레이블이 Fifty Shades of Grey Casting인 게시물을 표시합니다. 모든 게시물 표시
레이블이 Fifty Shades of Grey Casting인 게시물을 표시합니다. 모든 게시물 표시

2013년 12월 3일 화요일

About 'christian grey fifty shades of grey book'|Book review: Fifty Shades of Grey







About 'christian grey fifty shades of grey book'|Book review: Fifty Shades of Grey








               After               tons               of               Facebook               comments               about               a               new               erotic               novel               series               from               E.L.

James,               I               downloaded               10               free               chapters               to               see               what               all               the               commotion               was               about.

It               took               me               less               than               one               day               to               finish               the               10               chapters               in               my               spare               time               and               I               was               hooked,               so               I               purchased               the               trilogy               of               novels               -               Fifty               Shades               of               Grey,               Fifty               Shades               Darker               and               Fifty               Shades               Freed.

Christian               Grey               was               just               alluring               enough               to               keep               me               interested               and               the               intimate               scenes               with               the               female               lead               character               Anastasia               were               packed               with               colorful               description               without               being               over               the               top.

By               the               end               of               the               first               book               I               wanted               to               read               the               second,               but               I               did               not               feel               the               strong               connection               other               women               felt               to               the               novel.

Christian               Grey,               the               author-proclaimed               most               beautiful               man               in               the               world,               is               not               realistic               because               he               has               no               flaws               and               he               does               not               portray               everyman.

While               there               are               a               select               few               women               who're               married               to               men               who               could               play               Christian               Grey               in               the               movie,               most               women               have               regular               husbands               or               partners               incapable               of               fulfilling               the               fantasy               role.
               The               Original               Twilight               Influence               is               a               Bit               Creepy
               Before               I               dive               into               the               impossible               character               of               Christian               Grey,               the               correlation               between               Twilight               and               50               Shades               of               Grey               must               be               addressed.

It               doesn't               matter               who               the               original               target               audience               for               Twilight               was               meant               to               be,               it               hit               the               heart               strings               of               women               ages               10               to               100.

The               main               characters,               Edward               and               Bella               were               still               in               high               school,               which               meant               they               were               not               the               right               characters               for               an               erotic               novel,               but               that               didn't               stop               E.L.

James.

She               simply               pushed               the               story               into               the               future               and               created               a               new               story               of               her               own               based               on               the               Twilight               characters.

The               new               story               was               called               Master               of               the               Universe               (and               later               50               Shades               of               Grey.)               If               my               teen               daughter               is               in               love               with               Edward,               I               have               a               problem               seeing               him               as               the               character               of               Christian               Grey.
               Christian               Grey,               Sexual               Fantasy               and               the               Real               Man               Beside               You
               Christian               Grey               is               perfect               in               every               way.

He               has               such               strong               sexual               desire               for               Anastasia               that               sex               happens               anywhere               and               everywhere.

He               is               always               prepared               and               she               is               always               ready               -               but               is               this               fantasy               one               real               women               connect               with               or               is               it               something               that               is               so               over               the               top               that               you               just               read               it               to               find               out               what's               going               to               happen               next               in               the               fantasy               known               as               50               Shades?
               Some               women               love               the               idea               of               Christian               Grey               and               completely               lose               themselves               in               the               virtual               sex               God,               but               there               is               another               side               to               the               story.

There               are               women               out               there               just               like               me               who've               grown               to               hate               the               characters               Christian               Grey               and               Anastasia               Steele.
               Ms.

Steele               is               perfect,               she               always               smells               good,               she               is               slim,               intelligent               and               a               college               graduate               that               landed               one               of               the               first               two               interviews               at               the               publishing               house               she               wanted               to               work               for               in               the               first               place.

She               even               likes               a               little               submission               play               once               in               a               while,               which               appears               to               be               common               among               women.

She               has               NO               flaws.
               Mr.

Grey               is               super               thin,               super               in               shape               and               super               sexy.

He               is               a               billionaire               that               makes               more               than               $1               million               a               day.

He               can               buy               his               woman               new               cars,               new               wardrobes               and               fly               her               in               the               private               jet               to               any               place               in               the               world               on               a               moment's               notice.

He               loves               how               his               woman               looks               -               all               the               time.

He               is               completely               comfortable               with               the               female               body               -               all               the               time.

And,               he               knows               EXACTLY               how               to               bring               a               woman               to               the               brink               of               pleasure               in               a               millisecond               -               all               the               time.

He               tells               his               woman               she               is               beautiful,               intelligent               and               successful               all               the               time.

He               asks               about               her               feelings               and               worries               about               protecting               her               all               the               time.

He               is               not               a               real               man.

Women               who               fantasize               about               Christian               Grey               and               put               themselves               into               the               character               of               Anastasia               are               not               going               to               live               her               life               or               even               a               small               fraction               of               her               life.

These               women               are               going               to               be               let               down               by               the               fantasy               man               Christian               Grey.
               When               you               combine               the               two               characters               in               the               50               Shades               trilogy               you               get               utter               and               unrealistic               perfection               and               a               constant               reminder               of               just               how               many               flaws               you               and               your               partner               have               in               REAL               life.

Christian               Grey               is               not               only               the               furthest               thing               from               everyman;               he               is               even               too               perfect               for               fantasy.

I               am               extremely               thankful               that               my               mind               pictured               him               as               Mark               Zuckerberg               after               the               first               description,               so               I               don't               have               to               worry               about               fantasizing               Christian               Grey-style.






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christian grey fifty shades of grey book
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christian grey fifty shades of grey book
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    2013년 11월 29일 금요일

    About 'all things fifty shades of grey'|Fifty Shades of Grey Chapter 4: Let's All Just Vomit, Okay







    About 'all things fifty shades of grey'|Fifty Shades of Grey Chapter 4: Let's All Just Vomit, Okay








    The               city               sounds               engulfing               the               sidewalk               café               bled               off               into               the               far               reaches               of               his               perception               as               she               came               into               view.

    John's               breathing               quickened               as               he               leaned               forward               in               his               seat.

    Margaret's               presence               required               --               no               demanded               --               his               full               attention.

    She               radiated               life.

    He               had               seen               her               many               times               before               and               had               always               admired               her               from               afar.

    Today               she               was               different.

    Perhaps               it               was               simply               because               he               knew               he               was               almost               ready,               that               he               had               almost               worked               up               enough               nerve               to               approach               her.

    Her               long               brown               hair,               tightly               braided,               bounced               with               every               confident               step.

    He               imagined               the               click               of               her               heels               on               the               concrete.

    This               one               was               his               type,               sweet               and               pure,               not               like               the               other               women.
                   The               moment               snapped               as               she               disappeared               into               an               old               brownstone               apartment               building               and               he               sank               back               into               his               chair.

    He               wasn't               ready               yet.

    The               timing               was               still               wrong.

    He               would               approach               her               soon,               maybe               even               tomorrow               or               Friday               at               the               latest.
                   He               drained               the               last               of               the               coffee,               the               cup               rattling               in               its               saucer.

    Pocketing               the               change               from               the               tab               he               headed               back               to               work.

    After               all,               there               were               bills               to               pay               and               endless               mountains               of               paperwork               to               slay.

    Margaret               could               wait               a               bit               longer.
                   #
                   "Yes,               mother,"               he               said               into               the               mouthpiece               of               the               cold               black               phone.
                   "Are               you               going               to               that               place               again?"               Her               voice               was               tinny,               far               away,               trembling               whine.
                   "Yes               mother,               I'm               going               out               to               the               cabin               tonight."               He               wrapped               the               coiled               cord               around               his               neck,               playfully               tugging               upward               as               he               spoke.

    He               headed               off               her               next               question.

    "I               know               it'll               be               dark,               but               I               want               a               full               two               days               to               get               work               in,               I'll               be               careful."               The               desire               to               actually               pull               the               cord               taut               was               overwhelming.

