunter could not acquire a clear target to shoot at. He knew that he would have to leave the safety of his spot and proceed across an open field. There were no other viable options if he wished to continue his pursuit.

It is a well known fact that four legs could always run faster than two. Bryan knew that he could not out pace the remaining abomination. However, he did have a higher level of endurance. Thus, his only hope was to run the tenebrific creature into the ground. Having resolved to persist in the chase, Bryan stepped into the field and rushed towards his fallen prey. He reasoned that the other werewolf would tire soon. Thereafter, the beast would be easy to kill. Boyd had always been tenacious by nature. Upon seeing the hunter emerge from the forest, the remaining werewolf fled – running as fast as it could. Currently aware that it was being pursued, the werewolf altered its pace from a leisurely gait to an all out gallop. Any fast speed cannot be maintained for any length of time. Shortly, the beast would grow weary and slow down.

By the time that Bryan had arrived at the site of his first kill for the evening, the werewolf had morphed back to human form. Upon death all of these abhorrent animals reverted back to their natural body. This individual appeared to be a woman in her late thirties or early forties with a firm and shapely body. However, age was elusive, since the lycanthrope virus rejuvenated the flesh at an exacerbated rate. This individual could very easily have been in excess of ninety years old. Some individuals that had been infected with this particular microbe have been known to live more than three hundred years. Nevertheless, this longevity came with a horrible curse. When the moon shone full, human constraints surrendered to base feral instincts and urges.

The hunter kicked the cadaver over on its back and examined the face. Long brown hair encircled a finely chiseled pretty face accented with emerald green eyes. Unbeknownst to Bryan, the female had been the mate of Karl Svenson – the last surviving werewolf who, at this very moment, was running for his life. The female had been known as Patricia Snow. Just another slain lycanthrope, she was unfamiliar to Bryan. He murdered werewolves indiscriminately. Five members of this pack had already died by Bryan’s hand. Only the Alpha Male remained alive. Bryan reached inside his coat and retrieved his smart phone from his left shirt pocket. With his right hand, he snapped a picture of the lycanthrope’s face and emailed the image to a specific address. The caption simply read, ‘#5’.

Leaving the deceased behind and replacing his iphone, the slayer continued on his quest. He sped across the open field due to the fact that there were no apparent dangers. Visibility was good for at least a hundred yards. Albeit, he did slow his pace at the edge of the forest and entered with caution. Inside the bush, the hunter heard the rustling of leaves and knew that his prey was not that far ahead. Examining the direction of the tracks, Bryan surmised that the abomination was headed towards the village of Berkshire. This relatively small settlement lay approximately four miles ahead. It was located roughly fifteen miles west of the main highway. A large, two story churched had been built less than fifty yards from the south-eastern outskirts of this little town that had a population of about two thousand people.

Guided by sound, juxtaposed to visibility, the pursuer moved quickly in the direction of the crunching leaves. As long as the foliage crackled, he knew that the werewolf was travelling and not hiding. Therefore, no lurking dangers lay ahead. At this point both man and beast were running full out. Regrettably, the animal was out pacing the human. Bryan was not gaining ground. He crested a hill just in time to see the werewolf cross a gravel road and enter a church. The right door had been left ajar. He did not have time to shoulder and shoot. Besides, the distance was a bit far for an accurate shot. Silver bullets lacked the consistent precision of lead. Although the firearm had been sighted in for one hundred yards, the best grouping could only be tightened to a two inch circle. At two hundred yards this array spread to eight inches and at three hundred yards – well, let us just say that at three hundred yards one would fare better throwing stones. The distance from where the hunter stood and the edge of the road was a good two hundred and fifty yards.

‘Aha, I have you now. You have boxed yourself in.’, thought Bryan as he descended the slope, taking his time and observing his environment.

Glancing up at the sky, the hunter calculated that dawn would strike within the next twenty minutes. He knew that he had to slay the abomination within that time frame. Once the twilight made its debut, the creature could revert back to human form. Then, the werewolf could be anyone. Ten minutes brought him to the gravel road and a very short brisk walk placed him at the doorway of the church. Easing open the already partially opened door, Bryan stepped inside. The interior of this holy place was dark and dismal. Only a few candles burned near the alter.

How dare you! How dare you enter into the house of the Lord, bearing weapons of violence! Get out! Be gone!, shouted the priest, waving his arms and rushing towards his uninvited guest.

