The TimberWolf Effect (Book I)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Monster From The Grave

Fifteen hundred miles away, a dark, cloaked figure was striding steadily through the low brush. He was concealed by the cover of an overcast, moonless night as he moved soundlessly. His steps barely left an imprint in the shallow snow. He was a man of small stature but at first glance, it was made clear that he was not a man to cross. There was a prominent scar on the side of his face that went from his left eye to the side of his mouth.

He walked less than a quarter-mile when he came across a small area of tampered earth in a hollow. He stopped and looked at the mound for a moment as though he were making up his mind about something. He knelt, removed a black velvet glove from his right hand, and lightly touched the ground with his bare fingers. The snow warmed quickly and began to evaporate as the surrounding air grew hotter and hotter until it was warm enough for the scarred man to remove his cloak. Then the dirt shifted as something beneath it stirred.

A figure pushed itself up from its shallow grave. A partially decomposed man emerged and came into view. He looked at his grey, rotting hands then reached up and touched his face with trembling fingers. His right eye was missing as were his lips and the rest of his skin felt as though it would slide off with a light tug. After examining his surroundings, the corpse's eye found the man who resurrected him.

"Who are you?" asked the corpse hoarsely, surprised that his voice worked.

"Your soul's keeper," said the dark man. "I am Mortem Donatoris."

"Oh yes, I remember now," said the man. He got to his feet with surprising ease. "I seem to recall making a deal with you."

"Your soul for the death of Timber Brogan," said Mortem calmly.

"Do not speak that name to me," hissed the man.

"I might ask what threat a mere child poses?" inquired Mortem.

"She is an abomination," said the man. "A horrid freak of nature and she must be abolished."

"You very clearly feel strongly about this," said Mortem, looking up from the gold lion head on his cane. "Aside from your soul, what else is in it for me?"

"The soul of a shapeshifter," said the man. "I don't care how she dies or what you do with her soul. Just eliminate her from existence."

"Hmm." Mortem stroked his short, pointed beard. "A shapeshifter. How remarkable. I do not yet have one of those in my collection. It would look exquisite beside Count Dracula. Very well. I will offer my assistance. You realize, of course, that others will have to lose their lives to accomplish this objective?"

"I don't care."

"As you wish. Before we commence, I would like to restore your previous appearance. You are agonizingly repugnant."

Mortem pointed his cane at the corpse and healthy-looking flesh began to cover the exposed bones and took the place of the rotten skin. Both sockets now had functioning brown eyes and dark brown hair grew in and covered his head.

"Thank you. I do have one problem with my goal I should mention," said the man. "The shapeshifter will be under the protection of Lord Renegade Frost."

"I have evaded him before," said Mortem. "He does not know I am free. Not that he would remember what I look like. It has been a few hundred years. Covering our tracks will not be a difficult task. With some good fortune, we will be able to eliminate him as well. He is an atrocious man. He exemplifies all that is good in the world. He is an error to be corrected."

"I agree. Let's formulate a plan, shall we? We have no time to waste."

The two men walked in absolute silence for a few hundred yards until a rundown home came into view. They walked through the unlocked door and into the front room and sat down on the dusty furniture. It was a small room with a wooden bookshelf full of old books, a handful of children's movies, and several handmade objects. On top was a small television set and an old VCR. There were dusty photos of a family of three on the walls and faded blue floral wallpaper. The slightly rusted kitchen faucet was dripping steadily and the small round dining table still had the place settings out, though the flowers in the middle were dead and the water was brown. There were small toys on the floor in front of the couch. They were covered in such a thick layer of dust and dirt their original color was unknown.

"So my dear man, what did you have in mind as far as a way to exterminate the shapeshifter?" asked Mortem.

"Mikawa Spirits," said the man decisively. "That should not be too hard for you, right?"

"I'm insulted," said Mortem. "Creating Mikawa Spirits is child's play, pardon the expression. Do you know the whereabouts of your target?"

"The little freak should be in a town called Fort Bragg in California with her aunt and uncle," said the dark-haired man. "They're the only family she would have."

"They could all die too," said Mortem, and the thought seemed to please him as he smiled. "Mikawa Spirits do not discriminate against their targets. In order for this to work, the woman would have to be with child. Mikawa cannot be persuaded to attack otherwise."

"We may have to wait," said the man. "We will keep an eye on them. The moment we get word, we will make our move. The shapeshifter can fight but she has not finished her training. She is not strong enough yet to defend herself for very long against Mikawa."

"It will be an unpleasant death, to say the least," said Mortem with a twisted smile. "I approve. Tomorrow, we will get started. Tonight, I have business I must attend to before the sun rises. Farewell."

Mortem rose to his feet and wrapped his cloak around himself and left the small house with an evil glint in his eyes as he thought about the souls he would be adding to his large collection.