    The               urge               grew               with               every               shrill               word               that               emanated               from               the               earpiece.
                   "John,               honey,               I               just               think               -               -               you               always               go               alone               and,"               he               could               hear               her               take               a               deep               breath;               he               braced,               "John,               it's               just               not               healthy."
                   "I               don't               think               it's               unhealthy               at               all,               it's               good               for               the               soul;               my               soul               at               least."               The               cord               tightened.

    He               imagined               his               eyes               bulging,               the               hemorrhaging               of               blood               vessels,               the               dark               bloated               body               they               might               find               as               early               as               Monday,               but               probably               much,               much               later.

    Other               than               his               mother               and               his               boss,               there               was               no               one               in               his               life               to               miss               him.

    The               latter               could               care               less               if               he               showed               up               or               not.

    Yes,               he               was               sure               it               would               be               one               of               those               annoying               neighbors               reporting               a               strange               smell.
                   His               mother               had               continued               her               jabbering               and               he               had               missed               what               she               had               said,               but               her               tone               gave               him               a               clue.

    "I'll               meet               someone               someday."               He               took               a               stab               at               the               answer.
                   "I               could               sign               you               up               for               a               dating               service,               I               read               about               them               all               the               time.

    Your               birthday               is               coming               up               and..."
                   Her               constant               meddling               turned               his               thoughts               darker               still.

    Only               now,               he               imagined               the               cord               was               around               her               wrinkled               chicken               neck,               "No,               mother.

    Thank               you               anyway,               save               your               money,"               his               mind               jerked               the               cord               tight.
                   The               conversation               shifted               into               the               weekly               lopsided               long               question,               short               answer               routine.

    A               mother               and               son               cross-continent               verbal               tennis               match               played               out.

    His               quick               volleys               of               "yes               mother,"               and               "no               mother,"               could               not               distract               his               mind               from               running               through               his               weekend               plans.

    He               had               long               ago               memorized               the               pattern               and               could               answer               on               autopilot.

    She               always               asked               the               same               damn               inane               questions.

    He               did               not               tune               her               out               completely               though;               after               all               he               had               played               the               dutiful               son               for               years.
                   Movement               at               his               feet               brought               his               attention               back               to               the               drab               little               apartment               and               the               trip               that               he               should               have               started               out               on               over               an               hour               ago.

    The               tunnel               would               be               hell               this               time               of               night               on               a               Friday.

    He               cut               her               off               mid               sentence,               "Mother,               I've               got               to               go.

    I'll               call               next               weekend,               I               promise.

    Good               night."               He               hung               up               cutting               short               her               final               barrage               of               questions.
                   John               looked               at               the               large               canvas               tent               bag               at               his               feet.

    He               kicked               it               hard.

    A               muffled               grunt               and               the               whole               bag               wiggled               and               squirmed               violently.

    He               smiled.
                   Yes,               she               was               his               type,               young,               dark               hair,               beautiful,               powerful.

    She               exuded               power;               practically               dripped               it               and               he               needed               that               power.

    She               was               innocent               and               pure,               not               knowing               the               evil               men               can               do.

    Even               as               he               dragged               her               into               the               alley,               she               had               just               kept               smiling               in               shock               and               disbelief.

    She               was               new               to               town               and               a               virgin               to               the               cruelty               and               violence               that               ruled               in               this               world.

    She               would               be               an               old               madam               in               the               lesson               by               the               end               of               the               weekend               and               he               just               might               be               one-step               closer               to               his               goal.
                   Maybe               everything               would               go               right               this               time.

    His               energy               was               high,               the               weather               looked               good,               and               the               moon               would               be               full.

    This               time               everything               was               perfect,               aligned.
                   #
                   Traffic               thinned               and               the               smoky               glow               of               the               city               faded               in               his               rear               view               mirror.

    He               hated               the               long               drive.

    It               was               not               the               gridlock,               or               the               smell               of               exhaust,               not               even               the               honking               cabs,               although               tonight               had               sorely               tested               his               patience.

    The               exodus               had               been               brutal,               much               more               so               than               usual.

    Almost               three               hours               just               to               get               through               the               tunnel,               and               only               seven               miles               added               to               the               odometer.
                   No,               the               worst               part               was               the               anticipation.

    John's               imagination               simply               unhinged.

    It               was               hard               to               keep               the               old               sedan               on               the               road,               with               all               the               thoughts               running               through               his               mind.

    Each               idea               spawned               a               dozen               more.

    There               seemed               no               end               to               the               endless               chatter               in               his               head,               and               the               variations               on               rituals               he               could               dream               up.

    He               could               barely               wait               to               try               out               the               new               idols               and               the               ceremonial               dagger               he               had               found               in               the               dark               corner               shelves               at               the               Lucifer's               Lot               Arcanum.

    He               breathlessly               practiced               mouthing               the               new               incantations               he               had               found               on               the               web.

    This               would               be               the               breakthrough               weekend,               power,               immortality               would               be               his.
                   He               eased               the               car               onto               the               exit               ramp,               and               changed               highways.

    John               settled               back               into               the               worn               seat               and               steered               the               car               west               into               the               night,               the               cruise               control               locked               in               at               an               officer               friendly               fifty-eight               miles               per               hour.

    The               car               climbed               into               the               foothills               and               the               engine               turned               throaty.

    On               the               horizon,               the               dark               line               of               the               looming               mountains               sliced               cleanly               across               the               starlit               sky.
                   His               head               began               to               throb.

    It               would               be               well               past               midnight               before               reaching               the               cabin.

    He               considered               stopping               to               take               his               meds               and               drain               his               bladder,               but               drove               on.

    It               was               not               wise               to               risk               the               exposure.

    It               might               be               difficult               to               explain               to               Trooper               Friendly               why               the               car               is               registered               under               someone               else's               name,               a               dead               man               at               that.

    Not               to               mention               the               cargo               in               the               trunk.
                   His               fingers               massaged               his               temples               in               a               futile               effort               to               stave               back               the               pain.

    He               made               a               mental               note               to               call               his               mother               on               Thursday               nights               from               now               on               and               perhaps               try               the               bridge               next               time.
                   #
                   The               glare               of               the               headlights               bouncing               off               the               thickening               fog               was               not               helping               John's               migraine.

    The               rampaging               ideas               had               run               their               course,               and               the               first               of               the               all               too               familiar               weekend               letdowns               settled               in.
                   He               pinched               the               bridge               of               his               nose               and               gazed               tiredly               into               the               fog.

    Almost               there.

    He               had               never               missed               the               turn               from               S.R.

    22               onto               the               rutted,               gravel               fire-road               that               led               to               his               cabin,               but               the               fog               was               thick               tonight.

    The               car               slowed               to               a               crawl.

    The               turn               was               not               even               on               most               maps,               nor               marked               by               even               a               mailbox.

    It               was               just               one               of               those               roads               that               lead               off               somewhere,               one               that               people               pass               everyday               without               a               second               thought.

    He               had               made               the               turn               only               once               in               the               daylight.

    The               day               he               had               arrived               five               years               ago               with               the               realtor,               posing               as               the               man               whose               car               he               now               drove.

    Each               arrival               and               departure               since               then               had               been               under               the               cover               of               darkness.
                   The               clock               blinked               a               fuzzy               neon               green               1:02               a.m.

    His               head               killed               and               he               really               had               to               piss.

    He               shifted               in               his               seat               trying               to               ease               the               pressure               on               his               bladder.

    A               few               drops               of               urine               escaped               and               warmed               his               thigh.

    He               thought               of               squeezing               or               pinching               his               groin               and               shuddered.

    He               would               not               touch               the               dirty               thing,               even               if               it               were               through               two               layers               of               clothing.

    He               just               concentrated               on               clamping               down               as               hard               as               he               could               and               suffered               the               spreading               dampness.
                   Twenty-minute               drive               still               to               go,               but               he               dare               not               stop,               not               this               close.

    He               found               his               turn               and               exited               the               paved               road.

    He               smiled;               at               least               he               was               not               in               the               trunk.