Richard Yessis, clad in a holy vestment, was a large man, comparable in size to Bryan. But, they had a different appearance. There were no similarities. Whereas Boyd was lean and well muscled, Yessis was fat and flabby, weighing at least sixty pounds more than the man who stood before him. Also, Richard was partially bald with a receding hairline and depended on glasses to see clearly. In addition, his teeth were not his own. With respect to age, the priest appeared to be at least ten years older.

Pardon me, father. I did not mean to be disrespectful. But, I’m in hot pursuit of a werewolf. I saw the abomination enter your church. And, I…, defended Bryan in an apologetic, yet firm tone of voice.

You cannot hunt and kill on holy ground! You should know that!, interrupted Richard, continuing to yell.

Yes, but…, Bryan attempted to respond unsuccessfully.

But, nothing. Get out. Come back when you have laid aside your weapons., insisted the priest motioning for the man to leave.

Would you give sanctuary to an abomination?, queried Bryan, lowering his rifle and preparing to depart.

This is the house of God. The doors are never locked. All are welcome. None are turned away. Absolution and salvation are available to all who seek the way of the Lord. Even those that you perceive to be abominations may be offered redemption., responded Richard, losing patience with the intruder.

Yes, father, I understand. Sorry to have bothered you., concluded Bryan and left quietly.

There are no werewolves in the real world. Clear your head of such nonsense. God can help you find your way. You appear to be a troubled soul., added Richard, watching the stranger leave.

Prior to departing, Bryan had examined the priest’s meaty hands. The holy man did not bare the marks of the beast. His index finger was not longer than the second finger and no hair grew in the hollow of his palm. However, the hunter was almost certain that this man of the cloth had knowingly aided and abetted a werewolf. There was something surreptitious and sinister about Richard Yessis. Turning his head to the east and noticing the sun starting to rise, Bryan knew that it was too late to further pursue his prey. The trail had terminated at the church. In all likelihood, the werewolf had reverted back to human form and could very easily pass for one of the locals. The trail had grown cold and the hunt was over for now.

Undoing his belt, Boyd slipped off the holstered handgun and the sheathed knife. He placed both of these items in his right bellow pocket on his overcoat and buttoned the flap. Then, he removed the garment and wrapped it around his rifle. The hunt was over for now. Bryan was very close to completing his mission. There as only one werewolf existent in this pack. He had already terminated five of the abominations. Traversing fifty yards brought him to the outskirts of Berkshire. That was where the dirt road ended and the pavement began. Another twenty yards down the main street, he found himself standing in front of a dinner – Eileen’s Eatery. The lights were coming on inside and he correctly assumed that the place would soon be open for patrons. Pulling out his cell phone, Bryan went through is contacts list and selected a specific number.

Yeah. It’s Bryan Boyd. I need my vehicle brought to me., Bryan said when someone answered.

Okay. Where are you?, asked a raspy voice.

I’m at the far end of Berkshire in front a restaurant called ‘Eileen’s Eatery’., answered Bryan, noticing the proprietor unlock the main door.

Okay. You may as well go inside and have some breakfast. I’ll be there in about an hour. We have located your vehicle on out GPS (Global Positioning System) network., instructed the same raspy voice.

10-4. I’ll meet you outside in about an hour. Over and out., finished Bryan and pocketed his iphone.

Within a few minutes, he was inside and seated at a corner table. His concealed weaponry lay on a chair beside him. The waitress had set a cup of coffee in front of him and had taken his order. Bryan had asked for three eggs over easy, sausages, mashed potatoes and two pieces of brown toast lightly buttered. Sipping on his coffee, Bryan sat in thought. This is neither the ending nor the beginning of this fantastic tale. Although the actual beginning may be veiled in mystery to a considerable extent, Bryan became involved in this situation roughly a year ago. Breakfast came with a friendly smile from a pretty waitress. She refilled his half empty cup with fresh coffee. Every one of these quiet country towns had their own quaint brand of charm and sincere warmth. Bryan often wondered if he could settle down in a place like this. Perhaps, he could marry a nice farm girl, have a couple of kids and spend a lifetime raising crops and a family.

