(A tiny teaser from
Bloodborn, sequel to
Other.)
The werewolves howl at night, taunting me in a triumphant chorus. Dad doesn't hear them--he's passed out drunk on the couch after a day talking to the hospital and the funeral home. I'm not going to any funeral, period.
I go downstairs like a walking statue, unfeeling, unthinking. In the garage, the musty, mousy smell twinges my hypersensitive nose. I can hear a rodent scratching in the wall, even the high squeaks it makes to its mate. I grab my coat, two boxes of rounds, and Dads favorite shotgun. I'm more than a match for the werewolves.
Originally published at
KarenKincy.com.