her with all its splendour. Alicia moved soundlessly
over the dusty ground, savouring the slight chill in the air now that the sun
had gone down, and the sounds of insects and small animals moving around in the
scrub beyond the villagers’ huts. She kicked off her shoes and felt the gritty,
sandy earth beneath her feet as she wandered aimlessly through the small
village, marvelling at how textured the night was, how full of colours despite
the unifying silver of the moonlight. How strange that all her life she had
never walked in moonlight. How strange that she had built her self-worth on
what others thought of her – others like her ex-husband who had sapped all her
love and youth out of her, then thrown her away. How strange that she had ever
cared about anything other than the night on her skin and the moon in her hair.
The moon – that was when Alicia saw it – burning in the sky above the scrub,
melting away her doubts and inhibitions, dissolving her thoughts and memories
until the old Alicia was no more.
Eyes
still turned up to the shining orb, the new Alicia pulled off her clothes and
flung them aside, intending to head for the scrub, but then a mouth-watering
scent made her turn back towards the village. Sweet and inviting, it drew her
relentlessly to a small hut, her excitement growing with every step she took.
As she neared the hut, she felt a stabbing pain as muscle and bone shifted and
transformed beneath her skin. Her skin itself seemed to burn and blister,
breaking out in thousands of new hair follicles, each one sprouting a tiny
black hair that grew with unnatural speed. As her spinal column and limbs
recreated themselves, what was once Alicia slumped into a half-crouch. The
smell emanating from the hut was irresistible now. All other sensations faded
away, and there was nothing but the smell of the sleeping child waiting for
her. A brief and final flash of memory – of the miles she had travelled to help
the starving children. Of how they’d been waiting for her, waiting for Alicia,
to come for them.
“I’m
coming for you,” she called out to the sleeping child, her voice a low howl
emanating from deep within, silencing the insects in the scrub and piercing the
delicate fabric of the moonlit night.
“What in God’s name…?” The village elder stopped midsentence as the
bone-chilling howl came again, unfamiliar to the villagers, but a sound
instinctively to be feared nonetheless.
“It
sounded just like a wolf,” one of aid workers finally broke the silence that
had settled like a shroud upon the dining tent.
“There
aren’t any wolves in Africa,” Jim’s fellow driver responded quietly.
“Well,
it sounded just like one.”
As
the villagers exchanged frightened glances and everyone wondered what to do
next, the howling came again, this time even lower in pitch and ending in a
growling, roaring sound that was wolf, but not wolf. And this time it was
accompanied by a child’s terrified screams – one, two, the third one cut short.
“Paulie!
Paulie!” One of the local women leapt from her place at the table and ran
shrieking out of the tent. Jim ran after her, followed by the village elder and
the rest of the diners.
The
sight that greeted them defied belief. Loping away from one of the huts was a
huge creature, wolf in all but the fact that it moved on two legs. In its jaws
it carried a bleeding child, gripped clumsily by the throat. The child’s mother
swooned for a moment into Jim’s arms, then shrieked and ran at the beast. The
beast lashed out with a hideous paw-hand, its long razor-sharp claws catching
the woman across the throat and flinging her to the ground, where she gurgled
for a moment, then bled out.
The
monster threw down the dead child and confronted the crowd of humans that had
spilt from the mouth of the tent. A growl-roar rose in its throat, and then it
hurled itself forward, ripping, biting, tearing. The crowd scattered, villagers
and foreigners running
over the dusty ground, savouring the slight chill in the air now that the sun
had gone down, and the sounds of insects and small animals moving around in the
scrub beyond the villagers’ huts. She kicked off her shoes and felt the gritty,
sandy earth beneath her feet as she wandered aimlessly through the small
village, marvelling at how textured the night was, how full of colours despite
the unifying silver of the moonlight. How strange that all her life she had
never walked in moonlight. How strange that she had built her self-worth on
what others thought of her – others like her ex-husband who had sapped all her
love and youth out of her, then thrown her away. How strange that she had ever
cared about anything other than the night on her skin and the moon in her hair.
The moon – that was when Alicia saw it – burning in the sky above the scrub,
melting away her doubts and inhibitions, dissolving her thoughts and memories
until the old Alicia was no more.
Eyes
still turned up to the shining orb, the new Alicia pulled off her clothes and
flung them aside, intending to head for the scrub, but then a mouth-watering
scent made her turn back towards the village. Sweet and inviting, it drew her
relentlessly to a small hut, her excitement growing with every step she took.
As she neared the hut, she felt a stabbing pain as muscle and bone shifted and
transformed beneath her skin. Her skin itself seemed to burn and blister,
breaking out in thousands of new hair follicles, each one sprouting a tiny
black hair that grew with unnatural speed. As her spinal column and limbs
recreated themselves, what was once Alicia slumped into a half-crouch. The
smell emanating from the hut was irresistible now. All other sensations faded
away, and there was nothing but the smell of the sleeping child waiting for
her. A brief and final flash of memory – of the miles she had travelled to help
the starving children. Of how they’d been waiting for her, waiting for Alicia,
to come for them.
“I’m
coming for you,” she called out to the sleeping child, her voice a low howl
emanating from deep within, silencing the insects in the scrub and piercing the
delicate fabric of the moonlit night.
“What in God’s name…?” The village elder stopped midsentence as the
bone-chilling howl came again, unfamiliar to the villagers, but a sound
instinctively to be feared nonetheless.
“It
sounded just like a wolf,” one of aid workers finally broke the silence that
had settled like a shroud upon the dining tent.
“There
aren’t any wolves in Africa,” Jim’s fellow driver responded quietly.
“Well,
it sounded just like one.”
As
the villagers exchanged frightened glances and everyone wondered what to do
next, the howling came again, this time even lower in pitch and ending in a
growling, roaring sound that was wolf, but not wolf. And this time it was
accompanied by a child’s terrified screams – one, two, the third one cut short.
“Paulie!
Paulie!” One of the local women leapt from her place at the table and ran
shrieking out of the tent. Jim ran after her, followed by the village elder and
the rest of the diners.
The
sight that greeted them defied belief. Loping away from one of the huts was a
huge creature, wolf in all but the fact that it moved on two legs. In its jaws
it carried a bleeding child, gripped clumsily by the throat. The child’s mother
swooned for a moment into Jim’s arms, then shrieked and ran at the beast. The
beast lashed out with a hideous paw-hand, its long razor-sharp claws catching
the woman across the throat and flinging her to the ground, where she gurgled
for a moment, then bled out.
The
monster threw down the dead child and confronted the crowd of humans that had
spilt from the mouth of the tent. A growl-roar rose in its throat, and then it
hurled itself forward, ripping, biting, tearing. The crowd scattered, villagers
and foreigners running
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