Then, reality would slap him in the face and shatter his dream. Fate had something different in store for him. Destiny dictated otherwise. Somewhere along the path of life, Bryan Boyd had become a werewolf hunter. It was not something that he had aspired to when he was growing up. No one grows up thinking about becoming a terminator of dark demons that the rest of the world does not even believe in. Most children have sensible goals of becoming carpenters, electricians, mechanics or plumbers and some even have loftier aims of someday being a doctor or a lawyer. But, no one ever suspects that he or she will become a hunter of abominations. This is something that just happens. Bryan recalled how he became enveloped in this unpleasant mess. It was too painful to remember and relive all of the horrific details. Thus, he chose to focus on something else.

The food was awesome and so was the service. People always seemed to be much friendlier in these little places and the meals invariably tasted better. Maybe, it was the atmosphere. Having devoured the ‘hungry man’ breakfast special, the patron paid for his meal in cash and left a generous tip for the waitress on the table. Boyd grabbed his coat that concealed his weapons and went outside. After descending the two steps and walking onto the sidewalk, Bryan lit up a cigarette and savoured the moment. It promised to be another great early autumn day, even though, technically, it was late summer. The official pronouncement of fall would come in another two weeks. His sole wish consisted of living a normal life. However, a good friend once told him that there was no such thing as a normal life. There was just life. He was starting to see the truth in those philosophic words. Everyone followed a unique path. Diversity was the only commonality.

Time floated by at a leisurely pace. Two vehicles came into view – a navy blue Cadillac and a black full size SUV – the Ford Explorer. Both of them pulled up to the curb where Bryan stood. A tall gaunt man, who looked like death warmed over, exited the SUV and walked over to the hunter. Barney Ferguson was slowly dying from lung cancer, but he continued to smoke heavily and insisted on working for the cause until his demise. The other driver remained in the car. Bryan already had a set of keys to the Ford Explorer, therefore, Barney pocketed the spare set. The vehicle had been retrieved on the south side of Beeton, about three miles down Carol County Road Eleven east of number six highway. The huntsman had covered a considerable amount of ground during the night.

I see that you have had quite the hike., responded Barney, looking at Bryan and trying to force a smile.

Yeah. That I have. It has been an interesting night., replied Bryan, returning a brief grin.

Are you done here? Are they all dead? Is the entire pack terminated?, inquired Barney, gathering information for his report.

No. Almost, but no. I terminated one, but one got by me. It is the last one of that pack. I hope to find the abomination and kill it within the next couple of days. I will keep you posted. A picture of the deceased has already been forwarded to your office., asserted Bryan confidently.

Yeah, I got it. I knew that the pack consisted of six members. I thought that maybe you had inadvertently neglected to send me the last picture. Murray will check out ‘#5’ and credit the kill when he comes in. Good luck on your hunt for the last werewolf. Do you need any money?., asked Barney, reaching into his right pant’s pocket.

No. I’m flush for now., responded Bryan, fully aware of what his financial resources consisted of at the moment.

Do you need anything else? Ammunition? Another iphone? Information?, probed Barney, preparing to leave.

Yeah. I do. Run a check on the local priest here of the Catholic Church of Saint Andrew. There is something not quite right about that man. Get me as much information as you can. Specifically – where he came from and how long has he been here. Also, check the criminal data base. He seems to be hiding something out of his past. He is definitely not a man of integrity or high moral values., requested Bryan, still feeling uneasy about his encounter with the holy man.

Okay. I’ll get someone on it right away. I should have that information for you sometime this afternoon if all goes well. Do you still have the same phone number?, replied Barney, making a note in his little book.

Yeah. I have managed to hang on to this cell phone for a while. I would appreciate that information as soon as possible., stated Bryan, pondering if there was anything else that he required.

Okay. I’ll do my best to get it to you early this afternoon. Anything else?, said Barney and asked what he presumed to be his last question.

No. That should do it., confirmed Bryan, unable to think of anything further.

Okay. Talk to you later., concluded Barney and departed.

Bryan watched Barney enter the passenger’s side of the Cadillac and saw the vehicle turn around and leave. The SUV had a large eight cylinder engine that had been modified for high performance. Speed proved to be critical in most situations. Also, the vehicle had four wheel drive, mostly for off road use. This was the standard vehicle issued to werewolf hunters. Bryan was not alone in this morbid, officially non-existent, profession. Several individuals of similar status were scattered here and there. Regrettably, the life expectancy of werewolf hunters was extremely short. Typically, even the best of the lot were eventually overwhelmed, ambushed or outwitted. They all came to an unexpected and untimely demise. Bryan would not be an exception. He would perish someday fighting for a noble cause, but that day was not today.

