Redire de Lupus rex

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
An unlucky general store clerk finds himself kidnapped by a brutal werewolf cult, who suspect him of being the human incarnate of their monstrous leader.

This story is primarily a horror story, with numerous comedic elements.

Submitted: July 01, 2012

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Submitted: July 01, 2012

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There were countless questions racing through my mind as the psychos slapped me down on the blood-crusted stone slab. Why had they chosen to kidnap me, a simple convenience store clerk? Was I going to die here? What did these freaks, clad in robes blue as the early night sky and donning wolf masks, even worship? I had plenty of guesses- first off, werewolves, then maybe a constellation or perhaps Greek god. Nightmares, possibly. The chants they were performing in Latin were of no use to me in finding out, so I simply took a deep breath and made an attempt to calm myself. I had been fighting against my shackles for several minutes without even realizing it, and the harsh darkness (alleviated only by gentle candlelight) combined with the salty sweat pouring into my eyes made it difficult to see almost anything.
After several more painful, terrifying minutes of disturbing, monotone chanting, however, the room was flooded with light and the candles were extinguished. It took my eyes several seconds to adjust, and as I looked around the room I began to wish we had stayed in darkness. The cultists had brought me to what appeared to be a basement, with tables covered in the flesh and bones of humans and dogs, walls covered in strange spray-painted symbols, and knives, tweezers, and axes in a corner by the door- which was bolt-locked shut. I had unquestionably been brought to my death.
The robed fanatics, who had been in a semi-circle around me, parted into two rows to reveal another of them in solid black robes. He held a scroll in one hand pressed against his chest, and a dagger in the other resting by his hip. My heart was pounding relentlessly as he slowly approached me, and I began to weep. The man, priest-like in appearance and whom I presumed was the leader of the group, unraveled the scroll and began to recite more verses. These were, like the chants, in Latin, and two other cultists began to play bass drums in the background. The sounds pounded against my ears like a hammer, and finally I exploded with fear and anger.
"Why are you doing this to me?!" I cried out in a hoarse, frightened, and shrill squeal. The drums ceased immediately, and the leader paused, slouched his shoulders, and cocked his head to the side. Sighing, he pulled off his mask revealing an impatient college-age face.
"Do you mind not interrupting me, man?" he whined. "I'm trying to perform a spell from this ancient scroll to get this ritual over with, and I need to concentrate. Please, don't be rude."
Stunned by the unprofessional behavior (if one could even consider being a cultist a profession), I began thinking fast and decided that in order to survive I would have to stall the ritual.
"So you kill people and dogs, huh?" I began with a mocking grin. "Are C-Murder and Michael Vick already somewhere in this crowd, or should I call them up to come join us?"
"Hey, C-Murder had some pretty good albums!" called out one of the freaks. "Yeah, and Vick really picked up the slack of other players in the last season!" argued another. The leader, now shaking a little and squinting in frustration, raised his dagger hand to signal the others to remain quiet. The drums resumed, and the young man began to speed-read the scroll so as to avoid any further annoyances. Though it was difficult to maintain a light-hearted mood, I found something else to wise-crack at.
"Hey drummers, one of you is off-beat," I chuckled. Almost the whole room went into a gentle, borderline conversational laugh, and one of them muttered "Well, you were a bit too fast, Tom."
"Yo Peter, this guy is kind of funny for a conduit!" said another in the leaders direction. His eyebrows and lower lip twitching now, Peter went on without them and finished the scroll crudely.
"And thus begins the revival of the Wolf King, on a starry night with a full moon beckoning in the sky, when all planets are aligned, blah blah blah, lots of other stupid shit, you get the picture!" An intricate hex sign upon the scroll then began to glow bright blue, and was placed flat upon my chest. The ritual leader then swiftly raised his dagger and fiercely plunged it through the center of the symbol and into my heart. I screamed for what felt like an eternity of horror and fear, but it then occured to me that I felt no pain. I was alive!
Startled, I questioned what had happened, but did not have much time to think about it before an incredible series of events began. The basement was once more plunged into darkness, but this darkness was much more sinister and intense than the previous shroud. I could hear thunder outside, and a heavy rain began to pound against the roof almost instantaneously. Without warning, the ground all around us began to quake, and some of the cultists stumbled and lost their footing. The hex was the only source of light in the room, painting Peter's face and revealing the outlines of his followers. I could see a crooked, evil smile form upon his face, and he began to laugh sinisterly with his eyes fixated upon the scroll.