    He               gunned               the               engine               and               sent               the               car               fishtailing               down               the               forest               road,               gravel               exploding               out               from               under               the               spinning               wheels.

    There               was               a               thump               as               the               cargo               shifted               in               the               trunk.

    He               waited               for               a               reaction,               but               heard               no               sounds               of               protest.
                   He               rolled               down               his               window               and               drank               in               the               cold               mountain               air,               but               the               migraine               refused               to               yield.
                   #
                   The               cabin               came               into               view.

    Although,               cabin               was               too               civilized               a               term               for               the               leaning               shack               on               the               sprawling               wooded               property.

    The               large               metal               shed               that               sat               on               the               other               side               of               the               driveway               was               much               more               inviting.
                   The               car               skidded               to               a               stop               in               front               of               the               shed.

    The               old               sedan               rocked               back               and               forth               on               worn               springs.

    The               engine               purred,               sending               pink               taillight-stained               clouds               of               exhaust               up               into               the               dark               sky.

    The               hinges               squealed               in               rusty               protest               and               the               ding               of               the               door               ajar               alarm               broke               the               peace               of               the               night.

    He               stepped               out               into               the               wet               night               air               and               fumbled               with               a               key               ring,               his               breath               pluming               in               the               diffuse               moonlight.

    He               squinted,               and               then               opened               his               eyes               wide;               trying               to               focus               to               the               task.

    Working               mechanically               in               the               yellow               headlights               he               quickly               opened               the               shed's               doors.
                   He               returned               to               the               car,               not               bothering               to               kick               the               mud               and               leaves               from               his               shoes.

    Stow               the               car;               bathroom,               get               the               meds.

    Those               were               his               missions               now,               plain               and               simple.

    He               drove               the               car               into               the               shed               and               turned               it               off.

    He               let               out               a               long               sigh               and               sagged               back               into               the               seat,               but               his               head               and               bladder               offered               no               chance               of               rest.
                   "We're               here!"               he               said               over               his               shoulder.

    No               response               came               from               the               trunk.

    He               grabbed               the               overnight               bag               from               the               passenger's               seat               and               exited               the               car.

    The               bag               bumped               the               horn.
                   The               sound               amplified               in               the               small               metal               enclosure,               deafening               him.

    Lights               flashed               in               the               dark               before               his               eyes,               pops               of               white-hot               pain,               the               coppery               taste               of               blood               filled               his               mouth               and               made               him               gag.

    He               hoped               that               he               had               remembered               his               meds               or               the               weekend               was               shot               for               certain.
                   "Nighty-night,"               he               said               half-smacking               his               hand               against               the               trunk               lid,               half-steadying               his               balance.

    Again;               no               response.

    He               fought               down               the               urge               to               check               on               her.

    She               was               feisty.

    She               had               put               up               a               hell               of               a               good               fight               once               her               primal               reflex               for               self-preservation               had               kicked               aside               the               initial               shock.

    Chloroform               always               wins               in               the               end.

    No,               she               can               cool               in               the               trunk               overnight,               perhaps               that               will               take               some               of               the               fight               out               of               her.

    He               closed               and               bolted               the               doors.

    John               leaned               against               the               shed               door,               tired               to               the               bone.

    This               was               not               going               right.

    He               should               be               on               top               of               the               world,               not               the               bottom.
                   He               walked               across               the               driveway,               his               sorry               state               made               his               heart               pound               hard               from               even               this               limited               effort.

    He               stopped,               shoulders               sagging               in               the               middle               of               the               parking               circle.

    He               did               not               even               bother               to               turn;               he               simply               pointed               his               hand               over               his               shoulder               and               clicked               the               key               fob.

    Chirp-chirp,               "Night,               night,"               he               whispered               in               unison               to               the               alarm,               "we               have               a               big               weekend               ahead               of               us."
                   He               strained               his               eyes               to               find               the               right               key               in               the               dark               at               the               front               door.

    The               moon               hid               behind               the               fog               and               clouds,               offering               no               assistance,               always               when               you're               in               a               hurry.

    He               fumbled               with               key               after               key.

    He               could               feel               the               warmth               spreading               down               his               leg.

    He               made               a               mental               note               to               remember               to               bring               a               damn               flashlight               next               time,               but               was               not               sure               his               head               would               let               him               file               that               detail               away               reliably.

    The               weekend               was               going               all               wrong;               it               was               much               too               soon               for               that.

    He               tried               the               last               key               on               the               ring,               fearing               he               had               missed               the               proper               one,               dreading               having               to               start               over.

    The               key               drove               home               and               the               knob               turned.

    Thank               heaven               for               small               miracles.
                   He               stepped               into               the               cabin               and               felt               along               the               doorframe               and               retrieved               the               flashlight               that               hung               there.

    He               clicked               it               on.

    His               luck               was               changing.

    Crisp               white               light               cut               through               the               dust               motes               in               the               air               as               he               played               the               beam               around               the               small               interior.

    The               cabin               was               as               he               had               left               it;               the               toilet,               cot,               and               his               chest               of               "props"               all               where               they               should               be.

    The               cords               in               his               neck               loosened               a               bit.
                   He               let               the               place               wash               over               him.

    The               familiar               sharp               contrasting               scents               of               sweat               and               bleach               pronounced               he               was               home.

    The               place               reverberated               with               the               voices               and               emotions               of               those               who               had               crossed               the               threshold.

    He               dropped               his               bag               and               dug               through               the               medicine               bottles               until               he               found               the               right               one.

    He               popped               four               small               sour               pills               into               his               mouth               and               swallowed               them               dry.

    Three               more               than               the               prescribed               dosage               and               two               more               than               he               had               ever               taken               at               one               time.

    He               was               not               going               to               take               any               chances               of               a               migraine               ruining               the               weekend.
                   John               crossed               towards               the               rickety               chemical               toilet,               carefully               going               around               the               intricately               detailed               pentagram               on               the               floor               in               the               center               of               the               room.

    He               removed               his               soiled               pants               and               underwear,               casting               them               aside.

    He               sat               and               shone               the               light               on               the               lines               of               the               star.

    What               at               first               glance               appeared               as               a               solid               line,               revealed               to               be               a               number               of               words               and               symbols.

    He               read               off               the               names               of               a               few               of               the               women               aloud,               smiling               more               at               some               then               others.
                   The               vice               that               held               his               head               eased               up               a               bit               as               he               relieved               himself.

    Whether               it               was               the               meds               kicking               in               or               the               draining               of               his               bladder,               he               was               not               sure,               nor               did               he               care.

    He               walked               dazed,               naked               from               the               waist               down,               over               to               the               cot               and               collapsed               into               it.

    The               light               aluminum               frame               creaked               and               groaned               under               his               weight.

    He               pulled               a               dirty               blanket               over               himself               and               had               the               presence               of               mind               to               shut               off               the               flashlight               before               he               fell               into               the               dark               clamp               of               sleep.
                   #
                   He               woke               with               his               left               arm               dangling,               pins               and               needles               numb               over               the               edge               of               the               cot.

    But               at               least               the               migraine               was               gone,               the               only               trace               was               the               unsettling               deja               vu               feeling               the               meds               left               behind.
                   John               sat               up               and               stretched,               his               deadened               arm               at               his               side.

    The               birds               were               chirping               outside               and               the               sun               was               pouring               in               through               the               windows.

    It               was               going               to               be               a               glorious               day.

    His               stomach               rumbled               with               hunger-               time               for               breakfast.

    He               checked               his               watch,               12:45               p.m.

    Okay,               maybe               lunch.

    He               performed               a               quick               calculation;               he               had               been               out               cold               for               around               ten               hours.

    He               made               a               mental               note               of               the               dosage               and               its               results               for               future               use.

    He               rose               and               stretched.

    The               depression               of               last               night's               arrival               was               gone.

    The               day               held               infinite               promise               and               possibilities.
                   He               grabbed               a               fresh               pair               of               pants               and               slipped               on               his               shoes.