Opening the driver’s door, Brian speculated why the priest had assisted in sheltering the werewolf. There had to be some connection between the two of them. Perhaps, they were related or shared a bond of sorts. In any event, Richard had been right about one thing. It was strictly forbidden to hunt and kill on holy ground. Throughout the centuries, the church had always offered a safe haven to all who entered hallow ground – even the demonic forces. According to legend, a witch’s curse prevented the clergy from distinguishing between good and evil. In fact, these holy men were blind in many other aspects as well. Rumours whispered that the church had struck a bargain with the dark side for a mutual benefit a long, long time ago. An unholy alliance came into effect and the lines between good and evil became obfuscated. In any event, no conflict was allowed to be continued on holy ground. That is where it came to an end.

Entering the vehicle, the slayer closed the door and started up the engine. He had to find a place to lay low for the next few days until he discovered and terminated the one remaining lycanthrope. As he drove down the main street of Berkshire, he examined the lay out of the village. This could prove beneficial latter on. On the outskirts, a cozy motel beckoned him. Despite the temptation, Bryan knew that to stay here would be a fatal error. In all likelihood, the priest would disclose his identity and location to the werewolf in their midst. This situation would place the huntsman in a disadvantageous position. The abomination would know who the slayer was, but Bryan would still not know whose body concealed the microbe. No. The Berkshire House would definitely amount to a bad decision that could cost Bryan Boyd dearly.

Therefore, he travelled to the main highway. Thereat, Bryan veered north and drove thirty miles to the next town, known as Lucan. Another mile further north brought him to the Knight Inn where he booked a room and made himself comfortable. He had paid in cash. That was all that he ever carried. There were no credit cards and no other identifying credentials. Brian Boyd was untraceable – even his finger prints were not on file anywhere. He planned to rest here until dusk and then return to Berkshire. In the best case scenario, the slayer would locate and eliminate the werewolf tonight. However, this trip could prove to be a reconnaissance mission only. He had another two nights of the full moon left to hunt the lycanthrope. Thereafter, the virus would lay dormant until the next cycle of the full moon.

Although the infected individual could morph into a werewolf during any nocturnal period, the urge to do so remained subdued. Albeit, when the moon shone full, the need to let loose the beast within became uncontrollable. That was when the diseased individuals did horrible things. If he did not succeed in terminating the foul creature during the upcoming dark hours, Bryan planned to spend the diurnal hours in a different motel. Moving from accommodation to accommodation was a safety precaution that prevented him from being patterned and found. Subsequently, if he came up empty on the second night, the hunter would leave this area for roughly three weeks. It would not be safe to linger here for any length of time.

HURONHURST

A t the conclusion of the Second World War, several northern Ontario mining towns were established due to the discovery of a variety of subterranean ore deposits. Huronhurst arose in the vicinity of an unusually large concentration of nickel. The ‘Minervic Mining Company’ – an incorporated business enterprise - was the first to move into the area and organize the establishment of a town in order to house their future workers. Surveyors, builders, plumbers, brick layers, carpenters, electricians and a host of other tradesmen were the first to arrive. After the village, with all of the necessary government and public facilities, was completed, some of the tradesmen stayed. However, most of the first wave returned to where they had come from and the minors moved in. Some were single men. Others brought their families and relatives with them.

Over the initial years, Huronhurst experienced moderate growth. Minors along with a wide array of other individuals and opportunists came to call this little town their home. Two taverns were established – one on each end of the village. They had interesting names and colourful placards. One pub was known as ‘The Green Unicorn’, while the other was called ‘The Northern Bear’. A hardware store also took its position on the main street, beside the municipal building and the small library. Later, a combination gas station and mechanic shop was built. Volunteering their various services gratuitously, the townspeople got together and constructed a large recreation center with the funds provided by the Provincial government of Ontario. The complex consisted of an indoor hockey arena, an outdoor track, a baseball diamond and a football field. Other enterprises of various natures sprung up periodically here and there.

A Catholic Church, which was later named the Catholic Church of Saint James, was built approximately a year after the indoor arena had been completed. No other religious edifice of any other denomination was ever constructed. There were two major reasons for this situation. First and foremost, the Catholic faith