The Discovery

The pungent smell of iron hit Merrick’s nose in a tidal wave, hitting the back of his throat and causing him to gag. The smell itself was sharp and bitter, so strong you could taste it, but the implication was far more upsetting than the smell itself. Merrick didn’t know where he was but the strong scent of fresh blood indicated that whatever had happened to him was far from good. When he finally adjusted to the acrid odor he took in his surroundings. He couldn’t see much in the dim moonlight but he could feel the cool damp moss beneath his fingers in contrast to the warm dark liquid on his hands and chest. His head was so heavy he could topple over if there was even a light wind. 

At first he assumed it was his blood. He didn’t feel any pain but he wasn’t sure whether he wanted it to be his or not. The thought of someone else getting hurt made his heart ache and twist in a way that an injury all his own didn’t but he also didn’t know exactly where he was. For all he knew he could be miles from civilization. Before he stood he took stock of his body from his toes all the way to his head, stacking himself up like a child inspecting each block before placing it on a wobbly tower. Definitely not his blood.

He didn’t feel like himself, in the moment he was nothing more than a scared animal looking for an exit. He couldn’t see the ground two feet in front of him. Not that it mattered since he wouldn’t even know which direction to go. After a few seconds of letting his eyes helplessly dart between endless shadows he let his eyes close. He took in every sound; rustling leaves on the bushes and trees, the quiet buzz and chiddering of nocturnal animals, the trickling of a nearby stream. He paused at the sound of water. Merrick had always heard his mother say that if he ever got lost he could follow a river and he’d eventually find a town. He supposed now was as good a time as ever to actually listen to her. 

He listened closely to the stream, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Finally when he decided on a direction he took a cautious step forward. Bile rose to the surface, lapping at his tongue as a sickening snap gave way to a generous squelch. He let his eyes drop down to see the outline of a large animal nearly picked clean by who knows what. He at least knew where the blood came from now but the question of why he was drenched in it still made him want to empty out his intestines onto the forest floor. He felt his face scrunch at the revolting thought that appeared. At least the blood is keeping me warm. It felt so wrong, how could he think such a horrible thing. However the cold wind reminded him just how right he was. 

He finally reached the stream and began to walk in the direction the water flowed. He watched the water move the moonlight back, forth and all around. He sighed as he glanced between the thick blood that had started to crack on his skin and the certainly ice cold river water. His jacket was dry and warm, but at the same time torn and stained reddish brown. His whole body itched with dread. Each decision felt so wrong and yet necessary.  

After about an hour of walking barefoot and bloodied in a forest alongside a river his eyes glazed over and the ache in his heels dulled. Fortunately as soon as he had nearly given up he noticed another sound had joined the melody of the woods. Whooshing sounds grew louder and then faded repeatedly in the distance. Soon his feet were slapping against the riverside as he sprinted towards the road. When he reached it he nearly doubled over in laughter. 

This whole time he’d been an hour away from his house. Sat across the road was his house bathed in the light of dawn. He ran to his house and found the door wide open, the old wood creaking as it swayed in the gentle breeze. It was hardly the weirdest or most concerning sight he’d seen that night, so his indifferent sigh as he walked through the open door wasn’t much of a surprise.

By far the worst sight was when he finally took in the state of himself. He barely recognised himself, in fact he was downright mortified at his reflection. His clothes were torn to the point where it was closer to loosely draped bits of cloth then actual clothes, not to mention that what was left of them had dried blood and mud clinging to the fabric. His eye was dragged down his face by a dark ring around his eye highlighting the flaky red stains covering his mouth and neck. Despite having far more questions than answers he simply threw the clothes into a trash bag and let a hot shower wash away all the red and the ache in his body. 

He changed into a bare minimum of clothing and fell willingly into unconsciousness.

When he woke up again he nearly convinced himself it was all a bad dream, but that false hope was squandered by the reek of old blood coming from the trash bag left in the kitchen. Reflexively he found the nearest sink and emptied his stomach into it. He brushed his teeth again and got dressed. 

Not much later he found himself in the public library scouring books for some kind of answer but every detail including the incident last summer that resulted in the loss of his right eye and oldest sibling made him want to throw up for the 3rd time in the last 24 hours. 

Lycanthropy, a curse in which the afflicted transform into a wolf-like creature on the full moon. Merrick didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to laugh at anyone who would dare suggest it, but something deep within him knew it was true.