    He               would               get               the               ice               chest               and               groceries,               and               while               he               was               there,               check               on               his               guest.
                   He               ambled               down               the               steps,               stretching.

    The               day               was               warm               and               the               sun               helped               ease               his               stiff               muscles.

    He               really               needed               to               replace               that               old               cot.

    He               froze               halfway               across               the               driveway,               the               warmth               of               the               sun               gone.
                   A               small               section               of               the               shed               had               torn               away               and               was               flapping               gently               in               the               breeze.
                   He               forced               the               lump               in               his               throat               down,               and               willed               himself               to               calm               down,               to               breathe.

    It               could               have               been               there               the               night               before.

    He               had               not               noticed               it,               but               he               had               been               tired.
                   Was               it               there?

    He               ran               to               the               opening.

    The               rip               was               along               a               seam,               probably               pretty               easy               to               do               with               the               right               leverage.

    It               was               barely               large               enough               for               someone               to               squeeze...
                   He               ripped               the               opening               wider               and               stepped               into               the               shadows.

    Enough               light               shone               in               to               reveal               the               trunk               still               closed.

    His               heart               slowed               a               bit.

    He               scrambled               back               through               the               hole               and               opened               the               doors               for               more               light.
                   The               car,               piles               of               dust               covered               home               improvement               supplies,               and               the               tool               bench               were               all               he               could               see.

    In               fact,               on               first               look,               nothing               seemed               missing               or               out               of               place.

    Damn               animals.
                   John               clicked               the               button               on               the               alarm.

    There               was               no               familiar               chirp,               chirp.

    He               mashed               the               clicker;               still               nothing.

    He               shook               the               fob,               stabbing               it               toward               the               car.
                   Sweat               dampened               his               brow;               something               was               in               the               back               seat.

    His               fingers               closed               around               the               reassuring               wooden               shaft               of               a               hammer               as               he               passed               the               tool               bench,               creeping               closer.

    He               held               the               hammer               high               and               peered               into               the               back               window.

    The               rear               seat               back               cushion               was               bent               at               an               odd               angle;               jammed               forward               against               the               front               seat.

    The               small               ice               chest               sat               wedged               into               the               corner               by               the               far               door.

    All               the               groceries               had               spilled               into               the               foot               wells               on               either               side               of               the               transmission               hump.
                   He               opened               the               trunk.

    His               eyes               had               not               yet               accustomed               to               the               filtered               shadows               of               the               shed,               much               less               the               oily               blackness               of               the               trunk.

    The               trunk               light               had               not               come               on.

    He               could               not               remember               whether               or               not               it               was               working               when               he               loaded               her               last               night.

    This               was               going               all               wrong.

    He               groped               in               the               darkness,               hoping               against               hope,               but               all               he               found               was               the               empty               canvas               tent               bag.
                   No               one               had               ever               made               it               out               of               the               bag               by               themselves.

    John               carried               the               bag               outside               into               the               light.

    The               side               of               the               bag               lay               wasted,               torn               to               ribbons.

    Bitch.

    She               must               have               had               a               nail               file               or               penknife               on               her.

    He               would               have               to               search               his               next               victim               better.
                   He               looked               around               the               driveway,               to               the               house               and               down               the               road.

    Reason               and               odds               would               have               it               that               she               would               have               started               down               the               road               to               look               for               help.

    He               opened               the               driver's               door               and               stood               back.
                   The               bitch               had               gutted               the               interior.

    The               instrument               cluster               was               shattered;               small               shards               of               Plexiglas               littered               the               front               section               of               the               car.

    Pieces               of               the               dash               panels               lay               on               the               floorboard.

    Wires               and               cables               dangled               from               dark               crevices.

    A               Technicolor               bouquet               of               wires               lay               on               the               passenger's               seat,               sprouting               from               what               had               once               been               the               fuse               block.

    The               seats               lay               in               ruin,               shreds               of               leather               and               stuffing               everywhere.

    He               braced               himself               as               his               head               swam               and               his               vision               blurred               with               fear               and               anger.

    How               had               she               done               all               this               damage?
                   He               jammed               his               hand               into               the               armrest               storage               box,               skinning               his               knuckles.

    His               cell               phone               was               gone.

    He               checked               the               glove               box,               his               revolver               was               still               there               "Ha,"               he               said,               grabbing               it.

    "You               dumb-"
                   The               gravel               crunched               behind               him.

    He               whirled               and               straightened,               banging               his               head               hard               on               the               windshield               pillar.

    A               deer               scattered               and               fled               towards               the               woods.
                   He               held               his               aching               head               in               one               hand               as               he               stepped               into               the               light.

    He               tucked               the               gun               into               his               belt               and               looked               around.
                   "Think,               think,"               he               chanted.
                   The               deer               paused               at               the               far               edge               of               the               driveway,               staring               back               at               him.

    It               sniffed               the               air               and               twitched               its               ear.

    The               deer               would               not               go               any               further               in               that               direction,               the               ground               is               poison               over               there,               over               by               the               old               well.

    That               is               where               the               women               were,               or               what               was               left               of               them               after               he               and               the               rituals               were               finished.
                   "Think."               He               held               his               breath               and               concentrated,               slowly               exhaling.

    The               controlled               breathing               calmed.

    Take               stock               of               the               situation.

    Yes,               she               would               have               gone               up               the               road.

    Yes,               she               had               his               cell               phone,               but               would               have               already               discovered               it               did               not               work               this               far               out.

    Yes,               it               was               a               good               ten               miles               or               so               back               to               the               main               road.

    Maybe               eight               or               nine               until               she               could               pick               up               a               carrier               signal.

    If               she               had               already               made               it               there               or               was               close               and               was               able               to               call               for               help,               then               all               was               lost.
                   She               could               not               have               been               gone               too               long               or               else               the               cops               would               have               already               descended.

    She               had               to               still               be               close,               he               thought.
                   He               scanned               the               trees               looking               for               her               crouching               form.

    Nothing.

    Discomforted,               he               shook               off               the               vague               prickling               feeling               of               eyes               watching               him               from               the               woods               and               concluded               he               had               nothing               to               lose.

    Perhaps               he               could               still               run               her               down               and               save               his               own               skin.

    She               would               have               taken               the               road.
                   He               jogged               down               the               driveway               slowly,               picking               up               speed               as               his               muscles               loosened.

    He               repositioned               the               revolver               to               behind               his               back               so               it               would               not               rub               his               side               raw.

    He               covered               the               first               mile               or               two               easily,               but               soon               regretted               leaving               without               thinking               out               a               plan.

    He               had               not               brought               any               water               from               the               cooler               and               had               not               eaten               since               leaving               the               city.

    Thirst,               hunger               and               fatigue               forced               him               to               slow               the               pace               to               a               brisk               walk.
                   The               day               was               warm               and               clear               and               as               he               walked,               he               considered               that               it               was               as               fine               a               day,               as               any               other               was,               to               die.

    He               knew               it               would               come.

    It               had               too.

    All               the               "Greats",               Bundy,               Dahmer,               Ramirez,               they               all               slipped               up               at               some               point.

    He               wondered               whether               it               was               better               for               a               cop's               bullet               or               his               own               to               take               him               on               to               the               next               level.
                   Several               hours               later               he               figured               he               had               made               it               almost               three               quarters               of               the               way               back               to               the               road,               and               still               no               sign               of               the               his               prey.

    She               was               close,               really               close.

    He               could               feel               it.

    The               hairs               on               the               back               his               neck               could               too.

    John               stopped               for               the               fourth               or               fifth               time               in               the               last               ten               minutes               and               scanned               the               woods.

    His               legs               began               to               ache               and               cramp,               he               needed               to               get               moving               again               quickly.

    The               feeling               of               someone               watching               mounted               with               each               passing               moment.

    He               began               to               hope               the               cops               would               come               and               just               end               things.

    This               weekend               had               deteriorated               so               fast.

    He               continued               his               trek               to               the               road,               content               on               playing               out               his               role               in               the               game.
                   Dusk               arrived               early.

