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Dead Friends Wear Black Fur
Author: Brian Grisham
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Dead Friends Wear Black Fur
The flesh cracked and tore away from Begual’s face, leaving a mask of bone and blood. He cried for Burt to run away as far as he could, but he wouldn’t listen. Survival was the most important thing, for both of them, but Begual knew his friend wouldn’t live through the treacherous night. Not even a miracle would save him this time. As Begual dropped to the basement floor in intense pain he thought about his friend’s horrible fate. He was a doctor damn it; a thirty eight year old man with a wife and kids- how could he let this happen? If only he had followed Sharon’s advice and left the city, then Burt would still have a chance and the rest of his friends would still be alive.
"Run, damn it!" Begual growled. "Get out of here!"
"What’s happening to you, man?" Burt asked in a low voice.
"Your bl! oo! d... it’s your blood!" Begual roared.
Concerned, Burt held Begual in his arms, trying to keep him up. Begual grabbed onto him as his thick black snout grew its way out from his face. Burt immediately let go in fear, dropping him to the floor, and flattened himself back against the wall. The moonlight cut down his rough face like a theatrical mask. He called out for Begual but the only reply he received was a deep, ill-tempered growl. Cautiously Burt stepped away from the wall, mouth agape, and watched the hideous mutation take place.
"What in God’s name is happening to you?" Burt said under his breath.
All of a sudden blood gushed from Begual’s head and poured down his body, and his long, sharp teeth protruded from his jaw, tearing off his lips like jerky. His once green eyes glowed yellow in the darkness and danced around the room as if t! he! y were no longer connected to his head but controlled with strings by some demented puppeteer from above. Begual didn’t want to kill his friend. He had killed too many of them already, asking them for shelter and help, but the night would always come and the anger would escape his hold like an explosion from a nuclear bomb. Begual’s voice roared painfully throughout the damp basement. It was inhuman and yet Begual was still inside there... somewhere.
Begual looked down at his hands and watched helplessly as thick, black fur grew from out of his eroded skin. It felt like millions of needles retracting out from his body. His clothes tore open like packaged meat, and he felt his ears slowly creep to the top of his head and grow pointed like that of an animal. He heard Burt’s heart beat, and his rapid breathing. He smelled Burt’s sent as well; it was a meaty, salty smell of blood mixed with sweat. Begual wanted to stop but the demon ! bl! ood inside of him was driving him wild, and he could smell that same blood inside Burt. Ah, Burt. Good ole’ Burt. Thick drool ran from Begual’s mouth. Stay Burt... be a sport and stay.
Burt cried out for Begual in anguish. Then he cried out for his life when he saw the monstrous thing emerge from the shadows. Burt held his face in terror and dropped to his knees, and his body froze in all out horror. "Begual?" He uttered. "As- as your doctor and as your friend I think it’s best that I should leave."
The black, bloodthirsty wolf exploded with rage, arched its back, and peered hungrily upon him with its glowing, yellow eyes. There was no soul behind it... no sign at all that it was human. It prowled in the shadows, silent and watchful. The wolf growled more intensely than before as if to tell him to stand perfectly still, but Burt quickly shot up and raced for the stairway. Just as he r! ea! ched the third step the wolf swiftly jumped onto Burt, biting into his head with its massive jaws and finally tasting the fleshy meat it craved so long for, then dragged him off into the darkness below. Burt’s screams showered into the night and his blood sprayed out onto the basement floor. The wolf howled with frenzied lust.
The next morning Begual found himself in Sharon’s bed. He tried to get up but his muscles writhed with pain, and he collapsed back onto the bed. He moaned under his breath, held his face in his hands then ran his fingers through his thick, black hair. He eyed the room with dreary, blood-shot eyes, figuring out how he had gotten here. He couldn’t remember anything after he had stumbled down into the basement of Burt’s house... and Burt of course, but where was he? Then a sense of dread washed over him. Burt was with him during the transformation.
"Dear God," he w! hi! spered to himself.
Again Begual tried to sit up but it was just too painful. He gave up and decided to remain where he was at the mercy of his own body. He sighed heavily and watched the afternoon sun between the cracks of the blinds. There was no other furniture in the room aside for the bed, nor was there a clock. The walls were naked and the room was silent. There was nothing left for him to do but to patiently wait for Sharon, that’s if he hadn’t killed her too. He couldn’t remember. The demon in his blood was merciless and somehow he knew he had killed her. His body trembled violently and he wanted to scream. Then he saw Sharon peek into the room from behind the door. Her face was young and smooth and her black hair was tied into a ponytail.
