the making of legends
This happens quite frequently in the making of legends. In small towns
after all, who really believes that some old man’s disgruntle tales of his family home being invaded by a werewolf fifty years ago on a Halloweens night would ever come true.
By a young boy’s dead father last words before he died.
Jack and his Mother Deborah accounts to there his son, now
being an old man himself many many years later.
The belief was real in fact, the boy’s father believed it so much that there was a silver barrel shotgun with a homemade large thick wooden stock to hold its adamant size and weight by the front door remembering when he was a young boy.
In that and a water stained cardboard box of silver bullets was all that
remained to his father’s true belief carries with the shotgun as the shells rattled in his pocket every place he went in that old truck of his he never gave up when he left the small Cottage they all grew up in.
Werewolves do live in our town of Los Gatos and in his belief it’s all too real daily assumption one day that Jack, and his wife Deborah would have to face his father’s worse fear for himself alone by chance after Mother took ill years later.
The belief and fear might be real, would become too real in
fact, so real it changed the whole outlook of the old homestead he farmed near the outskirts of the cottage always in site, that he lived and faced daily as his wife lay ill alone.
With his two grandchildren his son after married gave him to raise as a job the boy took was too far away to be at home on weekdays after then target came years later the letter in the mail their mother and father were killed in a car accident, many years ago on the south road leading toward the hills where his father’s wild tales told about coming to visit the parents as their two children were one such werewolf came from done his terra.
Some say that long brown hairs were found embedded into the front grill
of the couple’s car and it was seemingly tossed off the side of the road and
the victim’s body parts were scattered throughout the creek bed, some parts
look to have been ripped apart and eaten. But all was dismissed, for the
locals said it was the doings from the wildlife in the woods.
To so many others during that time frame of life and its neighboring
streets, knew their versions of werewolf rumors and folklore, it was just a bad car wreck. Jack, last survivor in that old dwelling after the news killed his wife with so much grift in a few days in which spun the tale of the
beast that drew his father out of his family home every night he had heard
the howl of the werewolf call up on the grassy hills now above the family home.
Drove Jack to go madness to protect his only surviving family the Grandchildren was now his life as in the end of his life of only 84 years old.
Sadly placed in a nut house in the neighboring Town of Los Gatos for his crazy goings on. Poor Jack knew as others did not believe, after his mother passed now, the last survivor of the family, final dismissed the fear of the nightly howls, the Grandchildren Jason and Jessica that echoed down off the grassy hills up off the nearby homes now built around as times have change that had not grown silent in the years of redevelopment and growth of a small community. Jack grew tried being in a nut house and took leave to escape to protect the children living at the Cottage Jack knew had his own family living there un protected, forgo what his father had left him in that old home Jason the child now a teen as his younger sister they resided in the attic for their safety, Now as they both had been truly hearing the Howls come closer nightly to the Cottage.
Legends require embellishments, personal touches added by each
person who passes it along to new ears, about werewolves, especially when
it came to a rainy spooky Halloween nights, when they seemly came to be out and about the Town. And in that, it came to arise once again one dark spooky night. The hunger of the beast, the werewolf, came to Jack’s family home one night on the Eve to Halloween and broke down the front door down with his powerful thrust of his huge muscular arms.
Reached in and took two small children from the
Jack coming back from the nut house, got out of his of old Chevy truck upon closing the door, he saw from the yard what was happing in front of his front door, ripped in half.
Jack knew the children been taken by the beast?
Panicking goes into the Cottage and as his sliver shotgun and a box of shells still laid by the front door he took it like as he had final lost everyone now it was time for revenge to kill the beast. House was quite, as Jack was looking for his two grandchildren, Jessica and Jason in dreariest hopes they were alive.
Entering the home, Jack only saw blood stains splattered on the floor in
the front and back rooms to the house.
Jack was hopeful, he yelled for Jessica and Jason.
No call for grandpa was returned,
Only the mental thought of what his fear told him over and over, the years about the thirst and hunger of the werewolf that will come back one day and feed on us as a family that will be used for its thirst, it craves fresh flesh and hot young blood.
Jack got to his knees, and cried and screamed aloud. He knew what he had to do, listening to his inter voice that echoed loudly in his head and went up to the attic at the ready with his shotgun held up-right ready to fire written on the walls of the attic in blood, It said to use with cause
for family and revenge in scratches deeply in by claws and fresh blood from the children.
Jack had the use the shotgun now tonight and the new use for his fear a
weapon of choice filed with silver bullets when the time came now.
Jack waited all night and into the next morning in the front room, hidden
in the hall off by the broken door for the beast to return for him to feed on the last family member.
