High Moor 2: Moonstruck

First published in 2013 by

Horrific Tales Publishing

http://www.horrifictales.co.uk

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Copyright @ 2013 Graeme Reynolds

The moral right of Graeme Reynolds to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-0-9570103-6-9

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

About The Author

Graeme Reynolds has been called many things over the years, most of which are unprintable.

By day, he breaks computers for a living, but when the sun goes down he hunches over a laptop and thinks of new and interesting ways to offend people with delicate sensibilities.

He lives somewhere in the UK with two cats, a flock of delinquent killer chickens and a girlfriend that is beginning to suspect that there is something deeply wrong with him.

He has over thirty short story publications to his name, and is a member of the Horror Writers Association and the British Fantasy Society.

http://www.graemereynolds.com

http://www.facebook.com/HighMoorNovel

@graemereynolds

HIGH MOOR 2: MOONSTRUCK
by
Graeme Reynolds

For Oscar

18th March 1995 − 14th February 2013

Prologue

26th October 1996. Böhmerwald Forest, Germany.18.06.

Megan leaned against the window and watched the sky darken above the silhouetted outline of the forest. She let out an exaggerated sigh and stomped back into the cabin’s main living area with her arms folded, flopping down on the threadbare sofa. “It’s not fair, Marie. Why couldn’t I go with Connie, James and Isaac?”

Marie stood in the kitchen area, slicing vegetables for the evening meal. “You know why. Because your Mam and Dad said so. Now stop your moaning and get me the tinned tomatoes from the pantry.”

Megan groaned, got up from the sofa and shuffled towards the cupboard where the food was stored. “Well, can’t I at least go outside and play before dinner. I won’t go far.”

“No, and you know the reason for that as well.”

A shadow passed across the young girl’s face. “Because of the bad man?”

Marie put down the knife and turned to face her, then crouched so that their eyes were level. “Yes. Because of the bad man. It’s dangerous out there, Megan, and I promised Connie that I’d take care of you while her and your Dad are out getting food.”

The girl’s brow creased. “The bad man will never find us all the way out here, though, will he? Not this far in the woods.”

“I hope not, Megan. I really do.”

“Marie, when can we go home? I don’t like it here. My bedroom smells and I miss my friends.”

Marie turned her head so that Megan wouldn’t see the damp sparkle of tears in her eyes, but couldn’t control the waver in her voice when she spoke. “We can’t go home, sweetie. Not back to where we were. The others will find a new place for us to be safe, but until then we need to stay out of sight. Do you understand?”

Megan put on her most serious face. “I think so. Do you miss them? Michael and the others?”

She nodded and wiped the moisture from the corners of her eyes. “Yes. I miss them and I’m looking forward to seeing them all again. In the meantime, though, I’m supposed to be making dinner. Do you want to help?”

Megan shook her head and made a face. “No, those vegetables smell like sick. Do I have to eat them?”

“Yes, you have to eat them. If you’re not going to help then go and play with your dolls or something. Your Mam won’t be happy if the food’s not ready when she gets back.”

Megan considered her options for a moment, then turned and ran to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Marie couldn’t help but grin. Megan reminded her of herself at that age, and she was beginning to understand what her poor mother had to put up with.

Half an hour later, Marie poured herself a large glass of wine and collapsed on the sofa. The evening meal bubbled away on the stove and she’d cleaned the kitchen area, although Megan was supposed to have helped with that. Now she thought about it, Megan had been very quiet since she’d gone to her room. “Megan, come and help set the table for dinner,” she called to the closed door.

When no response was forthcoming she got to her feet and called again, louder this time. “Megan, I’m not going to tell you again.”

Silence.

She walked over to Megan’s room and knocked on the door. “Megan, are you alright?”

The front door burst open and slammed against the cabin wall. Connie and Isaac stumbled inside. Connie was holding her husband up. Blood gushed from a huge wound in his chest and bubbled between his lips. Isaac’s eyes were glazed black orbs and he was barely conscious. Connie glared at Marie. “What are ye standing there for you daft cow, fucking help me.”

The sound of Connie’s voice broke Marie’s trance. She rushed forward, and helped to lay Isaac across the large wooden table in the centre of the room, then closed and bolted the cabin door.

Connie ripped open Isaac’s shirt and choked back a sob. While the entry wound was small, the exit wound was the size of her fist. Blood pumped from the gaping hole in her husband’s back and his eyes rolled up in their sockets. She turned to Marie. “Get me something to stop the blood. Oh God, Isaac, don’t you fucking die on me you tosser.” Marie grabbed a clean white sheet from her bedroom and tore it into makeshift bandages which Connie used to staunch the flow of blood. Then Isaac’s entire body shuddered and he lay still.

