By Larry Yoakum III
By Larry Yoakum III
The moon was at its fullest tonight, as it is once per month. Hardly a soul traversed the streets of the town. This was a typical night in Valley Center, Kansas, a small suburb town of Wichita, air capitol of the world. It was approaching the third hour of the morning, just hours until sun would rise, bringing a new day to the sleepy little town. A car was driving down 5th Street, having to pull over at the side of the road because of the burden of a flat tire. The young lady driving the car let out a sigh as she got out of her 93 Taurus to take the spare from the trunk. She was due back to her house soon so Dad wouldn’t know she snuck out to meet David. She opened her trunk, not knowing that a pair of eyes watched her from behind the bushes of a little green house.
Jacking her car up, she grabbed the lug wrench and began to take off the tire, the cold November air gently blowing through her two-toned hair. A faint noise came to her ears, and the young lady jumped with a start. She turned, looked, and saw nothing. The noise came again. To her, it sounded like a stray dog. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Damn dogs.” The tire was almost on now. Within a few more minutes, she’d be on her way.
The noise came again, this time louder, and more distinct. Grabbing the pry bar from the trunk, she investigated the direction of the noise, the whole time thinking of all those horror films she used to watch. The idiotic victim always went to check out a noise in the dark, which is what made them into a victim in the first place, or maybe a better word would be casualty. Yes, a casualty of stupidity. Thinking better of it, she decided to just finish the tire and get the hell out of there. Home was still a few blocks up past the railroad tracks.
Now, footfalls were coming, getting louder very fast. She turned and grabbed the pry bar, ready to swing at whatever was coming. The only thing she saw was a pair of glowing red eyes. The only other thing she heard was a loud growl. The only thing she felt was razor sharp pain in her stomach. Then her world went black.
The lights flashed as the coroner photographed the body on the ground. Earlier this morning, approximately two hours ago, sixteen year old Julia Stiles was found dead, her stomach opened and her organs mostly devoured. The police believed it was either an animal of some sort or a madman. Either way, the streets were unsafe for the time being.
As the police went about their business, the sun still a good half-hour away from rising, they were completely unaware of the spectator watching them from a distance. A man, clad in a dark jacket, watched the crime scene with concerned interest. He had seen killings like this in the past. The victim being chewed to death. The full moon. There was a lycanthrope in the sleepy little town of Valley Center. He had hunted werewolves in the past, and killed every one of them. However, the blood of a werewolf had a foul taste to it. The sun would be coming up soon, and the hunter got back on his Harley and drove off to hotel.
“Son, you dead?” The old man poked the sleeping guy with his cane. Greg stirred, his mind waking to the bright blue sky. Greg looked up at the old man, then noticed that he was in Lions Park. He also noticed that his clothes were gone. “Were you robbed?” the old man asked. Greg shook his head. He had no idea what happened to him. He was on his porch, looking up at the stars, now, almost suddenly, he was naked in the park.
The old man, Harold, let Greg borrow his overcoat and gave him a ride to his studio apartment next to the grocery store. As Greg sat on his couch, he wondered what the hell happened to him last night? He was out watching stars, looking for signs of intelligent life out there. Maybe he was abducted. He quickly checked himself for strange marks, but didn’t find any. In fact, he just now noticed that his old scar was gone. A scar he got when he was ten when he fell off his bike. His knee used to have a big scar on it, and now it was gone. Very strange. Greg continued to ponder it as he drifted off to sleep.
A month passed since an unknown assailant killed Julia Stiles. And for that month, Jim Rahn waited, feeding nightly in the dark alleys of Wichita on those gang members and muggers foolish enough to venture out at the late hours of night to prey on their victims. Rahn turned the tables on them, turning predator into prey. He hadn’t planned on staying in Valley Center long, just passing through on his way to Los Angeles. But now he had a reason to stick around a bit. Vengeance upon the kind of beast who killed his friends so many years ago.
Jim Rahn had already long ago killed the beast who slaughtered his circle of friends. That werewolf single-handedly killed his five comrades before Rahn arrived and killed it. He had sworn to himself to kill those creatures and since then Rahn had killed scores of werewolves in his travels. His policy was kill on sight, and knowing one was here, somewhere in this town, he had no choice. Honor-bound to kill the creature, he had to stay. He wanted to take it down tonight. Now, as the sun lowered itself under the horizon, Jim Rahn sprang forth from his hotel room and went out on the prowl. The beast was soon to be in his sights, and its head would be his.
Greg decided to stay home tonight, already having rented several movies to watch. He put the first in, some cheesy early 70s horror movie, and sat back to enjoy the show. Outside, the moon was slowly rising, giving the sky its special light reflected off the sun. Greg suddenly fell to the floor, his body convulsing. He wanted to scream in pain, but the pain was so intense he was unable to. His body became very sore, arms and legs becoming bigger, as if the muscle mass underneath was rapidly increasing. Then he blacked out.
Jim Rahn sniffed the air. He could smell the people around him. The scent of sex was strong in the air. In this small little city, many of the locals came to this location to do various acts of sexuality. Jim smirked. He was more than able to use his charms to seduce any woman he chose to. He had no time for that now, however. A new scent entered the air around him. The smell of lycanthrope.
Blood. Blood. Meat. Food. Delicious blood. Find it quickly. Find it! On all fours, the giant wolf ran through the park. It had come here to rest before, and now there were people here. Many people, their smell strong and tasty. The beast licked its lips in anticipation of its feast. There was one already. A lone man standing there out in the open. But its smell was different, predatorily, like the wolf’s own scent. He didn’t like the smell. It angered him. He knew the man wanted to attack him. The beast prepared itself for battle.
Standing in the shadows, Rahn saw the giant beast. A wolf, the size of a man, eyed like red fire, glowing in the darkness. He knew the beast sensed him now. Jim Rahn bared his fangs and let his claws grow. Flying into the air, he speeded towards the beast. The beast jumped in response, its heavy mass leaping into the air. Meeting halfway, the two collided in an embrace of death.
Rahn backhanded the beast, knocking it off of him. A quick spin kick to the throat put it on it’s back. Rahn jumped on the wolf, punching it repeatedly in the face. The wolf bit Rahn’s hand, tearing off a big chunk of skin.
Sweet blood. Sweet food. What? Strange taste. Not fresh blood. The wolf clawed Rahn’s chest and threw him off. Rolling onto its paws, it took off running. Rahn looked down at his hand. It had already stopped bleeding and the skin had come back. He was now pissed off. This wolf was stronger than the others he had fought. Rahn opened his mouth and let out a snarl. His two canine teeth extended out into fangs. His body took off in a large leap into the shadows. He wanted that beast’s head. After nine centuries of killing werewolves, this vampire wasn’t about to let this bastard get away.
To Be Continued….