Bone Carver & Other Stories

By Gemma Paul

Step into a world of the bizarre, journeying from London's Victorian streets to futuristic nightmares, from horrifying twists on old favourites to unique tales of terror. Bone Carver is a collection of sixteen varied and compelling stories from author Gemma Paul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Cape Publishing
• Release date: Jul 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201903220

Book preview

Bone Carver

& Other Stories

Gemma Paul

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 Red Cape Publishing

Copyright © 2022 Gemma Paul

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Red Cape Graphic Design

Www.redcapepublishing.com/red-cape-graphic-design

The Red Hoods

Abby looks up at the moon, all bright and full, beaming down on the barren, snow-covered landscape beneath it. The once famous Red Rock Canyon of Arizona has been turned white for the first time in decades. She stares, lost in her thoughts at the sight she used to treasure and marvel as she pulls her red fur-lined hood up over her head. 

Her mind flashes back to when she was little, and she used to sneak out of her bedroom, creep down the stairs—avoiding that third step from the bottom that creaked so loud it could wake the dead. Once she had carefully manoeuvred her way around the creaky step, she would dart across the landing on tiptoes into the kitchen and unlock the latch on the backdoor that would take her out into the large family backyard. She would run through the long grass, passing her father’s vegetable patch on the left and dodging around the small pond that would attract an abundance of frogs in the spring, heading to the pergola at the very bottom of the garden. Once there, she would throw herself into the hammock that hung between two of the wooden posts, lie back with her arms behind her head and lightly swing from side to side while staring up at the moon, listening to the owls hoot as they serenaded her. 

More often than not, Abby would fall asleep under the stars, dreaming of one day flying to the moon and seeing if it was made of cheese, as the stories say. She loved those carefree and innocent nights staring up at the mysterious lunar object floating in the sky, taking its pride of place amongst the stars. Wondering whether creatures such as werewolves existed somewhere out there in the big wide world. Whether the moon had that sort of power. Now she doesn't need to wonder; now she knows they exist. 

She used to think that the moon had the power to turn men into beasts. She would strain her little ears listening out for them, see if she could hear that ever elusive 'HOWL' lurking somewhere in the distance. Now she knows the truth, that men do indeed turn into beasts, but it's not the moon who's to blame. 

What are you doing up? Christie asks quietly as she sits next to Abby on the rock face, looking down over the snow-covered landscape. The red stone peeks through in places, making it look as though the ground is covered in patches of dried blood. 

Can't sleep, Abby replies, her eyes never once leaving the mysterious object in the night sky. There are a couple down there. 

Here. Christie passes her a small flask. She takes it and glugs down a large swig, her face scrunching up at the bitterness that burns her throat. The watch will get them. 

Maggie? She'll be too busy sucking Diana's face to watch! she says as she pushes herself off the rock and plummets feet-first towards the ground. The red-hooded cape she wears flies behind her, making her look like a superhero jumping in to save the day; in some ways, she is. 

***

Christie watches for a moment as Abby drops into the abyss below, her cape being the last thing to get sucked into the darkness. Tucking the flask back inside her own cloak, she places her ageing hands down onto the rock beneath her and pushes herself off into the chasm, her cloak floating behind her, mimicking Abby's. 

She lands on her feet, bending her creaky knees low to protect them from the impact. The soft cushion of snow reduces the force of the landing and the effect of her not-as-supple-as-they-once-were joints. Youth isn't on her side as much as Abby's, but age doesn't mean a thing in this new world. Survival instinct does. 

Looking at the ground beneath her feet, she spots the deep indents Abby's footfalls have made and makes chase. In moments like these, moments where friends like Abby go off without warning, she is grateful for the bright moon and a clear night. Without either, she would be lost, and Abby would have to face the monsters of the new world alone. 

There was a time when they all had to face the monsters alone, when those closest to them fell to either the virus or those created from it. The virus destroyed the world as they knew it and started a new age, the age of the wolf. 

She stops in her tracks as a pain-ridden howl rings out in the night. She picks up her pace, squinting at the snow as the tracks become harder to see. Abby's a quick one; she'll give her that. And hot-headed, too hot-headed for her own good. 

That girl will get herself killed one of these days, she thinks as another howl, this one filled with rage, reaches her ears. Breaking out into a run, Christie can see Abby's red cloak just up ahead; thank you, moon. 