    By               four               in               the               afternoon               the               sun               had               begun               to               set.

    The               air               was               growing               cooler               and               the               breeze               had               picked               up.

    The               sky               was               a               purplish               bruise,               not               a               cloud               up               there               to               keep               in               the               solar               heat.
                   Cars               and               trucks               whizzed               by               on               S.R.

    22.

    John               sat               hidden               along               the               edge               of               the               woods               rubbing               the               cramps               in               legs.

    She               surely               would               have               made               it               into               calling               range               by               now.

    Even               if               the               cell               phone               had               been               dead,               some               local               Dudley               Do               Right               in               his               pick               up               truck               would               have               picked               her               up.
                   So               where               was               she?

    Where               were               the               cops?

    Maybe               she               had               headed               off               in               a               different               direction               after               all.

    He               laughed               a               bit               too               loud               and               long               at               that               idea.

    All               that               lay               past               the               property               and               to               the               east               and               west,               was               mile               after               mile               of               rough               timber               parkland               and               mountains.

    The               forest               stretched               out               for               fifty               miles,               maybe               more,               and               the               mountains               were               already               snow               capped.

    Hunters               would               be               the               only               ones               able               to               find               her               and               then               only               her               scattered               bones,               picked               clean               by               animals,               after               the               spring               melt.
                   His               headache               was               coming               back.

    He               decided               to               pack               it               in               and               head               back               towards               the               cabin.

    He               cursed               his               luck.

    If               there               had               been               less               traffic,               he               could               have               hitched               a               ride.

    Done               away               with               the               driver,               driven               back,               cleaned               up               the               place               and               been               gone               in               an               hour               or               two.

    Instead,               with               too               many               cars               passing               that               could               later               identify               him,               he               would               have               to               trudge               back               the               long               miles               in               the               dark,               and               then               back               again               in               the               morning               and               wait               for               a               lull.
                   Darkness               fell               even               before               he               had               made               it               halfway               back.

    Night               sounds               filled               the               air.

    The               last               of               the               season's               crickets               or               some               other               endlessly               droning               bug               shrilled               in               his               ears.

    The               moon               appeared               just               above               the               tree               line,               a               full               moon,               large               and               perfect.

    Technically               it               was               a               blue               moon,               a               rarity,               something               he               had               planned.

    It               would               have               enhanced               the               power               of               the               rituals               all               the               more.

    He               stared               at               the               orb,               eyes               beginning               to               water.

    It               wasn't               fair.

    Now,               he               would               have               to               wait               another               year               or               so               for               the               next               occurrence.
                   Sharp               pains               filled               the               empty               space               in               his               belly.

    His               spit               was               thick               and               sparse               and               did               nothing               to               soothe               the               fire               in               his               throat.

    The               turkey               sandwiches               and               water               sitting               in               the               cooler               became               his               holy               grail.

    It               kept               him               moving,               like               a               carrot               in               front               of               a               donkey.

    He               felt               like               the               donkey               now.
                   Each               passing               minute               without               the               S.W.A.T.

    team               popping               out               from               behind               a               tree,               convinced               him               more               and               more               that               the               dumb               bitch               had               headed               into               the               woods               rather               than               take               the               road.

    In               the               morning,               he               would               look               around               the               edges               of               the               house               and               shed               to               see               if               there               were               any               signs               or               a               trail.
                   Even               if               he               found               a               neon               arrow               pointing               the               way               directly               to               her,               John               figured               it               was               getting               too               out               of               control.

    He               needed               containment.

    He               would               torch               the               buildings               and               the               car;               both               belonged               to               the               dead               man.

    The               only               one               who               could               connect               him               with               this               place               was               the               realtor               and               that               was               over               five               years               ago.

    The               well               was               the               problem.

    Maybe               he               could               drain               the               generator               gas               tank               into               the               well               and               build               a               great               fire               to               burn               the               bodies.

    That               might               just               work.

    He               would               have               to               think               about               that               in               the               morning.
                   The               crack               of               a               branch               behind               him               made               him               jump.

    He               whirled,               fumbling               to               retrieve               the               gun.

    He               leveled               the               revolver               back               up               the               road,               panning               it               back               and               forth.

    The               sounds               grew               louder.

    A               dark               shape               emerged,               almost               flowing,               out               of               the               woods.

    It               walked               on               all               fours,               but               was               larger               and               denser               than               a               dog.

    It               was               hard               to               tell               from               the               silhouette,               but               it               could               be               a               bear.

    He               froze,               and               watched               as               the               shape               glided               across               the               road               and               disappeared               into               the               woods               on               the               far               side,               paying               him               no               notice.
                   He               let               out               his               breath,               turned               and               continued               on               his               journey,               longing               to               return               to               the               city.

    His               city.
                   An               ancient               tree               marked               the               edge               of               his               property.

    It               had               tipped               over               long               ago.

    The               dark               hole               beneath               its               root               ball               opened               like               a               dark               grave.

    He               edged               to               the               far               side               of               the               road               away               from               it.

    He               had               less               than               half               a               mile               to               go.

    He               kicked               it               into               high               gear               as               if               he               were               in               the               final               leg               of               a               race,               the               water               and               food               in               the               cooler               his               grand               prize.

    It               also               left               the               gaping               hole               farther               and               farther               behind.
                   His               increased               pace               did               not               last               long.

    He               stopped,               bent               double               with               hands               on               his               knees,               wheezing               and               pulling               hard               to               get               air               into               his               lungs.

    His               feet               throbbed.

    They               would               surely               be               a               bloody               mess               when               he               took               off               his               shoes.

    Mental               note,               get               better               -
                   A               snapping               branch               to               his               left               cut               off               the               thought.

    Footfalls               crunched               and               crashed               through               the               trees,               coming               towards               him               at               high               speed.

    Then               nothing.

    John               listened.

    His               ears               strained,               but               nothing,               just               silence.

    Even               the               usual               night               sounds               were               gone,               not               even               the               whisper               of               the               breeze               through               the               trees               or               the               infernal               crickets.

    His               skin               crawled               with               goose               bumps;               every               hair               tingled.

    He               shivered               and               could               feel               the               eyes               staring               out               of               the               dark               shadowy               woods               at               him.
                   He               walked               on,               the               crunching               matching               pace               with               him.

    Something,               that               creature,               maybe               even               her,               was               stalking               him               out               in               the               darkness.

    When               he               stopped,               the               noises               would               as               well.

    Whatever               was               out               there,               was               not               trying               to               conceal               its               presence.

    On               one               of               John's               longer               pauses,               it               actually               started               coming               closer,               moving               in.
                   John               ran.

    His               feet               screaming               in               fiery               protest               as               if               running               across               blistering,               summer               asphalt.

    The               noises               grew               clearer               as               the               distance               closed;               he               could               actually               hear               the               individual               foot               falls               and               thought               he               heard               panting               breaths               as               well.

    He               drew               the               revolver               as               he               sprinted.

    He               was               close               now,               only               a               hundred               yards               or               so               from               his               cabin,               just               up               around               the               next               curve               in               the               road               it               would               be               in               sight.
                   He               stopped,               turned               towards               the               noise               and               shot               in               one               fluid               motion.

    The               loud               report               of               the               gun               echoed               in               the               night,               followed               by               an               unearthly               roar.

    It               reminded               him               of               the               big               circus               cats.
                   Silence.
                   His               brain               rang               with               it.

    He               could               not               have               hit               anything,               he               had               not               aimed,               and               did               not               even               have               a               target,               but               the               silence               spoke               otherwise.
                   He               began               walking               slowly;               listening,               but               he               heard               nothing.

    The               night               sounds               had               begun               again               by               the               time               he               had               arrived               back               at               the               car.

    He               never               thought               he               would               welcome               the               incessant               droning               of               the               crickets.

    Maybe               his               luck               was               not               all               bad.
                   He               opened               the               backseat               door               and               felt               about               blindly               in               the               dark               for               the               cooler.

