Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27905100-20171013182430

Hey all! It's... me here, I guess. I finally cut down my story to exactly 4,000 words. I just want a bit of feedback before I post it, so thanks for reviewing it if you do.

I woke up panting, bathed in an icy sweat. My breath shook like a rattlesnake, and my whole body ached with something like growing pains.

What the FUCK was happening?

I searched my mind for some remnant of the nightmare, but found only pain, and some distorted, grey flashes. What had happened last night?

No, it wasn’t just last night. Every night since I’d made the move I’d woken up like this. I was looking for a small place to settle down in, but then this place offered itself up, and at the price it was, I couldn’t refuse this offer.

Then, people began staring at me as I left the house, with an expression of wonderment on their faces. Once I tried asking a man about it, but all I got as an answer was “It’s best not to tell you.” He refused to say anything else, so I gave up and moved along to my house.

I looked at the alarm clock at my bedside, but its light had gone out, replaced with a blank black screen. Strange. I must have unplugged it. I reached down to grab the cord, and to my surprise, it felt strangely light. Muttering to myself, I gave the cord a tug, but found dangling from my hand only a fragile bit of metal and plastic, about half the length of the cord. I jumped back in shock, and a wave of goosebumps ran up my spine. What the hell had done that?

I sat up, and turned on the lights, throwing my arm up to shield myself from the sudden orange glare. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I slowly stepped up out of bed onto the cold hardwood floor. Ancient as the house, it creaked with every footfall as I walked to the door.

Peering downstairs, I called out “H-hello?” to no answer. Being nearly a hundred years old, the house always had a creepy vibe to it. I had planned to begin remodeling, but I hadn’t even moved in yet, much less unpacked. Boxes lined the walls of my living room, but being as I had planned to move into something much smaller, I could hardly complain for the lack of it. It was a wonder nobody had gotten to the house before me.

I flicked the switch on and the kitchen was filled with a pool of orange light. Nothing but the glow sat inside. Still, with extreme caution, I creaked my way over to the chopping block and grabbed a knife, gripping it so tightly my knuckles turned white. Sweat dripped from the palm of my hand, making the blade slip inside my grasp. I turned into the living room to find nothing but boxes stacked high against the barren white walls. Nothing.

I searched the rest of my aging house to no avail. Whatever had torn the cord was long gone. Checking my watch, I realized that the search had only taken him around half an hour, and it was still more than an hour before I had to get ready for work. I looked around, and, deciding I wouldn’t get to sleep after that, went into the kitchen to call the police. Keeping one ear up for anyone, I dialled 9-1-1, and was routed to a friendly-sounding woman.

“Hello, 911. What is your emergency?”

“Hi. It’s James Paseluko. I believe my house was broken into last night. Whoever did it seems to be gone, but it would still give me peace of mind to conduct a search - see if they can find out who it was.”

“Yes, James? This is the house on the corner of Maple and Riverview?”

“That’s the one.”

“All right. I’m sending two officers to your location right now.”

“Thank you.”

And with that, I hung up.

The police arrived in a few minutes, their blue-and-white vehicle shining in the few scraps of light that the sunrise gave. Two men stepped out, their uniforms a dark navy blue to match their car. The passenger side man, tall and lanky with a mop of red hair attached to his head, stepped out, and was greeted with the sight of his partner, squat, balding, and beer-bellied, waddling up to greet me. I heard the tall one mumble something about “this place always giving him the creeps”, but his partner paid it no mind. I could see why it would. Though I had mowed as soon as I moved in, the lawn looked overgrown, and the decrepit metal fence surrounding its outskirts only added to this.

“Are you James Paseluko?” he asked, failing to stifle a yawn.

“Yessir.”

“And you say somebody broke into your… home?”

“Yes, someone seems to have come in. But for some reason, I found nothing out of place. Only thing was a cord that looks like it was torn by some kind of animal.”

“And that’s the only evidence you have?”

Now that I thought about it, it did seem stupid to call the police about a break-in when all I had to go by was a torn cord lying across the floor. Still, at the time, I was aching and dazed, halfway between dream and reality. It seemed like I really was in danger.

“Yes. Honestly, now that I think about it more, this seems like a stupid reason to investigate.”

“Sir, it’s protocol. You called for us, and it’s our job to,” he said, his second chin wobbling with every word he said.

He began to waddle inside, and the lanky one, apparently snapped out of his stupor, ran up to me. His face was covered in acne blemishes, and I started, realizing he was just a kid, probably not even out of his early twenties.

“Sir, for what it’s worth, we’ll try to make it quick. Lord knows I could use more sleep.”

He then followed his partner inside, jogging to catch up.

With nothing to do but wait, I sat down on the overgrown grass and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through a few new texts, then, with nothing better to do, went onto the news.

