The First Werewolves
Word Count: 785
My writing buddies @green-hunter-05 + @theblackdeviant created a challenge of writing a of something random that one of us chose within 24 hours. If you’d like in, contact us — we’d love more challengers! @storybot
This challenge was: SUPERNATURAL
The Witch Queen cast a cruel gaze over her creations. The men who had once doomed her to a grizzly demise now lived in the grey between life and death; shunned during the day and no longer able to find solace at night.
“The hunters have now become the hunted,” she cackled, her voice echoing throughout her cavernous lair. “Be gone from my sight!”
With a rush of air, the men were thrown from the cave and welcomed by a cloud-filled night.
There were seven of them in total, each one a Lord and member of the Privy Council. The same council that hunted and judged the witches of Scotland.
A shudder ran through them, as the cool night air hit their naked flesh. All at once, their tumultuous thoughts crashed into each other within everyone’s mind. Unbeknownst to them, they were now able to communicate telepathically. Three of the men mistook the voices in their head as demons, coming for their souls. Frantically praying, they blindly ran towards the gorge, tumbling over into the awaiting ravine. Their voices stopped echoing in the other men’s heads.
The moon became visible as the clouds were swept away by an invisible force, a high-pitched laugh floating on the wind around them. An instinctual pull had each man looking up into the sky as the moon’s soft glow bathed them, sending shivers down their spines.
One by one they fell to the floor, fingernails clawing at their now restricting skin.
“What’s happening to me?!” One man’s frightened voice screamed out. His screams turning into a guttural howl and as each man morphed into the monster they had been cursed to become, a chorus of howls left their elongated snouts.
A feral urge spilled over, quashing the need to remain proper and gentile, and they began attacking one another. Ripped hair flew as fang and claw gnashed against those they once called friend. Blood covered the ground as the jugular of one was ripped open by another and as his lifeblood drained his body became that of a man again.
Stop! Stop it, will ye! One man’s inner voice shouted.
The werewolf, his snow-white fur stained with blood, turned away from the deceased man’s body and licked his lips with a snarl. And who are ye to command me?
The creature’s red eyes glared, taking in the black fur that covered the large animal in front of him, I should hae known it was ye, Grant. Always the empathetic arse.
Pull ye head in, Saunders. Ye just kilt, Reid!
And what are ye thoughts on this, Brodie? Saunders swivelled to face the quiet, smaller werewolf with greying fur.
M-m-my… my thoughts?
On who shall lead? The white wolf stalked menacingly over to Brodie.
Of course, it’s yeself, Saunders. Standing on his haunches, he clumsily bowed to Saunders. The smaller fell in behind his Alpha as they both turned their attention onto Grant.
I willnae submit, Saunders! The black werewolf stood tall on two legs, baring his large white fangs.
Saunders halted at the imposing figure standing before him. Grant had always been the bigger of the two however he was more a gentle giant whereas Saunders ruled with an iron fist… now with large yellow fangs and claws. Even with the snivelling Brodie by his side, he didn’t like his odds, not without knowing what this new body of his could really do.
Be away wit ye, Grant. I willnae warn ye again.
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“And that was how the Anchéad were born, my darling.” A man with unruly black hair explained, nuzzling his little daughter’s forehead with his nose.
“Anchéad?” She spoke the foreign word slowly, not wanting to get it wrong.
“Very good! It’s Gaelic,” he smiled, “it was the word they gave to the first werewolves.”
“And we’re their descendants? I don’t want to be related to that mean white one!”
“Fear not, wee one,” he said, scooping her up into his arms. He carried her over to her bed, gently tickling her ribs, “Grant was our kin.”
He placed her down, kissing her cheek and rolled her over. She was already fast asleep as he tucked her in.
The man gazed outside the open window, out of habit rather than need. He already knew, and welcomed, the moon’s bright gaze. A shiver ran down his spine. Taking one more look towards his daughter’s sleeping form, he jumped out of the window and landed heavily on top of his wife’s flowerbed. He had already transformed into his werewolf form and joyfully bounded towards the sound of his brethren’s howling… later he would, apologetically, deal with the garden.
He did not see the red eyes watching from the shadows.