"Well, I see that you’re awake," she said softly.
Relieved, Begual laughed silently to himself! a! nd said, "Well, where did you find me this time? In a park, or in a kennel?"
Sharon gazed at him seriously and replied, "I found you outside my door covered in blood."
Begual looked down at the blanket he was under, thinking of something to say but his mind was blank. At last he peered back at her and uttered, "I think I should go."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I think that would be best."
Sharon looked toward the window then back at Begual and said, "If you go you’ll be alone. There will be no one to help you with this-"
"Curse?" Begual interrupted.
Sharon remained silent.
"Look, too many people have died already. They were my f! ri! ends, and so are you. I don’t want to kill you too."
"But you won’t," she uttered.
"Yes... I will."
Sharon looked back at him for a moment longer then left the room. Begual attempted to get out of bed again then realized he had no clothes on and quickly laid back down. He thought about Sharon. She was his closest friend and seemed to understand him more than anyone else, especially now, but, why was she helping him so much? He had to leave the house or she would die just as Burt had; a gruesome, blood frenzied death. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to remember anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he knew who he was or even how all of this started. He was possessed by a demon, but who or what was it?
Sharon peeked back into the room and said, "By the way, a new change of clothes are waiting for yo! u ! in the front room. You just have to come here and get them." She smiled playfully.
Begual smirked then watched the door shut. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. He didn’t dream of anything strange and fantastic. He didn’t break out into a sweat, and he didn’t mumble incoherent nonsense. He felt at peace for the first time in weeks ever since the incident with the lunatic in his wing at the psychiatric ward. The bastard had bit him in the arm and the wound festered there for days before he had decided to get it checked. That was when he asked his friends for help. He was experiencing memory loss and extreme pain throughout his body. It wasn’t until lately that he found out what he really became. A werewolf. A creature of the night. A demon that posses a never-ending thirst for human blood.
The room was dark when he awoke. He slowly sat up in bed and then stood up. All of the warning b! el! ls that his muscles were sending off earlier had gone. There was a minor discomfort but he easily ignored it. Begual crept out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the living room. Sharon was asleep on the couch, clearly waiting for him. On a table beside her was a folded stack of new clothes. Begual picked up his underwear and eyed them. Oh, how he hated briefs. He put them on then threw on his pants, shirt and socks and tore off the tags as he did so. Finally he slipped on his shoes, which were a little too tight, and gazed down at Sharon. He bent down, kissed her forehead and whispered, "I’m sorry, but you’re my only friend left and I’m not going to kill you too."
Begual slowly stood back up and silently slipped away into the night. He ran down the street as fast as he could, racing against the midnight clock. He felt transformed somehow, as if the night belonged to him and he was enveloped within the darkness. Behind the nei! gh! borhood were a few hundred acres of almond trees. They were just at the edge of the city, and he figured he could hide out there for the rest of the night and in the morning travel further into the woods where he would be lost from society forever.
As he reached the orchard, Begual dropped to his knees with exhaustion. The dry, yellow grass surrounded him. He ran his hands against the edge of the street then to the field dirt. He picked some of the dirt up in his hands and laughed uncontrollably. The transformation started to begin. He could smell the mixed blood of the populace as if they were sweet, scented flowers blooming in a lustrous valley. Begual’s mouth began to water. He had to regain control... had to. He turned back toward the dark orchard, stood up on his feet and scrambled inside. Begual ran for another twenty minutes through hills, ravines, fallen trees and uprooted roots that seemed to come out at him like giant, ! fr! ozen snakes. He smelled the rodents and birds and the various animals roaming the orchard. He could taste them with his tongue and hear them as if they were whispering secret, blood-crazed desires in his ears.
"No!" he screamed out into the freezing night air. "No, God help me!"
Suddenly he caught a new scent. An evil scent. It surrounded him from everywhere. He glared through the darkness, waiting for the new presence to show itself. It felt strong and ferocious. The dense trees obscured the night, and he was suddenly helpless, for, the first time in weeks he felt like he was the prey. He caught more scents... there were others here, watching him, tasting his fear.