The cloak sways in the night, twirling and twisting as Abby moves, dodging a claw to her right, then another to the left as she 'dances' with three hulking wolves with jet black fur. Standing up on their hind legs, they reach an easy ten feet in height. Her short swords move through the air, one in each hand as she strikes and slashes, but wolves don't fall that easily, not this new kind. Not the kind that stemmed from the males of the human race enhanced with mutant microbes.

Christie stops several paces away, plucking the bow from her back, bringing it round to her front along with a silver-tipped arrow from her quiver. Gripping the curved wooden object that once felt alien to her, she places the arrow on its rest, hooks the other end into the nock, pulls back the bowstring and releases, letting the arrow fly. All this in a matter of seconds. Sometimes, she has a brief smile to herself at the thought that she has almost become a modern-day Robin Hood, only old, female and no robbing from the rich to give to the poor. 

Since the world as they knew it ended, she's become pretty proficient with a weapon or two. Before, she was a middle-aged housewife with two teenagers who spent their days playing computer games slouched in their dirty pyjamas and a husband who preferred to work rather than spend time with her. Before the end of the world, she had never even touched a bow and arrow. Now she can load, aim and shoot in a matter of seconds and hit her target near dead on point. She pulls another arrow from the quiver securely strapped to her back, load, aims and shoots, watching it soar through the air, its silver tip glinting in the moonlight. The wolf to Abby's right, slashing at her with its sharpened claws, howls loudly as the arrow pierces its chest, blood spraying from it, splattering onto the crisp white snow beneath.

Christie fires once more, hitting it again, watching as it finally falls to its knees, succumbing to the force of the arrows. One more brings it down for good, catching it right between the eyes as its fur-covered body thumps to the ground sending a flurry of snow upward. 

***

Talon-like claws swipe, and sharpened teeth snap as Abby battles the monsters of the night, those that thrive under the light of the full moon. She doesn't know for sure, it could well be her wild imagination or some strange wishful thinking, but she senses the full moon gives them a boost of power. The others say she imagines these things. That the moon does not influence the wolves of man created by this mutation. Those who become infected turn into giant hairy beasts, and they stay that way, day and night, 365 days a year. 

Unless the Red Hoods get to them first. 

The Red Hoods are a faction of females dedicated to preserving the human race. It was a race that used to thrive on Earth, so much so that it was fighting against their brutality and destruction. Earth was dying. The population had grown out of control. Humans were the dominating force, and the Earth could not sustain so many people. Yet thanks to technological advancements, they were living longer and longer, fewer people were dying, yet more were being born. Inevitably, the world was going to end in some form; it just came down to how.

A virus. 

It's only been eight long years since the virus decimated the population, but it did what it came to do. Artificial or a creation of God? No one truly knows. However it came about, it was created efficiently, leaving only 5% of the world's population remaining in human form.

Abby pulls her middle in as a claw swipes low. She retaliates with a sword slash to the right, catching the werewolf on its thick, muscular and hairy arm. Another arrow swoops past her head, a little too close for her liking. 

Watch it! she shouts to Christie without taking her eyes off the snarling beasts, seeing the arrow narrowly miss its target and land in the snow beyond. 

Stop moving around so much, Abby hears before another arrow flies past, this one striking its target and embedding itself into the shoulder of the beast before her. She kicks out hard, bringing it to its knees as she raises her swords high, swinging them down on either side of its head to slice at its neck. She forces the blades through its thick cartilaginous flesh with all her strength, strength even she didn't know she had, watching the wolf's head pop off its broad, muscular shoulders like a cork popping off a champagne bottle. It flies up in the air for a moment before landing with a soft thump on the snowy ground as blood bursts from the body, coating Abby and the surroundings in warm, red liquid. 

Blood drops fly around like a flurry of red snow as Abby spins, raising her swords high once more. The snow beneath them hisses and melts at the heat of the blood as the third and final wolf howls loudly up to the moon in anger at its fallen comrades. He makes himself tall, towering over them before bending his knees and leaping through the air before either Abby or Christie has a chance to react.

Abby gets knocked down to the ground onto her back, crushed by the giant hairy beast as a claw swipes at her throat. Just as the pin-sharp tips of his talons reach her skin, blood shoots out of his forehead as his large bulky form crashes down on top of her. The point of a silver tipped arrow pokes through his forehead.

