What Kind of God Makes Monsters summary: What kind of god makes monsters would be a question any human child would ask, but what if a werewolf child would ask the same thing? Misery is a constant dish of Damien’s, but his new godfather Frankenstein hopefully can change that … or making him the dish instead.

Rated: Older Teen

Chapter 1: Little White Rabbit

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What kind of God makes monsters … why would a creator create something to destroy his creations? Was it a joke? Was it a game for whatever God lingered in the skies? Did he find humor with this action as if he was watching two dogs ripping each other to shreds over a piece of meat he had so faultlessly placed on the ground? Was the thunder actually his laughter and was the rain his tears of amusement as the little humans fought with monsters that were both born of the earth and self made. … or were humans merely made for the monsters? Yet God, be if he Greek, Roman-Catholic, Buddhist, or so many other lingering figures; he was God for a reason.

… He knows all and refuses to tell.

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The world was dark as the world tends to be for half the day and such a time it is perfect for monsters and their fleeting nightmares. They may feed on the children and drag them with a following pool of blood to their caverns digesting the youth’s toes and entrails. They leave nothing of the children, but hair and bone so that the mothers have naught to bury nor morn over. Yet tonight is not such a night. Has not been a night like that for centuries. The monsters have fallen to legend and Hollywood like beasts have fallen from spears now to bullets. Yet, what does that matter to a little wolf in the cold mountains … it matters not. The only object that meant a thing to him was that rabbit in the cage before his stealthy form. Yes … it was in a cage, but heck he’d snuck in houses and eaten entire turkeys before Thanksgiving. Then he’d stick around till morning just for a laugh. Of course, he was in human form then too and the neighbors just thought him a little nudist instead of the werewolf that had eaten their dinner. So getting a little fluffy, big eyed and oh-so-cute rabbit out of a cage was nothing. This would be a cake walk to him … rabbit walk if one wants to be specific.

The leaves crushed beneath his small grey paws as the wolf left the security of the trees and went into the clearing that revealed the mother sky and daughter moon. The moon light was dancing tonight as well as the wolf’s breath; some innocent rabbit would certainly warm his bones. Mom’s soup might have as well, but he wanted to hunt tonight, not wait till tomorrow. Tomorrow they probably wouldn’t catch anything anyway. His little brother was coming on the hunt which automatically meant excited barking and loud stalking … meaning no kills. The young werewolf growled in his throat. He wasn’t going to miss out this month like he did last month. He wanted blood. The wolf in him had been irritable for a whole month since he had gotten nothing warm and squirming to munch on. So what if he might have just pretended not to hear his father’s growling demand that he stay inside and not partake in a hunt tonight … there’d be tomorrow. Fat chance.

The little wolf pulled his ears back when he heard the rabbit squeak acknowledging his presence and closeness. If a werewolf could laugh Damien would so be doing it … what? He had superiority issues. He knew he’d never be a top dog in this world. Dad had told him so. Werewolves didn’t become judges or doctors. They were meant for the woods pretending to be loggers or forest rangers. So leave him to the torturing of small animals!

Damien’s lips revealed his white pearls, which glistened in a mocking way as if they knew they were meant to be red and a kill was the only way for them to reveal their true selves. The little rabbit’s heart beat could be heard through the very ground as the boy in wolf form loomed over the cage. The little creature was practically throwing itself into the walls of the cage shaking the metallic sides and ruffling the frozen leaves beneath it … that was when Damien noticed. The leaves under the cage were frozen by the evening frost. A farmer would have put this cage out while the sun was still out … this was put down recently. Damien barely had time to dodge the bullet before it impaled itself into the ground where he had just been standing.

The rules had always been simple. They were simple non-complex rules to the world and Damien had always thought that he had known them. He had known the rules of conduct: his prey ran and he chased. Now the shoe was on the other foot. He was the prey and that truth was heavily supported by tiny explosions of yellow and roaring engines, which drowned out all thoughts except to run and live … live … live … live! The frozen, glinting leaves rained up under the little wolf’s feet as he grazed over them, as if they were fire and flame consuming his flesh as he went forward. Even the snow that litter the ground like frozen tears of forgotten summer could not cool his feet, because he knew that the ground was on fire and as soon as his feet hit the floor of the earth he had to pull them up before they were burned to ash … or shot off.

The little bit of snow that littered the ground went up in a wave as the soft paws that had just littered the ground turned into a youth’s feet, ninja turtle bandage on the pinky toe included. The small, sandy-brunet haired boy stumbled in the cold as he tried to gather his senses, struggling to grab the world of thought with frozen hands that cracked and broke off like icicles. After a few moment of panting did the child find his fingers unfrozen and able to grab hold of coherent thought. He was safe now … he wasn’t the prey. Little boys weren’t prey, and with that thought leeched into his brain did the boy attempt to stagger towards the farmhouse that was casting an eerie glow on him. He wished he could just run forward, slam though the old oak door and latching onto his mothers waste as if it were the Holy Grail itself blubbering into her sweater like tomorrow was already dead, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to rush forward. In fact, it was going to take him a few minutes to get to the house and cry to his parents how he had almost had tea and crumpets with the reaper. See it was common knowledge, to a werewolf at least, that after pulling one’s self forcefully out of a transformation there was always some stiffness … and then there was the matter of living near the mountains: it was cold, especially for the now nude boy. Why he couldn’t keep the fur was just a mockery by God.

