First story on here. Enjoy.
I'm running helter skelter along back streets and dark alleys, the wind whipping my bangs into my face. It's raining, the water getting in my eyes, soaking into my clothes, running down my back. I'm breathing hard, big wheezing gasps that gulp air into my aching lungs. Wiping a hand across my forhead, I brush back my wet bangs out of my eyes. I don't hear anything besides the slapping of my own sneakers against wet pavement, but I can feel it getting closer now as I near the wall. Almost there.
I risk a look over one shoulder, instantly feeling regret as the thing, part man, part... I'm not even sure, is just behind me, twenty paces back but picking up speed as he, it, nears the prey, me in this scenario.
I've seen werewolves before, for the most part they are friendly, victims in a way, just trying to be part of the society that seems to hate them, but this is not a werewolf. More monster than wolf, and the eyes... I shudder.
Breaking into a dead run now as the wall edges closer, my feet practically flying across the pavement as more adrenaline enters my bloodstream. I hit the grass, the area that usually has floodlights scanning it, but I don't bother to check if there are any now; there's just no time.
I can hear the wheezing snarl just behind me and I throw myself forward, hands grabbing frantically at the bricks in the wall for some sort of leverage. For a scary second I'm falling back down to earth as my nails scratch on the rough bricks, my shoes unable to find footholds, then, I'm light as a feather, scrambling up the wall as easily as if it was horizontal, my fingertips and the toes of my sneakers finding support in the narrow cracks.
Just under two dozen feet or so up I reach the top and I pause, looking down into the eyes of the beast. They're yellow, a toxic chemical color that makes me shiver uncontrollably as I think of just how close I came to being a tasty meal for it. The thing seems more beast than man, its long pink tongue darting out of its mouth to lick its lips, hungry eyes never leaving mine.
It seems to know better than to attempt to follow me up the wall. And here I had hoped it'd be dumb enough to try. But even the tiny almond sized brain within its thick-boned skull realizes the difference in our supernatural states. It is all muscle and power and strength, leading to weight and a tendency to stay on the ground, while I posses speed, agility, intelligence, and for some odd reason a certain gravity-defying ability I find hard to control on demand.
Don't ask me what supernatural creation I am. Hell if I know. My mom's human. And mentally institutionalized. And my dad? Never met him, never want to. Which makes me what? Half-psychotic and half supernatural loner with unknown abilites. Great combination if you ask me. Especially since I'm not the dinner of the thing pacing back and forth below because of it.
I can see the floodlights now as they sweep this way. When I look back, the thing is gone. Even it must know the danger they represent. I sigh, nimbly manuevering myself over the spiral barbed wire that decorates the top of the wall and look down. The ground is a good twenty feet below and I see the floodlights, closer now, coloring the falling rain in the black sky gold. I take a deep breath and jump.
"Ugh", I sit up in alarm, pushing myself into a sitting position, my hand hitting the sleep button on the alarm clock with a deafening crack. The loud beeping sound eminating from it instantly stops. "Ugh," I say again, rubbing my tired eyes. I feel like I could sleep another ten hours easily. Then I remember. My dream.
I pause for a moment in concentration, my finger absently tapping against my knee. Then I smile when I remember it; the chase and the wolf thing and scaling the wall. Not a dream. Real. And I have the bruised shoulders and aching legs and scratched hands to prove it.
I sigh, not being able to procrastinate getting up any longer. Things to do I remind myself, wincing as I swing my legs over the bed. No kidding about the bruises. I feel like I fell down some stairs a few hundred times just for kicks on a Friday night. But, no, I get to be one lucky son of gun and go demon hunting Friday nights instead of actually having a normal social life, or any social life at all really.
The floor is ice against my bare feet and I dance across it, making my way down the stairs, down the large dim corridor, through the double doors, and jump across the smooth serving counter into the kitchen. It's colder in here, if that's even possible. I open various cabinets and drawers, pulling out things I need for breakfast; bowl, spoon, cereal, milk.
The day outside is a pale, silvery gray; frost swirling itself across the windowpanes in the Van Gogh's painting "Starry Night" sort of way, curling around in thick spirals. A thin layer of snow coats the ground outside in a soft blanket, hiding the empty patches of dirty tangled weeds. I guess last night's rain became this morning's snow.
Bowl in hand I make my way back down the hallway, using the actual door this time, taking my time to hum a disjointed rhythm as I scoop the cereal into my mouth. I turn on the heater once I reach my room, curling up under the covers as I eat, shivering from the cold.
The yellow eyes float into my mind and I shiver again, this time not from the extreme cold, but in fear instead. The creature had looked like something resembling part beast, part man, right out of those old 21st century films where werewolves are depicted as half man, half human beings. The face was wolf, well, wolf-ish. The eyes an unnatural yellow, oddly reminding me of nicer things like lemons and canaries, the fur covering its skin sparse, empty patches of grey-pink skin showing through. It ran in a semi-crouch, its legs canine, its arms mostly human.
I'm no stranger to the supernatural, by the time I was four, even the vampires had given up pretending that they were a myth, not to mention the decade or so werewolves and the like had revealed themselves to mankind. And of course from personal experience as I tested out my own special set of skills. However, the thing I had seen last night was something unimaginable, something different, more powerful, more horrible than anything that had revealed themselves yet.
Werewolves have two stages, one being their human visage, the other, the wolf. This beast had been in a stage between the two, which scared me more than its burning eyes.
It made me more convinced that the Dead Zone rumors were true. That Xedetrym, a medical research lab, had been into experimentation of the supernatural, and that their demise, the reason why Xedetrym's medical laboratories were now known as the Dead Zone, had to do with certain experiments getting out of hand, instead of the 'outbreak of a deadly virus' the papers had claimed.
Please, that was just an excuse for all the dead that kept showing up and for nosy people like myself to not stick their noses in Xedetrym's business while they cleaned up their mess. I gulp the rest of the milk in the bowl down angrily. Like that would stop me. I'd never gotten sick in my life and some threat of a deadly virus only makes me more curious as to what the truth really was.
Thanks for reading. For the moment, this is just a oneshot. Hope you liked.