What are you doing? Abby rolls her eyes beneath the werewolf she’s wearing as a blanket as she hears Maggie’s irritated shout. 

Don’t look at me, Christie says as she secures the bow back into its place on her back and moves towards the werewolf, crushing her friend into the snow. Give me a hand. With the help of Maggie, Christie rolls the beast over and off of Abby.

I’m on watch tonight, Maggie says, crossing her arms across her chest and raising an un-plucked eyebrow like a mother telling off a child. 

It isn't a competition, Abby says with humour in her voice as she gets to her feet, brushing herself off and flinging a few stray drops of blood. 

You could have gotten yourself killed.

Hardly, Abby scoffs, have you met me? I'm awesome. She smirks, bending down to pick up the swords she dropped when she fell.

BANG! BANG!

***

Abby's mind jolts as two loud gunshots ring out in the night and a fourth beast falls at their feet. Violent images flash through her head, fading to black till she's back in that dark, bleak closet. She remembers it like it was yesterday, her father’s skin ripping, his eyes turning a bright shade of yellow as long fangs stretch out from his gums and his face stretched and elongated. Blood and drool dripping thickly from his teeth as he pierced her mother's skin, tearing her apart and gnawing on the flesh.

She watched with her hands clamped over her mouth to prevent her screams from reaching his large dog-like ears as her face became drenched with tears. 

He turned to her, eyes flashing and nose sniffing as a squeal escaped her throat. She shuffled herself further back into the closet. He took one step, two steps towards her on the toes of his hind legs as a chunk of her mother's flesh fell from his mouth. She had nowhere to run and no way to fight him. She was a twelve-year-old child, helpless in the face of a snarling hair-covered beast. 

Then she heard it, two loud bangs. She threw her hands up over her ears and clamped them down tight, scrunching her eyes up at the same time as the scream she had been holding in burst its way out of her lungs… just as the closet door swung open with a creak. 

It's ok little one, she heard as a soft male voice spoke to her. Opening her eyes, she saw him, her saviour in a green speckled uniform, crouched down in front of her telling her it was going to be ok and that she was safe now. Her father's prone, hairy form snarled once more. The man turned, unloading two more bullets into the back of his head. 

He picked her up, the uniformed man, cradled her in his arms and carried her out of her home, the place that was supposed to be safe from beasts. She remembers throwing her arms around his neck, looking down at the bodies of her parents, slowly turning their bedroom floor a horrifying shade of blood red. That image of her parents was the last one she ever saw and one to remain ingrained in her mind for as long as she lives. 

It took her a while to understand what had happened, what was happening to the world she lived in. A new, unseen virus emerged from Europe, somewhere in the Netherlands, and spread fast. Initially, it transmitted through tainted wolf meat sold on illegal black markets by hunters looking to gain a buck. From there, it spread through touch that broke the skin, a bite or scratch, but it only affected men. Every male affected would turn, some quicker than others, but it always happened. Females were immune, something to do with their genetic make-up. No one had ever seen anything like it.

It's amazing how quickly the world can fall when faced with chaos, destruction and the elimination of males. 

As those affected turned into crazed wolves hungry for human flesh, they eliminated the females. They became victims of the virus, just in a different way. They didn't turn, they just died, but they also had a fighting chance that the men didn't have. A bite or swipe from a claw may hurt like a bitch, but they could survive if treated in time. Soon, the females began to rise once more. 

***

Christie watches as Abby shifts into a daze. She does that sometimes; she likes to pretend she's tough, but the trauma from the beginning is closer to the surface than she likes to admit. 

The fourth wolf they hadn't seen. It had been lurking in the shadows, hidden amongst the dark trees until the time came for it to attack. Until it spotted a moment of vulnerability. A moment when none of them were on guard; she could kick herself. In this new era, you always needed to be ready. The wolves already outnumbered the humans; the last thing they needed was more Red Hoods to fall.

Tainted meat. A werewolf-creating virus which turned men into savage beasts. Women dropped like flies, and cities fell. That's how it went, all within less than a year. With most of the male population turned into drooling ravaged beasts and women's blood painting the ground red, there was no one left to run the world. No one to operate power stations or run the grid. All the lights went out globally. As did phone lines, satellite, the internet. Those who were still alive were left to fend for themselves, scavage and loot, and