You Belong To Me

Centuries ago, when the world was in turmoil and land was scarce, a band of five nomad families joined together to protect themselves from a new enemy intent on wiping them out. Left with no other choice, they had to take drastic measures to protect themselves and their families from a gruesome end. One of the families had a shaman with ties to the gods, and claimed he could grant the members powers that would help them fight against their enemy. Desperate and afraid, each man agreed to partake in the ritual, unaware that the power they would soon possess came with dark and mysterious ties. The shaman told each man that he would need to sacrifice something dear to him on the night the moon was full and bright in the sky in order for it to work. He had them stand around a large pearl-like gem that he’d placed on the stump of a tree. It was said that the stone had fallen from the moon and crashed onto the earth, a gift from the gods to their people. The first man brought the body of his stillborn child, and laid him at the foot of the tree stump. The second placed a beautiful flower from his garden, which he tended to each day and laid it at the foot of the tree stump. The third man, the most skeptical of them all, placed a silver ring that belonged to his wife, at the foot of the tree stump. The fourth man, the one who had asked the shaman for help, placed the head of his wolf, his best friend and loyal companion, at the foot of the tree stump. The last man, who had nothing of value to bring to the table, chose to give his own life by stabbing himself in the heart and dying at the foot of the tree stump. The shaman then asked each man for their blood. The shaman removed the dagger from the dead man’s chest and let it drip into the small clay pot he held, before passing it onto the fourth man, who cut his palm and offered it to the old shaman. Each man did as the fourth had done, before the old man removed a pouch of herbs from his pocket and poured it into the pot. Smoke began to rise as he chanted in an ancient tongue, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet of the night. “We pray to the gods on the night of the full moon. You who see our plight, with these sacrifices we come to you as humble servants…” He added the gem to the pot, and then placed his hands around it, his voice rising in both volume and intensity as he continued his chant. “We ask for the strength to face our enemies, for the courage to defend our families…” When he opened his eyes, they glowed blue from the power flowing within him. “May they cower at the sight of us, may their screams be heard across the seas.” He beckoned the men forward and handed the first man the pot, indicating that he should drink from it. The man hesitated, but the shaman encouraged him with a small nod of his balding head. After looking at each of the men in turn, the first man took a small sip of the elixir before passing it on to the second man. He drank without hesitation before holding it out to the third. When the fourth man had taken a sip, the shaman held the pot to the dead man’s mouth and poured it down his throat. He resumed his place at the tree stump and raised his hands to the skies, his voice so loud it echoed in the clearing. “With each sacrifice, we plead that you hear our cries. Give us power.” Each man’s belly began to burn from the elixir, and they fell to their knees as it coursed through their blood. Their screams could be heard all the way back from the village, where their families came out of their lodgings in confusion and fear. “Something is wrong. You aren’t supposed to feel any pain? Someone has lied and brought forth something they care not for.” His eyes immediately went to the third man, who had brought the ring. “It was you. Oh, you have punished us all.” The shaman continued to chant, but with the men screaming and howling on the forest floor, he couldn’t be heard. The gods were in fact displeased, and sought to punish the men through the very curses they had lain at the foot of the tree stump. Using the first man’s sacrifice, they deemed that the curse would be passed on to their children, who would then pass it down onto theirs. They then decided that the plant the second man had brought would be lethal if ever digested by any of them, and their bodies would weaken before wasting away. The silver of the ring would be their downfall, killing them if the metal ever made contact with their heart. Upon seeing the head of the wolf, they chose to transform the man into the creature, with horrifying agony that would have them screaming and yelling into the night. The dead man who had stabbed himself through the heart had been the only one to give something of value to the gods, and chose to spare him from the pain. They decided that the curse shall be ended when the men died, but they made it a long one. “Give them strength, give them speed, give them endurance, good sight and excellent hearing. Give them immortality, all so their death doesn’t come easily. May silver bring their death, wolfsbane their weakness, and a blade to the heart a swift demise. And with each full moon, may they transform into the very beast they sacrificed. This is what we decree, and so that is how it must be.” The men heard this from the shaman’s mouth, who collapsed to the ground and died instantly. They stared down at him in horror as their bones began to break and mutate, their spines cracking under the weight of their increasing muscles, their bodies completely unrecognisable. They looked up at the moon in the sky and cursed its presence, crying out to their families as they too, began to transform into raging beasts. It wasn’t long until their enemies found them, though when they entered the camp, they were ripped to shreds by the monsters that the men had become. Cower they did at the sight of them, and their screams could indeed be heard for miles, and miles around. When it was all over, and every one of their enemies were dead, they dropped to their knees and cried.