    It               was               not               there.

    Neither               were               the               groceries               that               had               littered               the               floor               earlier               this               afternoon.

    She               had               come               back,               or               perhaps               she               never               left.

    He               backed               out               of               the               shed               and               crossed               the               driveway               looking               out               for               her.

    He               had               a               gallon               or               two               of               water               stored               in               the               cabin               and               maybe               a               bottle               left               in               his               overnight               bag.

    If               she               had               not               gotten               to               them               as               well               that               is.
                   He               smelled               it               about               the               same               time               he               heard               the               gravel               crunch               behind               him.

    A               musty               old               smell,               enough               to               make               him               gag               and               dry               heave.

    The               smell               of               long               dead               things,               mixed               with               wet               fur.

    The               bad               smell               of               the               well.
                   He               did               not               bother               to               look,               he               ran.

    He               cleared               the               two               steps               up               to               the               door               in               one               jump,               turned               the               knob               and               smashed               open               the               door,               slamming               it               shut               behind               him.

    He               leaned               against               it,               catching               his               breath.

    The               door               buckled               inwards,               knocking               him               forward               into               the               room,               but               the               hinges               and               latch               held.

    A               second,               but               weaker               blow               hit               the               door.

    He               was               safe.
                   John               shivered,               despite               his               recent               exertions.

    He               shook,               his               teeth               chattering,               hands               shaking.

    Despite               the               body               heat,               he               felt               cold               inside,               deeply               cold,               and               empty.

    He               was               scared               of               what               was               beyond               the               door               and               lurking               outside,               but               this               was               more               than               that.
                   It               was               the               vibe,               it               was               here,               but               wrong,               it               no               longer               welcomed               him               as               it               had               the               night               before.
                   Groping               for               the               flashlight               on               the               peg,               his               fingers               closed               on               air               -               it               was               gone.
                   The               cot.

    It's               by               the               cot.
                   He               crossed               the               cabin,               skirting               the               center.

    The               dim               moonlight               shining               in               made               the               familiar               interior               mysterious               and               threatening.

    His               shin               found               the               cot               in               mid-step.

    He               winced               and               bent               to               find               the               light               on               the               floor.

    The               planks               beneath               the               cot               were               warm               and               sticky.

    He               jerked               his               hands               back               and               overbalanced.

    Arms               windmilling,               he               fell               backwards,               landing               hard               on               the               flashlight.

    Shock               ran               up               his               spine               to               his               brain               from               his               tailbone               as               he               grit               his               teeth               through               the               pain.

    The               flash               light               went               skittering               across               the               floor               to               the               center               of               the               room.

    He               crawled               towards               it               on               all               fours,               out               into               the               center               of               the               room               -               into               the               pentagram.
                   A               pulsing               energy               invaded               his               body               and               thoughts,               but               not               the               usual               quasi-orgasmic               thrill               of               the               ritual               sacrifice.

    This               was               a               feeling               of               his               powerlessness,               and               his               own               smallness.
                   A               shape               passed               outside               the               window,               blocking               the               moonlight               and               casting               a               shadow               across               the               floor.

    He               sat               erect               and               drew               the               revolver,               pointing               it               with               a               shaking               hand               at               the               glass.

    The               sweat               dried               itchy               on               his               skin.

    Something               was               walking               around               outside               the               cabin,               towards               the               back.

    He               fished               with               his               left               hand               and               grabbed               the               flashlight,               flicking               it               on.

    He               darted               the               light               about,               tracing               erratic               circles               around               the               cabin's               interior.
                   Standing               upright               beside               him               was               the               severed               head               of               a               deer.

    Its               black               baleful               eyes               stared               wildly               at               him               from               the               center               of               the               star.

    Crude               deep               gouges               marred               the               floor,               marking               where               once               had               been               the               painstakingly               painted               markings               he               had               found               in               books               and               the               names               he               had               drawn               to               make               up               the               lines.

    Now,               new               markings               and               symbols               written               in               blood               lay               at               each               of               the               five               points               of               the               star.

    His               face               flushed               at               the               defilement               of               his               work.

    The               rage               fed               on               his               covetous               desire               towards               the               power               in               these               new               markings.

    There               were               forces               within               them               that               he               had               never               been               able               to               conjure               within               his               own               works.

    He               skittered               away               smearing               a               blood               trail               and               obliterating               one               of               the               shapes.

    He               backed               from               the               star               and               towards               the               cot,               fearful               of               these               new               wards               and               their               portents.
                   The               cot               sat               in               the               center               of               a               dark               pool               of               blood.

    The               fabric               sagged               and               the               dirty               blanket               bulged               upwards.

    He               half               hoped               it               was               her--that               whatever               was               out               there,               whatever               had               gotten               the               deer               had               also               gotten               her.

    He               whipped               back               the               cover.

    The               remains               of               the               deer,               its               entrails               spilling               from               jagged               wounds               in               its               belly,               lay               there.
                   A               crash               and               the               sound               of               rending               metal               came               from               somewhere               outside,               behind               the               cabin.

    Back               where               the               generator               and               fuel               tank               were.

    He               ran               for               the               door               gun               in               hand.

    He               had               to               stop               the               thing,               kill               it.

    He               stepped               out               into               the               night               air,               turning               the               flashlight               off               to               allow               his               eyes               to               adjust               and               to               not               announce               his               presence.

    Hugging               the               side               of               the               cabin,               he               made               as               quietly               as               he               could               towards               the               rear--towards               whatever               waited.
                   The               destruction               continued               behind               the               house,               growing               louder               with               each               step               he               took.

    He               leveled               the               gun               in               the               general               direction,               ready               to               turn               the               last               corner.

    His               shaking               hand               managed               to               pull               back               the               hammer.

    Everything               was               wrong               it               was               not               supposed               to               be               this               way,               Damn               it!
                   John's               self-pity               evaporated               as               he               turned               the               corner               and               the               creature               came               into               view.

    He               got               a               good               view               of               it               this               time;               the               bear-like               beast               now               not               twenty               feet               away,               lit               by               the               moonlight.

    It               was               not               a               bear,               nor               a               wolf,               nor               any               other               creature               he               had               seen               in               person               or               in               pictures.

    It               was               not               much               larger               than               a               man               on               all               fours,               but               bristled               with               muscle               and               bulk,               making               the               creature               easily               twice               as               dense.

    What               once               had               been               the               generator               lay               on               the               ground               in               pieces               before               the               creature.
                   The               creature               ran               and               slammed               its               shoulder               into               the               fuel               tank,               ripping               it               from               its               mount.

    The               tank               tilted,               gasoline               sloshed,               it               picked               up               speed               and               crashed               to               the               ground.

    The               tank               warped               popping               the               ends.

    Fifty               some               odd               gallons               of               gasoline               spilled               out               in               a               reeking               wave               of               fluid               and               fumes.
                   He               aimed               the               gun,               he               had               a               clear               shot.

    An               image               of               a               scene               he               had               once               seen               on               one               of               those               death               video               sites,               flashed               through               his               mind.

    An               amateur               had               recorded               a               grizzly               bear               mauling.

    Witnesses               had               bounced               round               after               round               off               its               thick               skull;               all               the               while               the               bear               continued               to               maul               the               victim               unperturbed.
                   His               gun               suddenly               seemed               small               and               impotent               in               his               hand.
                   Maybe               it               would               scare               it               off               again               like               in               the               woods               rather               than               angering               it               further.

    He               fired               a               round               into               the               air.

    "Shoo,"               he               said               his               voice               cracking               and               shaky.

    He               cleared               his               throat,               threw               his               arms               wide               and               said               louder               "Shoo,               go               away!
                   The               creature               reared               up               on               its               hind               legs               and               raked               at               the               air               with               long               curved               claws.

    He               could               see               its               teeth               glistening               like               silver               daggers               in               the               moonlight.

    It               quieted,               tilted               its               massive               head               and               acted               as               if               it               were               considering               him.

    He               could               swear               it               was               smiling.

