The TimberWolf Effect (Book I)

Mortem Donatoris

(2018 Halloween Short Story 2nd Place Winner)

There was no visible light in the alley that night for the stars and the crescent moon had been hidden behind a thick layer of storm clouds that threatened to release their violent waters at any moment. No movement could be seen anywhere save for one solitary man who was almost invisible in his black attire. He was a man of means and wealth but he was not a kind man. He had made a great many enemies in his quest for power and gold and it was his greatest enemy that forced him to this narrow alley. The man was almost out of breath but he fought to make as little noise as possible to avoid detection.

Then, there were slow, meaningful footsteps and a cane that clicked the stone. The man in black dared not look around the barrel he was crouching behind as the volume of the clicks made grew steadily louder. He closed his eyes, regretting the forceful actions he had taken to blackmail his hunter out of his fortune by drugging him and placing him beside another woman in his hotel bed.

When he opened his eyes, the sky let go and rain poured down from the Heavens like a wild beast. Then the clicking and the footsteps stopped. He chanced a peek and saw nothing in the alley. Then he looked up and choked violently on his breath. His hunter was kneeling on the barrel smiling wickedly down at him.

"You believed you could outrun me?" asked the hunter with an ice-cold cheerfulness. "I made my fortune-hunting and killing men like you. So tonight, you shall die." He took a pistol from his belt and aimed. "Any last words?"

"With the Devil as my witness, I will come for you," he replied, suddenly unafraid of death.

"May God have mercy on your soul," said the hunter. He pulled the trigger and the man in black fell to the ground. He was left to die alone with a hole in his heart.

"I will sell my soul to the Devil for revenge," were the last words his lips spoke.

Three nights later, the attitude of the weather was a cheery one. The nearly full moon cascaded light into the quiet streets below with the help of millions of stars. The lamplighters had finished their work and gone to bed with the rest of London. Only a few souls were still moving in the streets and they were heading home after working overtime. On Canon Row, just north of the Palace of Westminster, there was a calm clicking of a cane going slowly down the middle of the street, and the man to whom the cane belonged was not giving any attention to the sinister shadow that was following him silently. It was not until the dark figure overtook him that he noticed.

"I gave you my word I would come for you," said the shadow. He revealed himself to be the man that had been killed three nights ago.

"Be gone with you, back to the pits of Hell where your soul resides," said the man.

"You assume that I have a soul, Edward," said the man.

These words caused Edward to pull his cross from his pocket and hold it in front of him at chest height.

"Get back, you devil!" said Edward with a quaking voice. "Back!"

With his other hand, he pulled a loaded gun and for the second time in a week, took aim at the man. He pulled the trigger but nothing happened. Fear took hold of Edward like a vise. It robbed the breath from his lungs for a second. He said a silent prayer for strength and charged.

Edward was not the kind of man to attack without his gun so this action caught his opponent by surprise. He pressed the cross against the throat and prayed loudly to vanquish the demon in front of him. The skin under the cross burned black and became ash. Soon he was a smoldering pile of burned skin and bone. Edward again said a prayer and continued on his way, though still haunted by what had just occurred. He had just made it to his front doorstep when he was run through with something sharp. He turned around and saw his enemy once again.

"W-what are y-y-you?" sputtered Edward as blood pooled in his mouth.

"A demon you failed to completely destroy. I am a shadow of myself. I am Mortem Donatoris. Death giver. And you are mine."

Fear and agonizing pain were the last expressions that showed in Edward's eyes as Mortem slaughtered him on his doorstep. Blood ran down the steps like a free-flowing stream. Mortem took his cane and vanished into the darkness. Edward was left there to be discovered by his maid in the morning.

The news of Edward's death spread all over London. While no one was fond of the man, the knowledge that there was an unseen, brutal killer set the city on edge. Rumors spread of a ghost dressed in black. People were on edge for two weeks but since nothing happened at that time, the ghost was soon forgotten. At least until the morning before the new year.

It was just before the noon bell when the chaos began. There was a loud screech that sent cold chills down everyone's spine and the light crowd around West Norwood Cemetery stopped moving and fell silent. When it happened again screaming filled the air and it could be heard for blocks. Several sets of eyes caught a glimpse of a colorless man dressed in black clothes going through the wall into the cemetery.

Suddenly it took a turn for the worse. Fear gripped the crowd as the spirit of a recently dead well-known woman emerged from the ground. Those who were brave enough to watch saw something was wrong immediately. Her dress was covered in bright red blood and she was not as transparent as she should have been. She looked almost solid, but a faint blue glow was still visible. Where light blue eyes once shined bright, were instead dead, hollow sockets. Her smooth blue skin was now gray, rotting flesh. Her appearance was so terrifying; many people covered their eyes and began weeping. A ghastly whiteness spread over her face. Her face was frozen in a glassy stare and some stared at the corpse with a grim and macabre fascination.

Suddenly people backed up against the walls of buildings and those who had been in the middle of the streets were screaming in pure terror and fleeing as fast as they could. Blood was coming up from underneath the ground and flooding the entire area and rising to the depth of a foot and a half. Then the corpse attacked. The resulting slaughter left the streets running red with the blood of six thousand innocent people. The ghost who had possessed the dead woman abandoned her to feed on the souls of those laying in the streets. One survivor told the tale of the man he knew to be called Mortem Donatoris and for one hundred years, he killed freely across Europe until the fateful day he crossed paths with a well-armored and well-armed man named Renegade Frost.

"I have come for you," said Frost.

"What power do you possess, mortal, that would defeat me," hissed Mortem. "I am a shadow demon! King of the Lyndrath! I am Death Giver!"

"I am afraid that your reign is over, Your Majesty," said Frost.