Issue Three

JAMES MORRIS
“And the man who said he was my
father?”
Caitlyn looked to the other members at
the table. They couldn’t meet Kevin’s
eyes.
Kevin prodded, “Was he..?”
She nodded. That explained why the
party wasn’t festive; they were grieving.
Caitlyn spoke again, breaking his
attention. “Come back, Kevin and blow
out your candles.” She motioned toward
the table where thirteen candles
encircled a bloody organ he was glad he
couldn’t identify: a werewolf birthday
cake. “It’s your favourite.”
He believed not a word. This was the
work of a cult or conspiracy, his role still
a mystery. He had no intention of
staying to figure it out. Whatever the
risks, he couldn’t just escape; he had to
destroy them lest they kidnap or kill
others like him. And if these things
really considered themselves something
other than human, then he would kill
them like the dogs they were. He saw
the alcohol, burning candles and
flammable streamers crisscrossing the
ceiling and knew what he had to do.
His escape had been easier than
expected. They didn’t try to hurt him;
they focused only on putting out the
fire. And in the chaos that followed, he
slipped out the front door. For good
measure, he took a metal pipe and
bashed the doorknob, sealing them
inside.
And then he ran.
He looked back at the burning
warehouse -- the fire engulfing the roof,
the flames seeming to lick the sky, the
sounds of howling and shrill animal cries
piercing the night –
It’s just your imagination.
As the sun rose from the east, he felt
the strangest sensation, as if his whole
body were undergoing a primal
vibration. The vibration intensified. His
senses seemed alive; smells from near
and far flooded his nostrils; his eyesight
seemed more acute, colours and figures
became sharper; and he had a sense of
limberness and quickness on his
feet. He lifted up his shirt, only to see
thick swaths of hair emerging from
under his pale skin.
He saw a large puddle on the ground,
but thought better of seeing his
reflection, too scared of what he might
find.