Sanctuary Secrets - Part Two - Chapter Fourteen -
Somewhere in the shadows, an unspeakable evil stirred, its appetite for fear and flesh unquenched. As dawn approached, the hunt was just beginning—and the darkness was hungry.
Sanctuary Secrets
Part Two
Chapter Fourteen
27th August, 2024
© Cederwyn Whitefurr
All Rights Reserved.
Patreon reward story for Vincent Van Horne
The night was thick with dread, the air heavy and suffocating as if the world itself had paused, recoiling from the horror that had unfolded. The old man's house, once a sanctuary nestled at the edge of the bushland, was now a place of unspeakable terror.
Approaching sirens shattered the eerie silence, their wails growing louder, more insistent. Blue and red lights from the emergency vehicles cut through the darkness, casting a macabre glow over the forest's edges. When the first responders arrived, their faces, hardened by years of confronting terrible scenes and tragedies, paled as they took in the scene.
Once, the front door, whilst weathered and old, had now been blasted to splinters, hanging askew from a single badly bent hinge. As the first EMT climbed the steps, his flashlight shone on something on the stairs that caught his gaze. His face went ashen at the sight of a blood trail leading from inside the house.
“What in the hells --" his partner gasped, flicking on his powerful torch and squinting at the footprints in the blood. “Are those... kangaroo footprints?"
“We're not here to ask questions, we're – oh my god – “ the second EMT choked out, glancing through the shattered door. He twisted away, his stomach lurched within him as he stumbled backwards, then spun about and violently vomited over the railing.
His companion, equally queasy, snatched up his radio after a single look inside the living room of the house, screaming almost incoherently for police backup. “We need... we need the police here, now!"
Barely holding his own bile back, he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, gagging and shuddering.
Gods, what could have done this... He wondered, sickened to his very soul.
*
Once a place of quiet solace, the living room was now a scene of utter devastation. Furniture lay overturned, the couch slashed to ribbons like it'd been fed through a shredder. The walls, once adorned with photographs and keepsakes, were now splattered with dark, viscous streaks—blood and gore in haphazard patterns.
It was like something out of a horror movie. Even the seasoned police officers who arrived minutes later were visibly distraught and shaken.
“What in God's name could have done this?" one officer murmured, his voice barely audible as he tried to make sense of the bewildering carnage.
His senior, a sergeant of many years of experience, crouched down on the carpet and examined what remained of the body. Yet even he could not suppress the wave of revulsion that washed over him.
On the floor lay the old man – or what was left of him. His body had been brutally savaged as if by some beast, chunks of flesh and organs missing. His eyes, wide open, stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, their warmth and spark forever extinguished. Deep, ragged wounds marred his flesh, evidence of the brutal, sustained, and sadistic assault. It wasn't just the physical damage that chilled the officer to their very souls – it was the palpable sense of malevolence that lingered in the air, as if the creature that had done this lurked unseen, watching and waiting...
*
Nearby, alerted by the sirens and the strobes, Dr. Owen and Rachel paused, exchanging tense glances as they moved cautiously through the forest. Carefully and stealthily, they moved to the forests edge – remaining far enough back so they would remain unseen and unheard.
Rachel placed a hand on Dr. Owen's forearm, her eyes scanning the forest with her human-like senses. She could sense the dark Therian's presence, it was tangible, almost visible. It felt like a living, breathing darkness that clung to the homestead and the surroundings. Every rustle of leaves and shift of shadows put her on edge, her own Therian's instincts screaming that something was profoundly wrong.
As Dr. Owen turned to speak, Rachel pressed a finger to her lips, frowning deeply. She longed to shift forms, to heighten her senses further and confirm what she already knew in her heart. This wasn't just a feeling – it was a premonition, an unmistakable certainty that the dark Therian had been here, had killed not out of necessity, but for the sheer pleasure of inflicting pain and suffering on an innocent. It was an insatiable craving, a drug that would never quench its hunger...