Few words could describe what I felt as the massive, transparent, light blue paw of a ghost-wolf emerged from my torso. As the beast unleashed itself from the confines of my body and looked down upon us, I went half insane. I almost did truly have a heart attack, and felt sick to my stomach. I was crying, whimpering in horror as the ethereal animal apparition began to bark and howl. That thing had been inside of me! Peter raised his hand and made a signal, and the ritual chorus, all of whom had of course also been staring at the wolf, began to chant Dies Irae. It had been a tremendous and tense buildup, and in the same few moments of truly macabre insanity, the wolf howled, thunder cracked, the cult leader screamed in disturbed joy, and I- I in utmost torture.
The canine's howl pulsed with a powerful boom, and when he reached the highest note my shackles and the stone slab upon which I lay shattered into innumerable pieces. I spit up bile and struggled to my feet, trembling, as the cultists pre-occupied themselves with adulating the ghost. As they bowed on their knees and chanted, I leaped over the welter of stone and iron, kicked Peter in the mouth, and ran for the door.
Snatching an axe from the corner, I quickly turned around and aimed the tool at my kidnappers, threatening to bury it into anyone who approached. Knowing they would eventually charge, I swung the axe into the bolt-lock chain and thrust the door open. As I exited into the stairwell, the cultists made their move. One of them grabbed at the doorknob and attempted to prevent me from closing it, but with a burst of force I tugged it closed. Their riotous roars of anger were hardly muffled by the door, and went full blast when one of them cracked it open again, stuck their arm through, and managed to brush their fingertips along my shirt. While looking down at his hand, I noticed that the dagger was still impaled in my chest- I had completely forgotten about it. I pulled out the knife, which didn't even have a speck of blood on it, and changed that by planting it in the cultist's forearm, producing a yelp of agony. He jumped back, and I slammed the door shut.
As I jolted up the stairs for my escape, I heard the wooden door shatter, but did not dare to look over my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the wolf pacing next to me. Though I figured this would be my demise, I was surprised to watch it race right on past me. Once I had reached the top of the stairs and dashed into what appeared to be a kitchen, I caught a glimpse of the wolf passing through the front door of the house. I followed him, with the entire cult right on my tail, into a street. It was a large suburb with at least eight houses per block, and the ghost breached one directly across from the house we had just been in. Deciding that following the greatest idol of my new worst enemies was probably a bad idea, I began sprinting down the road, axe in hand. I heard the heavy footsteps of the cultists piling onto the street, and hurriedly threw myself behind some shrubs in a yard.
"Spread out and find the conduit! The rebirth of the Wolf King depends on it," ordered Peter.
"Should we destroy the conduit upon finding him?" asked one of them.
"No," began Peter. His nasty smile manifested once more, as blood trickled down his chin, rain drenched his robes and lightning illuminated the night sky behind him. "Return him to me and regroup with our new army, so we can all take part in reviving our master." At this the mob raised the blades, hammers, baseball bats, and axes that they had taken up arms with and cheered like a victorious band of vikings. As they began to break off on patrol, I cringed and looked around for a place to hide.
I snuck over to the fence in the yard and crawled through a gap created by damaged boards. I then climbed the next few fences until I had reached the end of the block, and then peered out into the street from behind another shrub. A lone cultist was approaching fast, and with nowhere else to go, I simply waited. Once the freak was within a few feet, I lunged out from behind the bush and positioned my weapon just a few inches from the person's neck.
"Oh! Please don't hurt me, master. We only want to help you." The voice belonged to a girl, in her late teens.
"That so?" I said. "Then why exactly were you guys talking about destroying me, huh? Now drop the weapon!" The girl sighed, raised her hands, let her wrench fall to the ground, and kicked it in my direction. As I lowered to pick it up, she said in an embracing tone,
"We only wish to destroy your current form, so you can be reborn and return to the throne as the Wolf King! Don't you want that?" I let out a weak, sarcastic laugh.
"Listen, I don't want to be 'returned to my true form'. If you honestly consider it a good idea to hang out in the basement of some suburbanite kid's house, wearing bizarre clothing, singing awful music, and performing foolish illegal actions, then you have a truly awful agenda." The girl slouched her shoulders and groaned.
"But that's what all the other cool kids are doing nowadays!" Tired of listening to this moron, I smacked her across the head with the wrench and she fell to the sidewalk unconscious. The block across the street was my best bet. I ditched the wrench and high-tailed it across the road.
"There's the conduit!" I heard in the distance through the dense patter of rain, to my dismay. I picked up the pace and began sprinting down the sidewalk of the new block, and could tell that they were chasing me. My shoes, soaked in rain, squished with water each time my feet hit the ground, and I began to stumble and trip as I became weighed down and exhausted. Despite this, I knew I couldn't stop because my life truly depended on it. I rounded a corner, ran two doors down and slid behind a fence.
