Monster in My Bed

Chapter One | Pack Murderer

© All Rights Reserved 2016

My mother once looked my bloodied body up and down and asked me who I'd managed to murder that day. My father then butted in and congratulated me for it. That's the type of environment I grew up in.

I never really had much of a problem with crossing lines. I did it quite often. Why stand behind or even on the line and torment yourself with not knowing what lies ahead of that line when you could just see for yourself? All that it takes is just that one little step over that invisible, little boundary that most people limit themselves to. Nine times out of ten, what lies on the other side isn't even that bad. Honestly, most times its about ten times less exciting than what I'd even imagined it to be. I continue doing it, though.

Why? I don't know.

Maybe it's the feeling that I managed to accomplish something? Maybe it's the feeling that I still didn't accomplish what I had wanted to? Maybe it's just because I'm an idiot? I don't really know, and I don't really want to. I've managed to keep myself alive this long by crossing the line. I'm not just going to stop. You can't finish the race if you don't cross that finish line.

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G,"

A gust of cool air blew down the cemented hallway dispersing itself into my cell signlaing it was now six in the evening. This was the time when guards do a shift change. Those who guarded the cells all afternoon are now free to go home with their families. Normally, a person's skin would react to such a breeze sweeping past them with goosebumps or even a shiver, but I would be highly intrigued if my body reacted in such a way. The eerily cold feeling didn't really affect me much anymore. I was about ninety-nine point five percent used to it. Don't get me wrong. Some days I really wouldn't mind hollering for a blanket, but I don't. I know I'll never recieve one unless it's on my death bed—if I'm lucky.

"H, I, J, K, L,"

Groans echoed off of the cell walls from men who were no doubt very weak and very malnourished—not mention annoyed by my choice of entertainment. As far as I knew of, that's all that there were down here besides myself. Female rogues are a difficult find. Most female werewolves are seen as almost a treasure to a pack. Male wolves feel as though it is necessary to protect she-wolves whether it's necessary or not. It's a dominance thing. I know there was a girl in Cell 2B just down the hall, but I hadn't heard anything from her in about four days. There's a good probability that she's dead.

It's rogue wolves like her that make us look bad. I don't mean just male rogues, but us very few female rogues who manage to stay alive just fine as well. We really aren't that easy to kill.

"M, N, O, P,"

The thudding of heavy boots was very clear. They pounded their way across the cold, grey concrete at the other end of the hall from my cell. A feminine cry sounded throughout the area as a cellar door was loudly yanked open. It was a gut-wrenching cry that would have had most standing rigid with their insides in knots. It didn't have much affect on me, though. In all honesty, it did nothing to me. The cry continued.

Okay, maybe she wasn't dead. Oh, well.

"Q, R, S,"

My singing continued over top of her high-pitched pleading. Shouts of pain and the obvious sounds of fists and boots making contact with her most-likely dying body clashed obnoxiously with the melody of my song. Insults from guards bounced around the cemented area making it almost impossible for me to hear myself. The girl from 2B continued to cry and plead for them to stop. This soon came to an abrupt halt as the sound of choking and sputtering replaced her protests.