Straight away, something caught my eye. Marked Disturbing Content, the story was titled “Body Found Near Riverside”. My interest piqued, I clicked into it and began reading.

''Late last night, around three a.m., a resident who wishes to remain anonymous stumbled across a body that appears to have been killed and partially eaten by some kind of animal. Other residents near the killing have reported hearing “inhuman howling”, growling, screams, and other noises.

Over the past week, residents of the town of Beaver Woods, named for the abundant beaver population that existed when trappers first set up camp, have reported hearing howls and shrieks, and seeing a large animal that looks like a cross between a Bear and Wolf wandering around at night. When asked, the municipality of Beaver Woods made no comment.

The body has not been identified, and neither has the animal that mauled them, though authorities suspect that it is some kind of wolf or bear.

Authorities urge citizens to remain calm, and know that this was an isolated incident. They are currently trying their best to find and relocate the animal to an area where it can no longer cause harm to the community.''

Below, there was a heavily pixelated image with the words “This image is potentially disturbing. Click to view”. Curiosity getting the better of me, I tapped it.

A woman was lying face up, with gore splattered everywhere around her. A large bite had been taken out of her head, and brains splattered the pavement. What was left of her body was chewed through, and her guts lay on the ground, falling out of her stomach. What little face she still had was contorted into a horrifying scream.

Immediately, I felt dizzy and light-headed, and began to gag. I rolled over onto my stomach, and retched its putrid contents onto the ground, before I fell down beside it, and blacked out.

I dreamt I was large. My hands had sprouted claws, and my feet had grown pads. A shaggy coat covered my body, shielding me from the chill of the night air.

The light of the moon covered the street in a milky glow. Someone was standing there.

Prey.

I pounced. I didn’t want to. I tore at her clothes. I didn’t want to. I brought her head up towards my gaping maw, ready to feast upon my prize.

I woke up.

The car was still in my driveway, and the two men were nowhere in sight. They must have still been checking the house. I sat up, and a pile of grass and vomit, caked to my head, did the same. Out of reflex, I slapped my hand to the side of my face, and came back with a deeply red, sticky mess. I scrambled onto my feet, only to immediately fall onto my ass. Taking a deep breath in, I began to study my hand. The liquid was a deep red, sticky, but drying out. I gagged again. It looked like I had just thrown up blood.

No, that was crazy.

I wasn’t puking blood.

Perhaps it was the beet I ate last night, or maybe discoloured stomach acid, or something like that.

But it wasn’t blood.

I scrabbled onto my feet and towards the hose. I twisted the handle, and brown slop began falling out of the nozzle, discolouring the gravel it lay on. I turned up the flow, and more spilled out, creating a puddle of sludge. I watched inquisitively for about ten seconds, before I noticed something: the liquid was turning red. I jumped away from the ever-growing puddle, and yanked the handle back off. My heart beating a mile a minute, I sat down, and took a deep breath in. It couldn’t have been blood. It must have been dirt or something. Yes, that was the first time the hose had been on in years, must have had a little rust in the pipes. Running it again would clear it up.

I lay the nozzle, still covered in the mystery liquid at my feet. My hand gripping the handle so tight that my knuckles turned white, I gave it a hard twist.

Smooth, clear water came gushing forth, without a trace of dirt in sight. Sighing with relief, I began spraying down the slime, being careful not to get any on myself.

“Looks like your house is all clean, James.”

I jumped at the mention of my name. I’d forgotten the officers were there to begin with.

“Great news. Did you figure out what happened to the cord?”

“We think that maybe a squirrel got in and chewed through it. What’re you doing?”

Something told me it wasn’t a good idea to tell him about the puke.

“Just… watering my lawn.”

“Uhuh. Well, have a good day, then. And shut your window tonight.”

I turned around and watched him and his partner drive off into the now-overcast light, and I was alone once again.

I had to figure out what was happening. The dream had felt so real… but it was just a dream, wasn’t it? It couldn’t have been real.

But the cop had said the house always gave him the creeps. And a house this large, even as unsightly as it was would have been hard not to sell…

No.

It must have been the disrepair this house was in that drove people off. It was a fixer upper, and I knew that when I bought it. Still, it may have some history. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard chatter when I was thinking of buying.

So what was I to do? I doubted people would tell me if they knew who I was, and the internet wouldn’t have much on a backwater town like this. It was pure luck I’d learned about it in the first place.

Then it hit me.

The tavern.

It was pelting rain by the time I got to the only real bar in town, the witch’s brew. Even though I had only been here a week, I’d heard loads about the place, and I could see where it got its reputation from. On a dirt road full of of empty lots, it was as inconspicuous as oil on an ice flow. Makeshift tents housing vagabonds waiting for their first sip surrounded it wherever there was space.

