Bloodline

Written in response to the following prompt challenges.

#WOTD, #YDWP, #Saturday mix, #SoCS

If you enjoy my entry don’t forget to go check out the link pages and everyone elses entries too.

Happy reading.


Bloodline

At five to midnight on the twelfth it all started.

There was a bright, translucent full moon and Jock was walking through an ancient graveyard, looking at the old moss-covered stones that stood like soldiers in rows across the church yard. he liked to admire the gothic scriptures and found interest in seeing when the unfortunate occupants left this mortal coil. Jack would have said he was just pure nosey.

As he rounded a particularly degraded stone, he heard the church bells begin to chime the midnight hour and instantly knew he had to get home although he couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason why, he knew he had to go; fast!

Jocks heart began to pound, getting ever increasingly faster; thumping inside his chest. His ears becan to burn but as Jock reached up to scratch them, he noticed they were growing. They were getting hairier, pointier and his hearing was getting more and more acute with the second. The distant hum of traffic from the highway now a deafening roar to him.

Jock felt his nose begin to stretch and distort into a snout and his teeth extend into long, needle sharp fangs. He was transforming and he was very afraid.

He had always known there could be a chance, but it hadn’t happened to any of the men in his recent lineage, so it had been assumed the old traits had been bred out over the centuries. Jock realised now that they were all wrong, he needed no more substantiation than the creature he was currently turning into.

Jock was dragged from his revere by the sound of someone approaching. He hid behind a gravestone, frightened of the consequences of being discovered in his current form. He could hear footfall, crunching on the gravel; getting closer and closer.

The night watchman out completing his rounds before he turned in for the night didn’t notice Jock hunched behind the stones. He did not hear Jocks heart pounding so hard it could have easily escaped its cage in a barrage of blood and viscera. He did hear the snarl; the blood curdling, monstrous noise that stopped him in his tracks and made him turn.

It was all too late. Jock had honed all his newly acquired and hyper acute senses on the fleshy part of the watchman’s neck. Hungry for the taste of blood, he sunk his teeth deep into his victim’s throat, apprehensive at first but soon overtaken with exhilaration as the mans blood ran down his throat. As Jock ripped into the cartilaginous rings of the poor man’s trachea, his carotid artery exploded like a dark red volcano; showering everything in blood as all that Jock was faded away, leaving only the animal behind.

Jock woke to the sound of birds singing in the bright morning sun, noticing instantly that he was as naked as the day he was born. As his senses returned to him, he caught sight of a foot sticking out from a nearby shrub, Jock knew but he had to be sure. As he crawled over to discover the severed remains of the night watch man’s foot the whole night came flooding back and Jock was violently sick.

The stark realisation of exactly what he had done came back to Jock in sickening flash images. He had to get out of there and fast, before he or any of this was found out. Jock ran out of the graveyard and down the short track to his home where he threw up some more before falling into a deep and fitful sleep.

Jock slept for a long time, images of lives hed never known flooding his dreams; lives of all the men in his bloodline leaving a record of their lives imprinted on his brain. He woke covered in sweat, knowing only one thing; he must return to where it all began. He must return to the resting place of his ancestors.

After a quick shower, Jock dressed and grabbed his torch. It was three thirty in the morning as he bolted out of the house and sprinted down the track to the graveyard. He found the family crypt without any trouble, it was the largest and the oldest on the site and pushed the old ancestral key into the lock. It fitted perfectly and the door slid open.

Inside was festooned with dust and cobwebs, intermingled with vines that had grown up through the floor and blanketed the sarcophagi that lined the walls. A light emanating from the far-right corner caught Jocks eye and he noticed a ladder leading down into an underground chamber.

He climbed down into the depths of the crypt where, on an altar, on the farthest wall, a single candle burned. As Jock approached the alter a noise made him turn.

There, stood not ten feet from him was a magnificent wolf. Jock froze.

The wolf started to come towards him but as it did it began to change. First standing tall, then changing shape until it was no longer a wold but a man of about sixty years standing, just as Jock had, naked as the day he was born.

“I am the source.” It said. “And you are of me.”

Jocks world faded into nothingness as his vision became blurred. He fell to the floor with nothing in his mine except the sound of his pack heralding his arrival; welcoming Jock into their world and his new life.

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