Connie scrunched her eyes tight closed and turned away from the body of her husband. Marie put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it away. When she opened her eyes, the grief had been replaced by a cold fury. “We’ve got to get out of here. He’s found us.”

The realisation hit Marie like a hammer blow. “Where’s James?”

Connie shook her head. “I’m sorry. He’s gone. Come on, we need to get going. We don’t have much time.” She looked around the room, then up at Marie. “Where’s Megan?”

“In her room. She went in there to play while I made dinner.”

Connie strode over to her daughter’s bedroom and flung open the door, to find the room empty and the window wide open. She turned back to Marie, her lips curling into a snarl. “You were supposed to be watching her, Marie. She’s gone and that fucker is out there, hunting us. If anything’s happened to her, I’ll tear your fucking heart out.”

Marie reeled at her friend’s outburst, a wave of guilt and surprise washing over her, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say. She shook the feeling off. “Come on, she won’t have gone far. I’ll check towards the river. You head down to the track. We’ll find her, and then get the hell out of here, okay?”

“Alright, but if anything’s happened to her…”

“I know, now stop wasting time. You can yell at me when we’ve found her.”

Marie unbolted the cabin door and opened it the smallest crack. The woods were dark and silent. The clearing around the cabin shone in the moonlight, but she could see nothing beyond the first row of trees. She listened for any sound that might help them find Megan, or would betray the position of their unseen assailant, but all she could hear was the chill autumn wind whistling through the threadbare branches and, in the distance, the lone cry of a solitary owl hunting. There could be no−one there, or the hunter could have the door fixed in his crosshairs. She had no way of knowing. As she forced the fear down, Connie shoved past her and darted from the doorway, disappearing into the darkness within seconds.

Marie stepped back into the room and undressed as quickly as she could, throwing her clothes into a crumpled pile on the floor. The change swept through her almost immediately. Blinding pain seared through her as her bones splintered and reformed. Fangs burst through her gums as her jaw elongated into a razor−filled muzzle and her ears elongated. After less than thirty seconds, the woman had been replaced by sleek, muscular, brown−furred monster.

She burst from the open doorway and zigzagged her way across the clearing, until she reached the relative safety of the treeline. The sounds and smells of the forest assailed her senses and as she ran she tried to sort through the myriad sensations.

Connie’s scent was distinct, strong and vibrant with a hint of fear. She sensed a family of deer quivering in a thicket to the North, and the musky odour of a female fox slinking back to her den, hoping to avoid the attention of the predators in its midst. Megan’s scent was vague, seeming to come from everywhere. Marie knew instantly what the girl had done. She’d masked her true scent by spraying every bit of undergrowth around the cabin, making her scent harder to find among the others. The girl was playing the werewolf equivalent of hide and seek. She let out a small whine of frustration. She couldn’t have picked a worse time to torment her babysitter.

Marie darted through the woods as quickly as she dared, trying to get beyond the range of Megan’s scent markers. Once she was outside the circle, she’d be able to loop around its circumference and pick up the girl’s scent again, or at least she hoped she could.

A shot rang out to the south west and echoed around the trees, before the forest fell silent again. The faintest hint of blood hung in the air. Marie turned towards the gunshot and ran. The trees became a blur and the stench of blood steadily became overpowering, almost sending her wolf into a frenzy before she was able to calm it. She slowed her pace, moving through the forest like a ghost, a soundless mass of hair and muscle. The blood was overloading her sense of smell. Every time she tried to focus on something else, her instincts brought her right back to it.

As she drew close, she crouched in a patch of bracken and strained her senses to no avail. The stench of the fresh blood saturated her mind and her wolf snarled in the back of her psyche, eager to resume the hunt. It was no use. She’d have to get closer and hope the hunter did something to betray his location.

She reached the edge of the bracken and lay flat on her belly. Connie lay behind an ancient oak tree, clutching her left leg in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Part of her thigh muscle had been blown off and fresh blood pumped around her fingers, glistening black in the moonlight. She looked up and her eyes met Marie’s. Connie shook her head, almost imperceptibly and nodded in the direction of a thick patch of brambles a few hundred feet away. Megan lay at the edge of the clearing, just before the bramble thicket. A silver bear trap gripped her rear leg and Marie could see the white gleam of bone through her blood−soaked fur.