"Who’s out there?" Begual cried out.
There was movement behind him. Begual spun around, watching, waiting. Suddenly a figure rose ! up! from the darkness, and for just a second he could have sworn it was a wolf. The man came into Begual’s vision range and stood there in silence. Begual recognized him almost immediately. It was Burt. Begual froze. Plumes of white air exited from their mouths as both of them stood there, motionless.
Finally Begual asked, "Burt? Is that really you?"
Burt stepped closer and smiled grimly. "Yes, my friend. It’s me." Then blood slowly poured down his body in a red shroud.
Begual jumped back and smelled the air again. It smelled like death and decay. He wanted to run but he new he was surrounded by something evil. It was as if he was being hunted by the very spirit that inhabited him. Could that be possible?
"Anything is possible my hairy friend," Burt said and continued, "The evil is all around you.! I! t’s watching you. It wants you... and it wants us all."
"What are you?" Begual whispered.
Burt laughed silently under his breath and said, "I am what you made me into."
"I killed you. I killed you in your basement."
"And you killed us too," interrupted a third voice.
Begual turned around and saw two more men standing in the darkness dripping in blood. He immediately knew who they were; his unlucky friends who he had sought for help, Henrick and Jamar. They confronted him; their bodies ripped and decayed and blood soaked. Their scalps were pulled back, revealing their blood caked skulls.
"You killed us," Henrick continued as he lurked closer.
"It wasn’t my fau! lt! ... I told you to get out."
Burt shouted, "You should have told me what you were from the beginning. Instead you brought me to my basement and bit into my head like I was dinner."
"I- I"
"No more excuses. We are what you are," Burt exclaimed.
"No!" cried Begual.
"Oh, yes," Sharon whispered behind him.
Begual turned and gazed at her. Her body was fresh with blood and her bones jutted out from her chest, face and arms. Blood was matted in her hair and it flowed down her neck and the side of her face. One eye was missing and the other was buried in a swollen nest of rotting flesh. She smiled wildly, her teeth broken and red with bloody saliva. Begual felt his body grow weak with disgust, not for her but for! ! himself for committing such an act. His friend... the only person who he could truly count on was murdered by his own hands.
Sharon shouted, "We are the demons of the night. The lost children of the dead, and we were your friends, who trusted you. You killed me that night when you came to my home. You made your way inside and slaughtered me, and turned me into... this. We were your friends."
Sharon then opened her mouth, revealing her long, sharp teeth and lunged for Begual. Begual flinched back and fell to his knees as the dark powers of the wolf began to mutate inside him. The others laughed wickedly and swiftly transformed themselves into wolves. Their coats were black and blended into the night with perfection. Only their gleaming eyes revealed their location. Begual screamed in torment as his skin once again tore open and his blood devoured his flesh. He was screaming for life an! d ! he was crying for death.
The others circled him, watching. Begual felt legs tear from out of his body and a second skull rip out from his own skull. He was changing, but something was wrong. It was as if he was no longer a part of that spirit that controlled him, but instead he was another victim for the crazed demon that was inside them. He screamed as loud as he could, praying that someone, somewhere would hear him.
"There’s no one here to help you," said Sharon in the form of a wolf in black fur. "You have no friends here to help you."
Begual felt the wolf within him, but it was no longer inside of him. Instead it was a part of his body, killing him like a tumor. His mutated human body was sticking out of the wolf’s back like a Siamese twin connected to the spine. They were merged together like a freak-horror show. His legs and arms dan! gl! ed from the wolf’s body. The creature was twisted and hideous. Both entities cried in horror and shame as it twitched and jerked in the cold dirt. The wolf’s tongue lolled to the side and its eyes bulged from its sockets.
The mutated animal fell on the ground, trying to move- trying to run, but the others crept closer and closer until they pounced on him like a pack of crazed animals that urged for blood. They bit into Begual’s face and skull, and into his legs, tearing them off. They ripped off his arms too and tore off his genitals. A tidal wave of blood poured over the night, over everything. Blood and bone and flesh covered the ground, the grass and the roots. The black wolf was dead and so was Begual. At last the demon inside was released into the night- into the darkness and finally at peace. The four black wolves howled into the moonlight and ran off into the city where blood and flesh awaited.
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