The bar itself seemed in better condition than its inhabitants. Though it was weather-worn and its glass was dirty and chipped, it commanded some respect, as if it were a grizzled war hero. Neon lights shone from the inside, illuminating the otherwise dark streets. Checking my watch one last time, I took a deep breath, and then stepped inside.

As soon as I stepped inside, I felt out of place. I had worn casual (and now soaking-wet) clothes, but this was something else entirely. Everyone in the place wore dirt-caked, torn rags that seemed to drip filth wherever they went, and looked like they hadn’t showered in weeks. On top of that, they all seemed heavily inebriated, constantly slurring their speech, and spilling watered-down booze on the floor. Ignoring the scene in front of me, and the stares from more regular patrons, I sat down at the worn-out bar and put my arms on the cleanest spot I could find. A man with a ratty face and even rattier hair walked up towards me. His mismatched clothes were covered with something akin to grease stains, and his fingers were caked with dirt.

“What’ll y’ave?” His voice held a thin british accent, scratched with apparent years of smoking.

“Uhh… a rum and coke. Yeah, that’s good.”

“Great. I’ll be ‘ight back.”

He turned away, and walked off. A minute later, he returned with my drink in hand, and set it down on the table, squinting at me.

“Something the matter?” I asked.

“Not much you need t’ worry about.”

“Huh. Listen here - what’s your name again?”

“Lloyd, but nobody calls me that ‘ere. It’s just ‘Barman’.”

“Great. Barman, I need to know… is there something about the house? You know the one, on the corner of Maple-”

“And Riverview,” he finished. “Yeah I know it. I take it that’s why you’re here?

“Yep. Now, let’s hear it.”

“Don’t rush me, or I might just forget. Now, where to begin? ‘Ight, I’ll start at the beginning.

“Back when this shithole had just gained township, there was a series o’ maulings, all o’ them committed by some kind o’ animal. Naturally, th’ town assumed wolves, so they all went ‘untin’.

“Didn’t bring back a single wolf pelt.

“Next, town turned t’ witchcraft. No wolves, of course it was a witch committin’ the murders. An’, of course, ‘ere was only one person in th’ town who they suspected. They made sure t’ burn ‘im, and burn ‘im well. By th’ end o’ it, there was only ash left o’ the house, and a small statue o’ a wolf, whittled out o’ fine wood. No one had any idea ‘ow it survived, but it did.

“No one touched the lot ‘til the ‘ousing rush ‘ere, back in th’ twenties, back when this place was th’ new pittsburg or some shit. Said it was cursed. Big load o’ codswallop if y’ask me.

“They ‘ad a tough time sellin’ the house ever since then. Noone ‘ould buy a cursed house. ‘ventually, the town grew into what it is t’day, but even in a place of ten thousand people, even though this’s one’em dry counties, rumours tend t’ spread fast n’ stick well. You’d be ‘ard pressed t’ find one person who doesn’t know th’ stories. ‘Cept you, o’ course.”

“But that’s gotta be illegal, right? George Stevenson never mentioned anything about that!”

“Oh, ol’ George? ‘es the sleaziest real estate agent in town! You’re lucky your plumbin’ even works!”

“Just… fuck. Did anything else happen in the house?”

“Uh… yeah. I r’member about ten years ago, someone else moved int’ the place. They were real proud ‘bout findin’ such a good deal on a place as big as this’un. Week later, they found ‘em dead. No marks, no signs o’ a heart attack, nothin’. For lack o’ any leads, th’ sheriff let th’ case go cold.”

He paused, then leaned in, and lowered his voice to a whisper. A putrid smell suddenly hit me, and I realized it was his breath.

“Every ten years or so, someone moves into that house. Strange things happen every time. Last guy, ‘e screamed every night, and it sounded like it was right next to you. You’d wake up in the middle of the night, ‘earin’ deathly howls, t’ find nothing but your empty room. One woman ended up stabbing ‘er ‘usband t’ death, waiting t’ find the intruder screamin’ at th’ top of ‘is lungs. Police apprehended ‘er, since she was technically th’ one who killed ‘im. Course they let ‘er go, basis of insanity or summat.

“But nevermind that. I’m getting off track. Wanna know what I think? I think you’re th’ one behind th’ mauling las’ night. You and your no-good, dirty murderous ass. And excuse me if I need you t’ get out of my bar, but I value my customers lives much more than I value yours. Now scram!”

I grabbed my drink, and gulped it down, the burn somehow chilling me to the core. As I opened the door into the storm, I turned back, and he flashed me one more broad grin, as if to say “I win”.

I then stepped out into the night.

I checked my watch.

It was five minutes to midnight.

I had been lying awake in bed for hours, thinking about what he had said.

Had I really mauled that woman last night?

