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Cruther's Wolf

Hyaenidae · 1134

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Offline Hyaenidae

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on: January 28, 2016, 11:58:24 PM
heeyyyyy friends. I was bored so I decided to write a story based off a crappy video series I made (and deleted) called Bullworth's Wolf. I'll probably end up abandoning it like the original series anyway, but I'll write as much of it as I feel like, I guess. I don't really have a plot line, so I'm basically just making stuff up as I go, so it'll probably still be crappy.
here's the wattpad link if you want to follow it from there i guess: https://www.wattpad.com/story/61685156-cruther's-wolf


“There’s no need to be afraid, Adam. I am the Messiah.”
My flesh stiffened against my bones, squeezing blood to my head and racing thoughts constricting my brain. The entirety of my existence was a mesh, a binding of crying trees and fading songbirds, all of it waxing and waning within a blanket of wispy gray. Yet there was no denying the rhythmical, beast-like sound calling out; it poisoned the serene ignorance I held inside for so long.
“I have come here to save you, my son. Recognize my voice. Disclose your sterile heart.”   
I wanted to breathe, but the intangible tendrils that bound me reminded me that I had no lungs. Next, I wanted to adjust to the sky.
“I have found an immaculate being in your world. In coming time, all Things will perish.”
It was then that I discovered my left half. It was completely indistinguishable from my right. I opened my mouth, and  a cascade of disturbing liquids flew off into the smoke. Cold slime lensed my eyes.
“Accept me as your Savior, and I will assure that you will be protected from the blinding onslaught.”
The world suddenly went dark. There was only me.
Only me.

A shrill noise broke off my dream. Flailing my arm around until my room was silent once again, I tried to lift my body out of the surrounding sheets, only to fall back into the pit of comfort. This was the same struggle I had every morning. No big deal: just ignore the urge to give in, get up, stretch. A monotone voice told me to get dressed, go downstairs and head to the cafeteria for breakfast. Almost everything I did felt instinctual.
Without tripping down the steep, sweat-mongering staircase like yesterday, I traversed down the expressionless halls until I was forced to make eye contact with some greasy-looking guy by the exit.
His face twisted and his eyes squinted. “What are you doing?”
I responded with a grunt.
“Dude, didn’t you hear? School’s canceled, and we’re not allowed outside.”
My hazy expression became sharp.
“Someone was killed.”
« Last Edit: February 04, 2016, 08:01:21 PM by Hyaenidae »

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #1 on: January 29, 2016, 12:57:58 AM

    Melissa Bolden was a girl I pretended to know. I’ve seen her in person about two or three times, all from a safe distance, and the people I talked to around them introduced me to her so I wouldn’t have to actually speak to her. Short black hair, tall, a bruised right eye, quiet, loved marijuana, never dated, rumored to be a lesbian. I tended to associate her with a group of girls that I always saw giggling whenever she walked past. Some of them told me jokes about her, and I feigned amusement. She was just some underclassman, though. I don’t understand why people are so fascinated by others’ livelihoods.
    From now on, however, I knew I would associate the name Melissa Bolden with a mangled corpse, the centerpiece of the decaying parking lot.
    In an obvious attempt to conceal their anxiety, I heard some younger guys make slut jokes about Bolden, inciting faint memories of the bubbly girls that made fun of her in my mind.
    “I seriously caught a glimpse of it. Her legs were spread open so wide!”
    I simulated laughter with them, thinking of what I should do today.
    I whirled around at the unexpected sigh behind me. It was a stocky kid with a dark buzz cut and groggy eyes.
    “...” He stared at me as if he were expecting me to take the initiative.
    “H-hey,” I mumbled as I hid my surprise. “Did...did you hear?”
    “Di-did I hear?” he said hastily.
    “About the dead girl.”
    “D-d-dead girl?” he was now trembling, desperately searching for words. “S-someone died?”
    “Melissa Bolden, the tenth grader. They found her out in the parking lot. School got canceled and we’re stuck in the dorms.”
    “She was murdered?”
    I shook my head. “They don’t know yet.”
    “Ah…” His gaze was casted to the floor. His trembling continued. “W-w-what if the killer is s-still on campus?”
    “Weren’t you listening? They don’t know yet.”
    “W-what reason would she have to commit suicide?”
    “You’re awfully hung up on that murder idea, dude.” Wolfgang is pretty much the only person I understand at this school, and if there’s anything I know about him, he doesn’t get around much. What would he know about the other students?
    “...you’re..so uninterested…”
    I nearly jumped. “I-it’s not that I’m not, I’m j-just tired, that’s all…”
    “...So is everyone else,” he sighed.
    The only person I could comprehend was a pretty eccentric guy.