Gasping for air, I dropped my axe and tried to lower my heartbeat. It seemed as though I had lost them, at least for a while. Just as I was about ready to keep moving, however, the fence boards next to me shattered and collapsed, and a cultist wielding a sledgehammer climbed through. I made an attempt to rise to my feet and ready my weapon, but the man kicked me in the jaw and I fell onto my back, dazed and in pain. In my dizzied state, I could see another figure approaching. He picked up the axe, and lifted it above his head like an executioner. With one powerful swing, the makeshift weapon tore through the flesh and bone of my right arm. As I saw my severed limb lying next to me, all of the previous throes of the day seemed to vanish. I began to scream, but I was gripped by my shirt and lifted to my feet by the bastard who had done it to me, now looking straight into his cold, black eyes. As we glared hatefully at one another it felt as though we were the only two people on the planet.
"I can't kill you, but I sure as hell can hurt you as much as I want," he hissed. "The others think that even right now, you're the King, but I know better than that. You're just a pathetic obstacle we need to get past. So first off," he pulled a drumstick out of his robe pocket and slapped me across the face with it several times, "never criticize my drumming skills again. I've been playing for nine years, mind you, and I was in a great band..." he then pulled back the sleeve of his right arm, revealing the deep wound I had inflicted earlier with Peter's dagger, "...but it looks like I'll have to end that career." I flashed a grin and spit in his face in response. Tom's brow twitched in animosity, and he pulled the dagger out of his left sleeve. I closed my eyes and laughed.
"I see you've got a trick up your sleeve, but not a good beat, that's for sure."
"Well, you still haven't told one good joke yet." Without warning, he then buried the dagger into my left shoulder and I let out a yelp almost perfectly resembling his own from earlier, at which he allowed himself a twisted, satisfied laugh. "Oh, and this last one's from Peter," he chuckled. With that, Tom gripped the back of my head, forced me to my knees, and smashed my face into the ground.
When I came to, the first things I saw were a pair of feet and my own blood flowing into the street and mixing with rain puddles. It hurt to move my head, but that was done for me as Peter lifted me up to my knees.
"Please don't look so miserable, friend. Tom was quite generous with his punishment. You could be feeling much worse right now." I could see then as he formed that terrible smile on his face again that I had kicked out several of his teeth.
"Bunch of freaks," I muttered, blood gushing from my mouth. Peter's smile vanished.
"But dear Wolf King-to-be, aren't you satisfied with your army?" he inquired. He raised an open hand, pointing with it to the street behind me.
"Oh please," I groaned, "do you really consider that ragtag band of college kids an-"
My jaw dropped. Behind the cultists and the wolf apparition was a mob- no, a horde- of people, at least 500 strong. They were an odd contrast to the robes and masks: they wore pajamas and business suits, sports jerseys and skirts. There was a glassy, white film over their eyes, and they stood unflinchingly in the rain.
"The spirit of Lycan-" Peter nodded in the direction of the ghost, "has imbedded the so-called 'curse' of us werewolves into the entire populace of this community. They may not be as powerful as those of us who are hereditary werewolves, but they shall prove loyal servants. Now all that is left is for us to take on our true forms."
"You're a psychotic douchebag!" I screamed. Peter simply shook his head.
"Brother and sister lycanthropes," he cried out to the mob, "revive our all-powerful master!" Defense was futile as I was instantly surrounded by dozens of mindless drones. I could only scream as they began to tear me apart like zombies. They clawed my eyes out of their sockets (the last thing I ever saw was Tom sticking his hand down my throat), tore my belly open, and gutted me like a fish. I was picked up by my three remaining limbs, and was glad I could no longer see so as to avoid watching my intestines become unwound as my remaining arm was slowly torn off, tendon by tendon, muscle by muscle, with my legs following suit.
Despite the pain, there was a peculiar sense of rejuvenation. I was finally decapitated, and out of the bloodied hunk of meat that remained, I emerged reborn. As my old body fell apart, my new one expanded. I felt stronger, sharper, smarter- and I was. My worshipers, my sevants, my army, backed away, fell to their knees, and began to chant. I snarled and growled, looked out upon my kinfolk, and let out a vicious howl. I ws now, finally, the Wolf King, free from the constraints of humanity.
Peter, laughing uncontrollably, began to beg. "Please, great and almighty master, take me first!" Not hesitating to accept his wishes, I flared my claws, dug them into his chest, and tore him open instantaneously with a glorious splash of red. The werewolf within his corpse came unfurled, and together we brought out the true forms of every single servant, leaving behind us an ocean of blood, bones, and clothing. How glorious a sight it was! We were free at last, and soon we would erase every human being from the planet. Proud of the accomplishments we had already made, I and the hundreds of werewolf servants I had gained howled at the full moon, ready to seize the night and bring Earth to the glory it was always meant for.


© Copyright 2018 Aidan Meacham. All rights reserved.

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