No. It couldn’t be. I was no more a murderer than I was a vampire.

And yet… something, some feeling in the pit of my stomach nagged at me.

Realizing I would get no sleep tonight, I sat up in my bed, and pulled the blankets off. I was reaching for the light when everything went black, and I was thrown into unconsciousness.

Something was different.

I felt stronger.

I could hear everything around me, down to the lone footsteps outside.

I smelled something familiar.

It smelled like -

Meat.

I dashed outside through my open window, landing on the street below.

He saw me.

I ran, he ran.

My run was faster.

He tripped.

I pounced.

I lowered myself over his body, and began to eat the sweet rewards of my kill.

Blood running down my chin, gore matting my face, I finished my meal.

And yet, my hunger was not satiated.

I looked up towards the moon, and sniffed at the air.

Prey was never far away.

I let out a howl, a banshee-like wail, before giving chase.

I woke up.

I was smiling.

Sitting up, I found my bed covered in some kind of hair.

Grimacing, I reached to wipe it off my bed, but stopped.

There wasn’t just hair.

There was blood.

I jumped back against the wall, and clapped my hand over my mouth to muffle a scream.

I slowly lowered to the ground, shaking at the thought of what could become of me. What had happened last night?

I thought back to the night before. What had happened?

Around midnight, I was about to get up, and then…

And then it all came rushing back.

The chase.

The attack.

The blood.

The meal.

And again.

I gagged, and bent over my knees onto the ground, but nothing came but a broad grin stretching over my face.

No.

What the FUCK was I doing? I had just killed! I ate their corpses!

And it had tasted oh so sweet.

But that was murder.

I had blood on my hands. I had made the attacks, I had torn people from this world.

I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t live like that.

Slowly, I stood up, still covered in blood. I walked towards the washroom, already knowing what I was going to do. No longer would I be the wolf.

My footfalls were the only noise in the house as I made my way to the cabinet under the sink. I grabbed an unmarked plastic jug from under the sink, and unscrewed the lid. Bracing myself, I grabbed the handle and brought it to my lips.

It burned instantly, excruciatingly, like I had swallowed napalm. In shock, I slammed the carton down, trying to end the pain I’d put upon myself, but it was far from over. The fire travelled into my gut, and began to burn it, as I began to feel lightheaded.

I stumbled, before falling to the floor. The last thought to flash through my brain was my meal last night.

I ended smiling.

James woke up on his bathroom floor, grimacing with pain. What had happened to him? And what was the shrieking pain in his gut?

The last thing he remembered was wandering into the bathroom… opening the cabinet…

A bottle of bleach lay on its side next to him. A burning pain suddenly showed itself, and he realized he had been lying in its puddle… but for how long? And why?

And then he remembered.

How long had it been? Hours? Days?

He slowly stood up, drop of the caustic liquid dripping from his skin, and took a look in the mirror, before jumping back in fright.

The right side of its head was completely discoloured, white as the hair on the same. Patches of white covered the area around its mouth, as well as the rest of his face. Parts of its shirt were bleach blonde, and it had burns covering it chest.

He reached out a hand, and the thing in the mirror did the same.

He tilted his head, and the thing in the mirror did the same.

This was him.

He fell to his knees, and squeezed his eyes shut as tears began to flow down his face, little rivers of despair. He was supposed to be dead! Why was he here, now a freak with a bleached face and burns and now a taste for blood?

He stayed in that spot for what felt like hours, but could have been mere seconds, before he noticed something: the hairs on his arm were growing longer.

His snout elongated, his claws lengthed, his teeth slowly became fangs, yet he did not fight to keep his humanity. He did not thrash, or scream, or cry. Instead, he just sat, and let the transformation come.

And as the last of the changes completed, instead of being horrified at what he had become, he simply smiled.

Tonight was going to be a good night.

Epilogue
They never did figure out what had happened to James Paseluko. A neighbor knocked on his door one day to simply find he was gone. He had just up and left. The sheriff hypothesized that he had been mauled by an animal, due to the tracks that had been left, but this left the blood, and the lack of a struggle unexplained.

The town talked about it for months, each story becoming more wild than the last, but never quite hitting the mark. Aside from the maulings, however, life in Beaver Woods remained quite the same as ever. As the years went by, the events slowly slipped from their minds, and eventually, they all moved on to talking of something more interesting, like celebrities, or sports, or whatever they did.

However, once in a while, people still hear inhuman howls eminate from the woods.

And every so often, people will report seeing a large animal lumbering around. Details of the reports change, but one detail remains true from all accounts:

The animal had a blonde streak down the side of its face.

Thanks again for reviewing it, if you do. I'm excited to put this up, being that it's the longest thing I've ever written.

And even if you don't do any grammar changes, it'd be nice if you just gave a general impression.

Thanks! 