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #2 on: January 30, 2016, 07:43:22 PM

    Mankind has always been a source of frustration in my eyes.
    Indeed, my view is quite bitter for an almighty Savior, but my point still stands: causing useless conundrum and then refusing to take responsibility, it’s been quite stressful keeping up with their shenanigans. And to think, now I’ve come face-to-face with a troublesome assistant? Is my fortune truly this terrible?
    Nonetheless, I must continue my studies, no matter how tiring all this is. I must create more experiments even as I sigh at this newfound rowdiness. I should try to think of more efficient methods of communication with my clients. I have a feeling this case is merely the beginning of my troubles, and more influential information transfer will definitely help keep things under moderation. The data I receive might end up more useful, too.
    That being said, my head hurts.

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #3 on: January 30, 2016, 08:22:04 PM

    The only thing in the world that matters is the rumors.
    I can hear their voices: chopping, sliding, fulfilling. They’re gossiping; about who, I don’t know. But I can feel the warmth of their breaths.
    Warmth. Familiar, it must be.
    I hate this dorm. Finding myself in front of a cracking door. Leaping inside.
    Calm down, have to, have to. Just think, now. With the info at hand, could I make something out of this? Memory’s hazy. Just think, don’t leave the room. It’s much safer here. Right? It was around midnight, I had shuddering legs. Got slobber all over the pavement. I was desperate then, so terribly, unbelievably desperate, I couldn’t think clearly. Ab throbs. I thought I smelled dead meat?
    Then there was the attack. I lost control and I pounced out, revealing my grotesque hunger. She screamed? But the air was too thick. Her face was soft, I could slice it easily. Tore down into the thin confiture, the gradual flooding of covetable nectar, the singsong pressing of fine tooth, tongue and nostril delighted with the prefecture. I was woe, I was envy, I sustained a formidable demand, the weeping of corporeal design. The night was agreeable, perversive, mine.
    I lean back, letting out a deep breath, reflecting on my lazy heartbeat. Maybe this isn’t as bad as I initially thought. Whenever I get that tingling, I simply have to go out by the woods and wait. Sure, I might have those aches and I might be late for class, but it’s better than putting myself out in the open like that.
    Hhhh...what am I thinking? I’m pathetic. I’m just letting this all slip! I deserve to die.
    Breathing: unstable. Heartbeat: rapid. Flow: panic.
    I thought about doing it again.

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #4 on: February 02, 2016, 12:26:26 AM

