Hellbound Twins

Chapter 5 — Elidja | You Regret Leaving College.

Chapter 5 — Elijah | You Regret Leaving College.

Arthur found what we needed in the newspaper archives.

We were sitting in our pickup in front of the library. It was a building with three steps and a sign that said "Open Tuesday and Thursday." Luckily, it was Thursday.

I spent two hours going through the local newspapers. Arthur pretended to read a magazine and kept an eye on the door.

Then, in my research, I found it. A page 4 article from 1889. It was about a lumberjack named Earl Mossler. He was found dead in Coldwater Forest. He was 45 years old. His equipment had caught fire. The journalist thought something was off. The other lumberjacks refused to go into that part of the forest. They heard voices at night.

"Dad was investigating this case too," said Arthur.

"Yeah, it's written in his journal. Maybe it can give us more information on the subject."

Earl Mossler died in that forest. He was buried in the village cemetery.

Except now, he wasn't staying there.

We waited for night to fall in our motel room.

The room smelled like wood and cheap air freshener. There were two beds, a TV, and a window that looked out onto the parking lot. Arthur was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. I was on mine, going over my notes, my laptop beside me.

"Earl Mossler," Arthur said without moving. "Did you find where he's buried?"

"Saint-Michel Cemetery," I told him. "It's on the edge of the village. I wrote it down. The grave is near the wall, section C."

Arthur said, "Good."

We were quiet for a while. Outside, it was pitch black. No moon, no wind in the pines. Just a night like any other. But we didn't know what was waiting for us.

At midnight, we got up. We started getting ready to visit the cemetery — the place where Dad went to investigate and never came back.

Coldwater Cemetery is small. About twenty rows of headstones, an old stone chapel with a crucifix hanging on it, and a brick wall all around. The gate was locked. There was no guard. Arthur opened it in thirty seconds with a paperclip. I told him,

"You're gonna have to teach me how to do that someday."

"Alright," said Arthur.

We went in without making a sound.

Our flashlights swept across the headstones. The grass was wet under our feet. An owl cried out somewhere in the trees behind the wall.

We found section C, row 5.

There was Earl Mossler's grave. 1750-1889. Rest in peace.

We set our bags down. Arthur pulled out the shovels. I pulled out the salt and gasoline.

"Let's go," he said.

We started digging in silence. The ground was hard and cold. My hands were burning after ten minutes. Arthur dug without complaining. He was used to it.

After forty minutes, Arthur's shovel hit something.

We cleared the rest by hand. The coffin was old. The wood was rotted in places. Arthur pried it open with the shovel.

The bones were there, yellowed by time.

I grabbed the salt. I poured it slowly over Earl Mossler's remains. A thick, even layer. My father had taught us to be generous with the salt.

Then I poured the gasoline.

The smell was strong in the cold night air.

"Wait," Arthur said.

He raised his hand. I stopped.

He looked around, his eyes sweeping the cemetery in the dark.

"What?" I whispered.

"You hear that?" he asked.

At first, I heard nothing. Just the wind.

Then I heard it. A sound in the trees behind the wall. Not the owl. Something heavier. Footsteps. Slow. Calculated. Like something was watching us.

More than one, I thought. They were lurking in the shadows.

"Finish it," Arthur said. His hand was already on his gun.

I poured the rest of the gasoline. I pulled out the lighter. My hand trembled slightly. Not from fear. Adrenaline.

That's what I told myself. Because the emotions were all mixed up.

I flicked the lighter. I dropped it into the coffin.

The flames shot up immediately, orange, in the cemetery. The bones burned with a c***k.

Somewhere in the forest, a howl.

Not a human howl.

Arthur spun around, gun in hand. I stood up on my feet, in the dug-up earth. I drew mine.

The sounds in the trees stopped.

Then the cemetery wall collapsed on one side. Something had slammed into it at full speed.

In the breach in the wall, there were three silhouettes. With eyes that reflected the firelight like animals.

"Werewolves," I said.

Arthur c****d his gun.

"Yeah, I figured."

The three silhouettes moved toward us slowly. They looked human. They weren't anymore. Their jaws were too wide, their hands too large, with claws.

Behind us, the coffin was still burning.

Arthur glanced at me for a second.

"You regret leaving college?" he said.

"This is really not the time, Arthur," I told him. "Bro, how do we handle this now? It's really weird that werewolves are out at this hour. There's not even a full moon. This forest is strange." Earl Mossler's bones kept burning without pause. And that's when Arthur turned back toward the werewolves, staring them down with a look I didn't recognize.

"Silver bullets," he said. "Aim for the heart, because these bastards don't go down easy," Arthur said.

It looked like the werewolves were hesitating.

As if they were waiting for an order. They were watching us, lurking in the shadows. We were ready, guns in hand, loaded with silver bullets. And Arthur had a silver knife on him.

And then it was like they got the signal they were waiting for.

——

The first one lunged toward...

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