    It               raised               its               snout               towards               the               moon               and               let               out               a               bellowing               howl.
                   His               bladder               gave               loose,               soaking               his               crotch               and               trouser               leg.

    He               reflexively               pulled               the               trigger.

    The               wildly               fired               round               managed               to               strike               the               thing               dead               center;               the               beast               became               silent,               turning               its               head               slowly               towards               him.
                   Panicking,               he               fired               again.

    The               second               round               went               wide               and               splintered               a               tree               trunk.

    He               took               aim               and               squeezed               off               another               round.

    The               bullet               hit               the               towering               creature               in               the               forearm.

    The               beast               spun               wildly               from               the               impact               and               bolted               into               the               dark               woods.
                   John               ran               back               to               the               safety               of               the               cabin.

    Exhausted,               it               did               not               matter               to               him               that               he               had               wet               himself               again.

    He               had               just               faced               a               wild               animal               and               had               won.

    He               had               won.

    The               victory               put               wind               back               in               his               sails.

    He               dragged               the               cot               with               its               mutilated               deer               and               dumped               it               down               the               front               steps.

    He               returned               kicking               the               head               and               sent               it               flying               into               the               driveway.

    Grabbing               a               water               bottle,               from               his               overnight               bag,               he               drained               it               without               taking               a               breath.

    His               blood               crusted               hand               crushed               the               plastic               bottle               and               he               threw               it               into               the               corner.
                   He               had               won               over               nature.

    He               pulled               out               his               last               clean               pair               of               underwear               and               pants               and               changed.

    He               took               a               box               of               shells               from               the               "props"               chest               and               reloaded               the               revolver.

    Out               of               habit,               he               put               the               spent               shell               casings               into               his               pocket.
                   He               sat               against               the               wall               opposite               the               door               and               decided               it               was               best               to               wait               until               dawn               to               torch               the               place               and               leave.

    He               still               had               the               gas               in               the               car;               the               thing               had               not               got               that.

    He               was               giving               the               wild               animal               too               much               credit               for               actual               intelligence.

    It               probably               had               smelled               human               scent               on               the               generator               and               tank               and               went               nuts.

    Maybe               it               was               rabid               or               diseased               or               something.

    It               did               not               look               like               any               bear               or               dog               or               anything               else               for               that               matter               that               he               had               ever               seen.

    It               must               be               some               kind               of               rabid               mutant.

    It               had               to               be.

    And               some               bitch               mutant               at               that.

    He               sniggered,               only               a               female               could               cause               this               much               damage               and               destruction.
                   He               kicked               off               his               shoes,               expecting               much               worse               than               he               actually               found.

    Some               bloody               skin               and               torn               off               blisters               on               his               heels.

    A               whopper               of               a               blister               on               the               side               of               his               left               big               toe,               nothing               life               threatening,               but               walking               in               the               morning               would               be               a               bear.

    He               laughed               at               his               joke.
                   Something               about               the               deer               worried               him,               nagged               at               him.

    Had               the               bear-thing               been               attracted               by               the               dead               deer               or               its               fresh               blood?

    Or               had               it               killed               the               deer               in               the               first               place?

    If               it               had               killed               the               deer,               why               would               it               have               brought               it               into               the               cabin?

    He               knew               big               game               cats               sometimes               buried               or               covered               their               prey.

    Did               bears               do               that               too?

    What               about               the               gouges               and               new               markings               in               the               floor?

    He               was               tired               and               hungry;               his               mind               slipped               and               played               on               variations               of               the               questions.

    He               could               not               get               a               grip               on               the               questions,               much               less               the               answers.

    Drifting               off               into               sleep,               his               last               consciousness               entertained               the               ludicrous               idea               that               perhaps               she,               Margaret,               was               responsible               all               of               this               somehow.
                   WHAM.
                   He               startled               alert.

    The               whole               cabin               shook               on               its               foundation.

    He               coughed               as               decades               of               dirt               and               dust               fell               from               the               rafters.

    The               floor               tilted               and               the               flashlight               rolled               away.
                   WHAM.
                   He               scrambled               on               hands               and               knees               after               it,               forgetting               about               the               gun               beside               him.

    A               splinter               from               the               floor               pierced               his               knee               as               he               grabbed               the               light.

    He               yelled.

    Creaking               roof               beams               filled               the               silence.

    He               could               not               see               through               the               dust.

    Glass               exploded               inwards               as               window               frames               warped.

    He               tried               to               turn               on               the               flashlight.

    Dead,               useless.

    He               coughed               violently.

    He               banged               the               light,               and               then               threw               it               in               frustration.

    Damn.
                   WHAM.
                   He               stood               and               made               it               two               steps               towards               the               door.

    He               remembered               the               gun               too               late.

    The               dust               obscured               where               he               was               sitting.

    The               floor               bucked               and               twisted               like               a               carnival               funhouse               ride,               until               it               split               and               dipped               towards               the               center,               towards               the               gaping               maw               of               the               pentagram.
                   WHAM.
                   The               main               ceiling               beam               shifted,               the               entire               roof               groaned               like               a               schooner               in               heavy               seas.

    He               made               for               the               door,               but               stumbled               and               fell               as               the               floor               angled               steeply.

    He               slid               backwards               towards               the               darkness.

    His               palms               and               knees               bristled               with               splinters               from               his               attempts               to               claw               for               purchase               on               the               rough-hewn               floorboards.
                   WHAM.
                   He               regained               his               grip               and               crawled               upwards               towards               the               door.

    He               put               his               hand               to               the               knob.

    The               floor               dropped               completely               out               from               under               him.

    He               hung               from               the               knob,               feet               flailing               in               space               a               few               feet               above               the               rubble               below.

    A               cloud               of               dust               rushed               upwards               as               strength               failed               him.

    He               dropped               into               the               chaos               beneath.

    The               beam               crashed               down               into               the               center               of               the               room,               smashing               through               what               was               left               of               the               floor,               obliterating               the               pentagram.

    He               clambered               through               the               debris               and               squeezed               between               a               gap               between               the               foundation               and               steps               and               tumbled               out               into               the               driveway.

    The               roof               made               a               wrenching               sound,               folded               towards               the               center               and               then               followed               the               beams               down.

    The               walls               buckled               and               fell               inward.

    A               cloud               of               grey               dust               rose               into               the               clear               crisp               night               air.

    His               cabin               was               gone.
                   John               stood,               the               gravel               biting               into               his               bare               feet.

    He               backed               towards               the               shed,               staring               in               disbelief               at               the               ruin               of               the               cabin.

    Perhaps               he               could               find               safety               in               the               car.
                   He               had               not               covered               half               the               distance               to               the               shed,               when               he               saw               a               flash               of               the               creature               coming               at               him.

    He               heard               more               than               felt               the               impact.

    The               shock               of               the               jolt               shutout               the               pain,               but               he               heard               the               loud               snap               of               breaking               ribs.

    That               changed               as               he               hit               the               ground.
                   He               spat               his               broken               front               teeth               onto               the               gravel,               dazed.

    The               familiar               copper               flavor               of               blood               filled               his               mouth.

    Although               this               time,               it               was               his               blood               and               it               made               him               gag.

    He               rolled               onto               his               back,               panting,               his               chest               sending               out               shooting               pains               with               each               inhalation.

    Pain               washed               over               him,               enveloped               him,               and               held               him               fast.

    The               full               moon               directly               above               seemed               so               cool,               so               stable,               so               far               away.

    This               was               not               supposed               to               be               how               his               weekend               went.

    The               moonlight               turned               everything               shades               of               grey               and               silver.

    The               whole               scene               had               become               so               surreal.
                   He               was               slipping               into               shock.
                   The               feral               creature               came               at               him               again,               digging               its               snout               under               him               and               flipping               him               high               into               the               air.

    The               grinding               impact               with               the               ground               took               the               wind               from               him.

    One               arm               snagged               and               bent               under               him               at               an               unnatural               angle,               tearing               muscles               and               sinew.