*
Having spent a cold and miserable night in the forest, Rachel and Dr. Owen huddled together in the thicket, drawing warmth from each other. Rachel had shifted forms during the night and now lay intertwined with Dr. Owen, her warm, furred body pressed against him in an awkward embrace. Her slender legs straddled his hips, and her forearms crossed over his shoulders.
“You know – “Dr. Owen's warm breath ruffled the delicate inner hairs of Rachel's long ear.
With an animal-like snort, Rachel tilted her head back, her wide, expressive eyes locking onto his as her ears swivelled.
“You really want to continue that line of thought?" Rachel's voice was quiet, tinged with mild amusement.
Dr. Owen sighed and shook his head. “I was going to say your body warmth is appreciated. I never meant to imply anything untoward. You're a very attractive young doe, yet..."
Rachel continued to stare at him, her right eyebrow lifting slightly as a weak smile touched the corner of her lips.
“Dr. Owen," Rachel whispered, her demeanour switching from playful to more serious. “We can discuss that later. Now – we have to get serious. That rogue is, presumably, still loose somewhere."
Dr. Owen chuckled nervously, then carefully extricated himself from Rachel's warm embrace, watching as she easily drew her long legs up and then pushed herself upright – just like a normal kangaroo would rise from a reclining position. With a deep shiver, Rachel stretched and shook loam and leaves off her fur, then paused, scenting the air, her tubular ears twitching.
“We're safe – for the moment," Rachel murmured, twisting her head like a radar dish, her ears swivelling. “Let's be quick, I don't want to stay like this..."
“Agreed, with the locals out and about, not to mention the..." Dr. Owen swallowed and placed a hand on Rachel's furred shoulder. Whether as emotional support for her – or himself, he wasn't sure.
*
As they approached the old man's house, Rachel's discomfort grew. The pre-dawn air was thick with a chilling silence, broken intermittently with the distant rifle cracks that only heightened her fear.
When they reached the property, Rachel's acute senses were overwhelmed by the stench of blood. Gasping, she crouched, panting heavily as she fought her Therian instincts. The sharp, metallic smell mingled with a palpable sense of dread that seemed to seep from the walls of the house.
Dr. Owen gave Rachel space, his own trepidation rising as he carefully nudged open the front door. The scene inside was a nightmare: overturned furniture, a couch shredded as if by a beast, and dark stains of drying blood congealed on the carpet.
Rachel entered, her dark brown eyes scanning the room. Her Therian senses picked up the lingering residue of terror and suffering that clung to the bloodied, scarred walls. It was a palpable sense of malevolence that made her blood run cold and fur prickle. The blood had seeped into the old wallpaper and carpet, creating a scene of a drawn-out, sadistic attack.
On the floor lay the crude outline of the old man's final moments. Rachel's nose wrinkled at the stench, her eyes watering as she searched for any clue – an elusive scent, a single hair. The echo of the dark Therian's malevolence tainted the very fabric of the home.
Dr. Owen observed Rachel's growing distress, understanding how helpless he was compared to her. He saw the small signs – the claw marks on the floor, bloodied paw prints on the patio glass, the violent struggle evident in the carnage and blood splatter.
As tears began to slip down her furred cheeks, Rachel bounded out of the house, her heavy tail thumping on the timber. Dr. Owen paused, silently praying for the old man's spirit before leaving the house, determined more than ever, to find and eliminate the dark Therian.
*
Dr. Owen and Rachel moved cautiously back into the woodlands, Rachel crawling on all fours whilst Dr. Owen walked beside her. The pre-dawn light struggled to pierce the thickening canopy, casting long, sinister shadows on the forest floor. Yet the chilling silence was intermittently broken by the sound of rifle shots, each one making Rachel tremble and cower.