Then as Jack saw it- was getting dark by his huge presents Jack was tired and closed his eyes only for a minute, when the sound of the howl aroused upon the grassy hills by the home and interred the broken out front door.
Within minutes, the howl was closer and closer to the yard.
Then Jack stood up, as the beast entering the home was a huge dark figure.
Jack stood ready with his shotgun.
A white blood stained beard waggling, keeping time to the old man’s
shaking head, and Jack rubbed his aching temples in grave fear after
pumping the gun and fired off the first shot.
This cannot be! Lifting his double barrel shotgun one more time past his sight as he laid on the floor helpless and closing his eyes to concentrate.
He thought quickly, his strongest reaction was check the shotgun first before pulling the trigger to see if it was loaded. Jack could not remember if two blast of both barrels or just one was fired from the first barrel.
Reaction took firm hold arcing the gun toward the dark silhouette of a hairy beast that stood before him in the
darkness of the doorway.
Jack yelled holding up the shot gun “Return the two you stole!” The hairy
beast let out a sound like no other Jack’s ever heard, making him shake with
such deep fear.
Jack was always a brave man in his day, but when this a werewolf came to his home yesterday and took his grandchildren away, he felt at all cost, it was to kill or be killed to get them back safe and at best alive.
Power and energy of an old man leapt from his mind to his trigger finger,
ricocheted off the recoil of the shotgun, once the second barrel was fired
toward the dark silhouette.
The horrifying blast from his first wound
screamed out across the house.
The beast hit Jack once, attempting to defend, save his own life, forced back, Jack onto the floor again, the second shot was hard hit to his chest sending him staggering backward, his elbow raised across his eyes, to protect his face his dark cloak billowing as he fell.
A second later, a burst of light went to dark, the beast struggling hit the last
of the hall lamps sending the room to complete darkness.
Now the beast was hit well,
Jack felt as the hot rich blood of a raging werewolf on his skin sunk in to his pores. The blood splattered in tiny droplets and sent his mind wondering if he would be infected with this curse as Jack was skittering across the floor as he was reloading,
Where it clattered to a stop next to a wall wounded beast stood up. Glowing red eyes floated above the normal level of many man before it sent another searing swipe of his clawed hand pulsating across to Jack body, suspending him in mid-fall. When it faded, he hit the floor, unable to move, dizzy, exhausted and freezing except were the werewolf stood over him bleeding his over worked veins dripping hot drops puff blood onto Jack below screaming to the beast too just die.
After a moment, the old man rolled to his side, reached for his knife, the
silver reflection from the large blade shines dim at best to the werewolf’s eyes in the dark sending him back to darkness of the homes hallway as Jack
wobbled to stand then fell, best way to get out of was to crawl past the huge
beast. With chest heaving and tears for his martial wounds fired again to his body so close the hairs splattered to his jacket.
In Jacks eyes, he admitted defeat. Even his strongest blast of his shotgun best attempted couldn’t save his grandchildren or himself now.
The children were lost in the beast’s evil darkness — or were dead — or both apart of him inside. Jacks trembling hand leaned against the hallway wall while he steadied himself. Too much tragedy threatened to squeeze his lungs shut raising his knife. Continuing to lean against the wall, Jack made his slow, tortured way to the main door. Pulling it the trigger to its last shot toward the best open a whole, Jack began his journey across the open yard to his truck parked close by in the driveway.
Wind tangled his beard and chilled his already cold bones. Storm clouds
scudded across the night sky, blocking out the moon’s feeble light and
spattering icy rain onto his face. Something hovered above. It could have
been nothing more than an owl hunting for its dinner, but in Jack’s present
state of mind, evil filled the sky, calling his name, demanding his death.
Panic fueled his spent limbs. His stumble became a walk…a brisk walk…then then a trot, until Jack ran to his truck door, all the while glancing over his shoulder, waiting for claws or fangs to snatch him away.
Slamming his body into the truck door to shut it against the fury of the
pelting rain came, he slid down to the floor, clasping his bent knees and resting his head on his arms, letting his eyelids drift closed.
“Must stay awake,” he said. “I cannot allow myself to die.”
Jack felt too weary to even start the truck and run it up into the front part
to his house and kill the werewolf that was still in there.
His right hand still gripped his keys to place to start up the old Chevy, but he was too near death to notice from the beast blood covered him.
The werewolf came with vengeance to Jack hidden into that
truck and used it rage and strength to flip it over sending Jack into turmoil of
Jack felt himself broken like a stick over a knee,
there was only time to scream in horror. Jack met red eyes tonight, glinting
at him in triumph as he stabbed his knife into the eye of the madness of the huge beast that had killed every family member in some way in his life time.