    He               could               feel               the               gravel               raking               at               his               cheek.
                   The               slow               crunch               of               footsteps               approached               from               somewhere               in               his               blind               spot.

    He               tried               to               roll,               but               found               he               could               not               move.

    Agony               and               fear               paralyzed               him.
                   Hot               breath               and               sticky               drool               dripped               onto               his               cheek;               the               musty               smell               of               damp               fur               and               old               death               filled               his               lungs.

    He               began               to               sob.
                   "Please"               he               sputtered               from               his               broken               mouth.
                   The               creature               circled               his               broken               body,               snarling.

    The               growling               resonated               within               his               body;               he               shivered               to               its               vibration               and               timbre.

    The               creature               was               evil,               pure               evil.

    It               slowly               came               to               him               that               it               was               not               a               snarl,               but               a               guttural               chant.

    The               beast               was               performing               a               ritual.
                   The               creature               paused               and               sniffed               at               his               temple.

    The               physical               pain               receded               under               the               new               sharp               pull               he               felt               from               within               his               skull.

    The               beast               was               breathing               his               essence,               his               soul.

    He               could               feel               it               touching,               tasting               his               own               blackness.
                   He               laid               there,               a               sack               of               human               nothingness.

    He               welcomed               the               darkness               closing               in               on               him.

    It               would               end               his               mortal               suffering.

    He               saw               it               coming,               but               could               feel               nothing               as               the               massive               jaws               closed               about               his               neck.
                   #
                   John               woke               with               his               neck               bent               at               an               impossible               angle.

    His               body               hurt               from               head               to               toe               and               his               skin               was               on               fire.

    A               rank               odor               assaulted               his               nose               and               he               knew               immediately               where               he               was.

    He               looked               up               and               saw               a               circle               of               pale               blue               sky               high               above.

    He               was               cold,               icy               cold.

    He               wrapped               his               arms               around               himself.

    His               clothes               were               gone.

    He               told               himself               it's               just               the               way               light               reflected               down               the               well               shaft;               that               is               what               made               his               naked               skin               shine               pearlescent.

    However,               he               knew               it               was               much               more               than               that.
                   He               stood,               but               could               not               lift               his               head               properly.

    It               sat               cocked               almost               resting               on               the               shoulder.

    He               tried               to               use               his               hands               to               lift               his               head.

    His               bad               arm               was               slow               to               respond,               the               muscles               unknotted               and               twitched,               but               not               as               bad               as               he               would               have               thought.

    He               was               sure               his               neck               was               broken,               he               could               feel               the               displaced               bone,               but               the               pain               radiating               in               the               lower               part               of               his               body               was               in               conflict               with               the               observation.
                   He               tilted               his               head               to               a               normal               position               and               his               fingers               sank               deep               into               a               gash               that               ran               up               the               side               of               his               neck               and               across               his               cheek.

    His               felt               his               knees               buckle               and               the               world               began               to               spin               and               fade.

    He               held               his               hand               tightly               to               the               wound,               hoping               to               retain               what               little               blood               he               had               left.

    He               was               going               to               die.

    His               feet               shifted               beneath               him               and               he               slipped               and               tumbled               to               all               fours.

    The               lime               powder               searing               into               his               flesh,               he               screamed.

    The               disturbed               corpse's               stench               rose               through               the               layers               of               powder,               he               heaved               in               racking               dry               spasms.
                   "Help!"
                   The               light               above               dimmed               and               a               head,               her               head,               appeared,               her               brown               locks               dripping               down               towards               him.

    "Ah,               you're               awake."               Her               sensuous               husky               voice               echoed               down               the               well.
                   "Get               me               out               of               here               or-"               He               said,               his               head               canting               to               the               side               to               look               upward.
                   She               laughed,               cutting               him               off.

    "Or               what?"
                   "I.

    .

    .

    I.

    .

    ."               He               could               think               of               nothing               to               say.

    "The               thing,               the               beast,               I'll               help               you               get               away,               I'll               protect               you,               Margaret."
                   Again               she               laughed.

    Her               face               elongated               and               swelled,               even               in               silhouette,               he               could               see               the               transformation.

    A               chill               ran               down               his               spine.

    "You!"
                   "Yes,               and               now               you,"               Margaret's               head               returned               to               its               normal               shape               and               size.

    "You               desired               the               dark,               you               desired               eternal               life.

    I               give               you               both               and               so               much               more.

    You               sought               it               through               silly               rituals               and               from               books               and               methods               written               by               charlatans.

    I               have               given               you               what               you               desire.

    You               will               now               understand               the               true               depths               of               evil               and               hate"
                   "You're               crazy."               But               her               words               reverberated               within               in               him.

    "What               are               you?"               He               wasn't               sure               he               wanted               her               to               answer               that,               and               felt               relief               when               she               didn't.

    "You're               lying!"               he               tried               to               goad               her               into               answering;               the               dawning               truth               was               too               much               for               him               to               handle               alone.

    "You               bitch,"               but               he               knew               she               was               telling               the               truth,               he               smashed               his               hands               against               the               stone               and               sobbed.
                   He               could               already               feel               his               body               growing               stronger,               healing               itself               from               within.

    His               head               only               dipped               slightly               without               his               hands               supporting.

    Small               scratches               healed               themselves               as               he               watched.
                   She               was               a               shape               changer,               a               lycanthrope,               a               were-creature.

    He               had               dismissed               them               as               legend,               as               he               had               elves               and               the               other               fae               peoples.

    They               were               creatures               of               story,               myths               to               keep               children               from               wandering               too               far               from               home               after               dark.

    Satan               was               the               supreme               one.

    The               power               and               promise               of               Satan               had               driven               all               else               from               his               mind               for               years.

    But               even               then               he               had               not               totally               believed.

    He               believed               now.
                   "And               now               I               must               go,               it's               a               long               walk               back               to               the               road,"               she               said,               and               laughed               as               her               head               disappeared               from               view.

    The               light               of               the               sky               faded               as               the               well               cap               scraped               across               and               sealed               the               opening.

    All               was               dark.
                   The               faint               bite               of               a               shovel               sinking               into               dirt               and               the               soft               swishing               sound               of               soil               landing               on               the               cap               filtered               down,               echoing               softly.

    His               own               wails               soon               drowned               out               the               whispering               sounds               of               the               sealing               of               his               tomb.

    He               felt               the               walls               around               him               for               hand               holds.

    He               could               feel               his               feet               shifting               on               the               rotting               corpses               of               his               past               victims.

    In               the               blackness               he               could               almost               feel               them               reaching               up               and               pulling               him               down.

    He               was               sinking               into               their               depths.

    He               tripled               his               efforts,               clawing               desperately               at               the               walls,               nails               pulling               loose,               but               the               slick               moss               and               tightly               fit               mortared               rocks               denied               him               any               purchase.
                   He               awoke               sometime               later,               how               long               he               could               not               guess,               as               the               darkness               and               silence               had               robbed               him               of               all               sense               of               time.

    He               was               stronger,               muscles               had               mended,               gashes               had               closed,               his               neck               had               straightened               but               it               was               of               no               use,               he               could               not               climb               out.

    With               the               new               strength               came               the               hunger.

    Not               just               the               missed               a               meal               or               even               a               missed               week               of               meals               ache,               every               cell               in               his               body               demanded               to               be               fed.
                   Every               thought               was               now               of               food,               not               just               food,               meat.

    He               knew               he               must               eat               to               survive,               or               else..?

    What?

    Die?

    He               snorted.

    He               did               not               think               death               was               an               option               for               him               anymore.

    The               hunger               became               too               intense;               he               sat               and               reached               his               hands               deep               down               into               the               lime.

    The               unseen               powder               burned               the               skin.

    He               did               not               care,               hunger               drove               him               now               he               pulled               free               a               limb.

    An               arm?

    A               leg?

    It               did               not               matter               anymore,               only               the               gnawing               in               his               gut               mattered,               and               he               began               to               eat.






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