Howl in the Dark

The dead don't talk. But this one had a lot to say He was found lying in the alley, covered in blood and shredded flesh, with his chest protruding like a knife, and then decided to leave in ferocity. The injury was jagged, raw and shattered, with no human intervention capable of breaking the ribcage apart. Blood accumulated beneath him, thick and dark, as it infiltrated the pavement's cracks. ". It was his face that caused the most discomfort. Frozen mid-scream. His jaw rested tightly with eyes open, their vision disintegrating and seeming dead inside, as if the last thing he had seen was so terrifying it could barely be comprehended by his mind. Despite dying, the fear persisted, imprinted in every muscle and expression. Rolling in my pocket, I pulled out a. I didn't smoke. Never had. I needed to use my hands while my mind attempted to piece together the pieces.. Fourth body this month. Same wounds. Same full moon. Coincidence? Not a damn chance. The radio echoed in my shoulder. "Reid, are you present?" asked. "I clicked on it without having to look at the body." I agree. Contact the coroner, yet discourage him from bringing food. This one's a mess.”. A low whistle was heard. "Are they launching an attack on the animal?". The victim's flesh was marked by claw marks that were ripped off, and I looked in closely. Too big. Too deliberate. I responded with a firm "no," saying it was causing harm. Silence on the other end. That was not something the department wanted to hear. They wanted easy answers. A group of stray dogs or a pack of mountain lion-like creatures. Something natural. Something explainable. I had witnessed too much and scoured too many to be satisfied with straightforward answers. Something appeared in the corner of my vision as I was about to press radio again. A shadow. A presence. I turned fast, with the gun in my hand, but my speed was not enough. Why? She was already there. I was sat with my back against the brick wall, half-hidden in the darkness, and watched by a woman. Or maybe watching the body. Her arms were tightly cinched around her, and she was trying to keep herself together by breaking into her shirt. Fingers digging into the fabric. Her wet hair clung to her long, dark hair, which was twisted and frizzy with strands that stuck to the side of her cheek. Dirt and bloodstains were scattered on her bare feet. Covered in blood. Not just her hands. Her arms. Her legs. Speckled across her throat. Streaked down her face. I didn't hesitate. I aimed the gun. “Don't move.”. Without screaming, she slithered and camped out. Didn't beg. Most people in her situation would be crying and shaking, questioning me about the circumstances and pleading for me to believe they weren't involved. But she just sat there. Still. Silent. Her gaze upon the corpse as though she had no idea if she should be sad or run away. "I gripped the gun with my hands and thought, 'Who's this?'". Slowly, she lifted her head. My entire world shifted. Despite the darkness, her eyes were glowing silver. Not human. I didn't move. Couldn't move. I felt a raw and unfamiliar sensation in my chest, with no sign of life. Not fear. It should have been fear. But it wasn't. Like she had, she breathed in deeply. And then she bolted. “Shit.”. I lunged after her. She was fast—too fast. She was not supposed to be able to move like that, without any physical harm. She walked down the alley with her feet barely touching it, hair flying behind her. I pushed harder, leaping through garbage bins, maneuvering past water bodies of divine substance, closing the gap one step at a time. She turned a corner. I followed. She was able to safely drive off into the middle of nowhere. She let out a sharp gasp, spun around, her eyes looking for another chance to escape after hitting the brick wall. There wasn't one. I stopped and then pointed the gun at my partner. "No more running, please.". As she rested on the wall, her chest trembled and fell rapidly in shallow bursts. Her hands were lifted, palms open, but not in a surrendering manner. She appeared to be uncertain about how to handle them.'". The entire thing rattled her, but she didn't scream. Didn't speak. And I came and went slowly. "What's my name?". Nothing. I swallowed with gusto, lowering my voice. "I just need to know what happened back there.". I want to ascertain whether you were responsible for his death. Her breath hitched. “No.”. The first word she'd spoken. Soft. Fragile. With her chin raised, she faced my gaze and whispered in response to the blood on me. “He's coming.”. I saw hair growing on the back of my head. “Who?” I demanded. She breathed deeply, her entire body involuntarily shut.. I thought she wouldn't answer. I thought she couldn't. During the quietness of the alley, she spoke three words that had a profound impact. “The real monster.”. And then she collapsed.