Rachel shuddered, her senses heightened and eyes filled with unshed tears, meticulously scanning for danger with her nose, ears and eyes. The blood scent mingled with the earthy aroma of damp leaves, guiding her as she followed the faint traces left by the dark Therian's passage. Her own Therian instincts were on edge, every rustle and snap of the underbrush heightening her tension.
Dr. Owen, though less attuned to the subtle clues of the forest, closely monitored Rachael's body language. Her withdrawn and cautious nature was evident, and he grappled with how to help her overcome the trauma of what they'd found in that house.
Their shared task before them seemed insurmountable, a heavy burden that weighed on them both. Dr. Owen's thoughts were consumed by the brutality of the scene they had left behind and the grim necessity of tracking down the dark Therian before it could strike again.
As they approached the edges of a clearing, Rachel froze, her body tensing and ears flattening. Dr. Owen, alerted by her instinctive fearful response, remained in deep cover until Rachel sniffled and swallowed, then crept into the clearing. She crouched down beside the body of a kangaroo, gazing sorrowfully down at its limp form.
“It is --" Dr. Owen's voice faltered as he saw her body posture become grief-stricken.
Rachel awkwardly gripped the body by the shoulders and rolled it over onto its back. The still-warm corpse oozed blood from the numerous bullet wounds. Her voice trembled with anger and grief.
“You fucking bastards - “ Rachel's voice cried out. “You sadistic, cruel bastards – she was innocent and you --"
Dr. Owen moved to her side, his own grief evident as he knelt down beside her. He gently opened the dead doe's pouch, inspecting it with care and gentleness. Relief washed over him as he spoke. “She wasn't carrying a joey, nor is there any sign of one at foot... But you're right, Rachel, I grieve with you. This was nothing but a senseless slaughter of an innocent kangaroo!"
Rachel's ears suddenly rotated, her head snapping up as she sensed something beyond the clearing. Her body tensed, her instincts screaming that danger was near. In her grief and frustration, she had been so absorbed that she had completely missed the approach of something...
*
In the last vestiges of night, the forest was a realm of shadows and whispers. The air was cold and still, with only the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant echo of gunfire to punctuate the silence. The dark Therian moved through the underbrush with a predator grace, its senses honed to detect the slightest disturbance.
It remained unaware of those in turn, that were hunting it.
Its ultimate purpose was without purpose, to hunt and kill and try to satiate its blood lust and hunger, but instinctively, it knew it'd never find its fill. Whatever malevolent entity possessed the mortal form would never find solace or satisfaction.
It existed only to terrorise, to feast upon the blood and flesh of its victims, to revel in their final, anguished moments and savour the intoxicating scent of their adrenaline-filled blood and flesh.
Its mind was a storm of fragmented thoughts and urges. It was aware of the imminent approach of dawn, but this did not deter it. Instead, the approaching light brought a sense of dark, twisted pleasure – as it'd awaken both human and animal – more prey for its insatiable and irresistible hunger...
It paused near a lightning blasted remnant of a tree, gazing down at its paws that were still stained with the blood of its previous victim. As it licked its wrists and paws, a small part of it's awareness was drawn to the far distant sounds of vehicles and the even fainter scent of humans.
Some part of it seemed to sense the fear and turmoil it'd left in its wake, and it relished the feelings that filled its cold, black heart.
It'd smelt blood and flesh a while back – the scent almost impossible to resist, but a stronger scent filled it with a healthy caution – the strong scent of gunpowder lingered and the stink of three different human men – one of whom had relieved himself on a tree near a clearing.
How it knew what gunpowder smelt like, it couldn't decipher – all it knew was it was vulnerable to such things. Was it some vestigial remnant of the fragile, human self it'd usurped and overcome? It hadn't been any challenge – the darkness within its own heart only gave the dark Therian's own spirit an easier path.
Dawn was coming...
As the dark Therian raised its gore-streaked muzzle to the sky, it trembled...
Not in fear...
It did not know that emotion.
It would hunt.
It would feed.
It would be...
Itself.
TO BE CONTINUED...