Thankfully, the child’s god had decided to be kind… or at least he had thought. The light on the back door sudden turned on and out stepped a man with glasses hanging slightly off his nose like a vulture staring down at his road kill buffet. The man huffed as he peered down at he nude causing his mangled hair to shift like coals in the darkness as he shook his head. “Damien!” He rushed forward grabbing the half frozen child roughly by his arm, squeezing for emphasis. “Damien where the bloody hell have you been? You’re mother’s been howling for you all night.” A soft slap to the back of the head followed. “I thought I told you. I distinctively told you not to go hunting tonight! What if the hunters got to you before I did? You’re mother is practically in tears!”

Damien’s eyes got a little watery. He tried to brush them away, he had too much of his father’s pride in him, but his father quickly dropped to his knees pulling the young boy into a blanket of warmth with his husky form. Little whines soon escaped the large man as he pulled his boy closer kissing him softly on the head, whispering ever so softly to the gods. After a moment or two of feel his father’s warmth escape him did the man dare to speak, urgent yet calm. “We must leave now Damien.” He ran a calloused thumb whipping away a tear the young werewolf hadn’t even known was there. “There are hunters in the area and we have to go before they find us. We are going to go to the old cellar where the Mudder house used to stand. Now I want you to stick with your brother okay. Okay?”

The mist of his breath faded into the air as the youth struggled to get use to his weak and unwilling human lungs when compared to that of a wolf’s. The little boy burrowed into his father’s sweater neck before whispering. “Why-y are you so afraid of the hunters dad? They’ll just knock on the door and tell us to stay inside while they find the wolf … like usual.”

The father stood there, his grey eyes seemed too blended in with the snow and mountain unlike Damien’s green ones. The wind took this as a moment to drag its fingers though the hair of both the father and son as if a pushing emphasizes that time was short. “You… you attracted them?”

There was betrayal there in his voice. Damien had heard it; he had also seen his father’s grey eyes fall in on themselves like death had already struck them. The boy glared at his father and pulled his numb hand into a fist allowing a growl to escape his lips. “I was hungry and I wasn’t waiting for that lazy little brat you dare to call my sibling.” The boy then pushed himself out of his father’s embrace continuing on his rant. He hated Tommy. Tommy had ruined everything … dad use to love him before Tommy, but not anymore. “Half the time he scares off the prey anyway!”

A cold merciless slap suddenly echoed over the darkness, mockingly to the trees. “Don’t you dare insult your baby brother! Were you any better during your first hunts? Now take your little brother and go hide.” He grabbed the young pup violently by the wrist and started dragging him towards the kitchen door, paying no mind to the child’s angry hissing. “I called your uncle ‘Frank’ and he said he’d visit us in the designated area. Now get your nude ass in the house!”

Damien had slowly ran a hand over his skin as if not truly understanding what pain was while staring into his father’s eyes the whole time before he had been violently tugged forward. Why was his father so angry and why was he hurting his wrists? It was just some hunters … idiots with guns but smart enough not to point it at humans or at least not at anything that looked human. “But … but it’s just some hunters daddy. Please stop pulling you’re hurting -

The father stopped in the doorway making the light from the cabin outline his form in blackness. His eyes glowed slightly revealing him for what he really was. The older monster licked his lips running a tongue over one revealed canine before he whispered, “Hunters of werewolves.”

Time dripped like the rain falling from the sky … yet that silence was quickly shattered as a scream filled the air and his father released Damien’s wrist slamming against the door while simultaneously clutching his shoulder as his a bullet slammed into it, ripping muscle and veins like a train over track. Red crimson filled the world dyeing it in its color as his father slid down the door leaving a small river on the wood… there were no parting words like in the movies. No farewells and no tears, just dead gray eyes that were staring at Damien. Staring and whispering … my son what have you done? No! NO! They weren’t saying that! Damien threw his hands over his head and shook out the thought as his entire body trembled. He was the alpha wolf now and as such he had to save mommy and Tommy. He –he -

“Damien! Damien!” A blurred form latched onto his waste burying its wet head into his chest. The thing sobbed there for a moment and the bigger brother automatically ran his hand threw his brother’s hair … it was wet with blood. The little six years old pulled his running nosed and teary-eyed face out of his brother’s chest and wailed. “Whys’ the mean men hurting us? Why’d they break mommy? I tried to get mommy up but then one tried to grab me … I-I.” The little boys eyes widened when he caught sight of there father sprawled out half way in the door, snow already gathering in his hair. “Why’s daddy not moving! Damien! Damien! Dan-

Another shot echoed through the blackness as an answer to his little brother’s hysteria. Damien didn’t even take time to register the face that peered out at them before he was racing towards the woods. The wind blew bending the trees that seemed to be reaching out to the two boys calling ‘It’s only a little farther, just a few more steps. You can make it, just don’t let –

It was warm. It almost felt nice in the cold air, but-but … feeling his little brother’s hand slip out of his own as he fell to the ground, limp, unmoving, a broken china doll, caused the brother’s heart to skip. His-his baby bro was dead and his older brother was painted in his red, showing the world his guilt in color. Damien’s eyes twitched in panic as he looked upward to see a smiling man … his golden filing winking, and then there was nothing but blackness and the rush of wind through his fur as he began to run. Why? Why? He had only been hungry … it had only been a little rabbit.

… just a little white rabbit.

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Paw07: Hello, this is a little story I started for Creative Writing class and it was a short story for my final portfolio which I’m now posting because I’m extending it. So this was originally on my blog. Anyway, enjoy and some impute and criticism is always welcome. Sorry it’s so short. It’s just a prologue anyway.