The Pact, R. W. Ringwald II [readnow .txt] 📗

It was a cold evening in Montberg, Pennsylvania, and Sergeant Mark Hills was searching for his friend. Staff Sergeant Tern was last seen by his daughter in the park, where she was found, all alone, with his hat. His wife called him when the search of the local woods came up missing, and Tern was declared AWOL.
Mark knew that Tern would never, ever leave his daughter alone, nor would he abandon his career. So, he came out to the woods, by himself, he had tonight, and then he would ship out again. He tracked a small trail out to the Seyer's woods, and was keeping up with it, the full moon giving him light enough that he didn't need his flashlight.
He came to a little stream, which bisected the woods, and crossed it. On the other side, he picked up the trail again. It wound left and right, as to keep people from following it, but he was better than that. Soon, he heard voices, so he ducked low, and slowed his breathing.
“It is then agreed, that we the Clan of the Moon, and you, the Children of Blood, shall finally find peace?”
The voice sounded shifty, and unnaturally gruff and deep. Mark slid a leaf aside, and watched the men in black robes. The one who had just spoken was taller than almost all of the rest, and looked like a body-builder under his robe.
There were two distinct groups on opposite sides of a stone table. He saw the soles of a pair of standard issues on the table, it had to be Tern. But the man opposite of the one who had just spoken turned toward the trees, and mark saw his eyes light up like a cat's as he looked directly at him.
“How about a group effort,” the man with glowing eyes said. “The interloper will be the target, the best of yours, and the best of mine, a hunt, the head and blood of this one shall sign the pact.”
“I like the way you think,” the other said, and turned to look at Mark, his eyes glowed yellow, it was unlike anything he had ever seen. “Shane, get ready.”
The man called Shane walked forward, and shrugged the robe off, his muscles rippled as he tossed his head back. He yelled, which turned into a howl as he went down on all fours. His skin ripped, and fell off, revealing red and black fur underneath. His eyes became startlingly yellow as Mark watched him turn from man to beast.
The man with glowing eyes turned to his group. “Clarissa.”
One of the group behind him shot forward. That kind of speed was too much for him, he started to stand up. Her eyes glowed as she watched him. Her beauty was unparalleled, her pale skin was complemented by her shiny, curly, brown hair.
“Listen, interloper, if you make it to the city, you are free,” the one with glowing eyes said. “The deal is off, and we shall leave.”
“Otherwise,” The other man said. “Your skull will be a paperweight for the truce.”
“You have a few minutes head start, in the name of sport,” the man with glowing eyes said, waving his hand back and forth in a sweeping manner.
Mark, taking him at his word, started running back towards town. He believed he could make it back to town before the few minutes were up, but by the time he got to the stream, he heard a howling behind him, and then the sound of cracking trees filled the woods. He knew the stories about these supernatural beasts, so he grabbed a down branch, and pulled his knife out.
He made the stick into a spear as he ran towards the lights. The sound behind him got closer, and closer. The image of the eyes shot through his mind. The size of Shane would cause tiny spaces to be difficult, but he feared about Clarissa's speed.
Mark moved into the tighter thicket, he moved further and further, and the lights got lost in the canopy. His pants kept getting caught as he entered a wild rose garden. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Shane's eyes less than thirty feet away. His breath was steaming in the cold.
He could have jumped on him, and killed him, but for some reason, he hesitated. That's when Shane's eyes darted upwards. Mark ducked as Clarissa flew over him, it would have decapitated him. As she continued to fly, Mark ducked through the rest of the rose bush. He tripped on the other side, over some sort of stone.
Clarissa started flying at him, again, but stopped when she saw the full stone square. “Shane,” her voice was sweet, gingerly, and French. “Hurry around, I can't touch him there.”
“My pleasure,” the wolf said, practically growling it.
He rushed around, and up a tree, landing just inside the rosebush. He smiled a teeth-baring snarl, and then ran and jumped over the stone barrier. Mark ducked at the last moment, and drove the spear upwards, and into his chest. Shane fell on his side, moaning about the spike in his chest.
Mark had made a terrible mistake. He felt a cold hand on his cheek, and then he was staring into Clarissa's beautifully reflective eyes. She pressed her cool lips to his, and then turned his head. Shane pulled the spear out of his chest, and stood up.
“La Fin,” she said, in her French accent He saw the city limit sign just a few feet from where he stood. And then he closed his eyes... For the final time.

Text: (C) Robert W. Ringwald II Picture edited by Robert W. Ringwald II
Publication Date: 08-15-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To those that go bump in the night.