    Cruther Academy: my vitality and my venom. Took me apart in messy pieces, only to sew me back together with prefatory threads. It’s another part of the world where incognito thrives, where the latency of future chameleons join in a fruitful, decisive medley. Too bad I’m already bored with it.
    My self-paletted research here confirmed at least one hypothesis: the spit and gas that comes out of people’s mouths dries up quickly. Exciting, this-is-just-in news gets replaced before you know it. Not even the enigmatic death of a punching bag student could keep people interested longer than a week.
    When we returned to class today, I expected frantic gossip and a plethora of pants-pissing conspiracy theories regarding the ravaged corpse once known as Melissa Bolden, only to find the latest details on Ashley Breckers’s cock count and anticipation for the upcoming wrestling match. It’s quite hypocritical considering all the bashing I’ve received for “not caring enough” about Bolden. To be honest, I could be attending to some mass fourteen to eighteen year olds’ orgy gathering or fake crying in response to the new mechanical pencil cuts little Susan’s been carving on her arms, and maybe then my very best friends would see me as normal again, and then we could finally put all this nonsense behind us.
    “Like, seriously, she doesn’t even know what she’s talking about,” some blonde girl blabbered on to me. I nodded my head as we walked out of Algebra, gorging on a half-melted chocolate bar. At least my peers think I’m listening.
    In all seriousness, though, I do have something distracting on my mind: Wolfgang didn’t show up today. Throughout each period I thought, Maybe he just overslept, or, Maybe he forgot that school was back on schedule today. None of these explanations are reasonable, though; he’s not an idiot. Sometime before the first day of this school year, he even told me he was contemplating getting a perfect attendance. Maybe that was a joke. One problem, though: Wolfgang isn’t the humorous type. Is there possibly no explanation I can fathom for this, perhaps, but I still think it’s pretty weird. I hope he’s accepting visitors today.
    I believe I heard someone tell me earlier, “He could be sick.” That would be a fantastic guess, except you’re supposed to send a note to the office if you’re missing class due to illness, which Wolfgang has always done in the past. Furthermore, he has shown no signs of ailment, distress, or fatigue lately, or at least nothing beyond what was normal for him.
    When the blonde chick finally left me alone, I headed straight outside and rushed to the boy’s dorm. My hectic scramble even caused me to shove some little kid out of the way. I didn’t turn around to help him back up or suffocate his tearful screeching; too bad, foolish child, but I am an adult now, and adults don’t have time to waste on fat-faced, puke-smelling brats nowadays. I have a friend to speak to.
    My entry into the dorm was not-so-solemn, but no matter, as times such as these do not deal with “manners”. I did not fall shameful victim to the aghast faces piercing me as I tore down the raggedy halls. I did not trip upon the stairs as I braved their tiresome obstructions. I did not cringe if a pinprick of sweat crawled into my eye socket.
    And finally, here I was: Room 308. I flung myself inside...only to find it lacking Wolfgang.
    I crumpled on the bed and sighed, wiping sweat off my brow. I’ve come all this way, wearing myself down as if I were a dishrag, and that dumbass isn’t even here? Where the hell is he, then? Only two possibilities came to mind: he was either in town, or holing up somewhere on campus. Of course, there’s always the woods near the school, but that’s never really been considered a safe place to hang out, a conception that’s been amplified by stories of disappearances and gang activity. I suppose there’s also been a few monster tales related to those woods. I remember back when I used to tell Wolfgang a few of those tales; he always had wide eyes. I doubt anyone as gullible as that would want to run around in some dark, mysterious forest of all places.
    Even so, I guess I have no choice but to wait again tomorrow; I’m too drained to continue my search further. Letting out a long breath, I exited Room 308.

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #5 on: February 04, 2016, 07:57:48 PM

Every inch, every fiber amongst the sea of the soul, infiltrating what little space remains. This world is compressing, a promised song of widening familiarity. Formless mounds are the ears, straining their birthing muscles, extending out into the black beyond. Trees waver in delight at the fastening procession. A resinous waft belittles the forbidding monochrome, tightening the playful gossamer of life’s nerves. A faint groan, the waggishness of a child, gradually becomes vociferous. In this speck of time, only one factor is stable: the glistening knot that is me.
    What a strange noise: restless purling. I attempt to lift myself towards that beckoning flutter, only to venture deeper into the infinite darkness. A clan of worms pushed onward to be swallowed whole. The weight of the flesh seemed to grow. The silence no longer coddled me from the inside. My skin demanded that I stretch out.
    Of course, the promise was false. Before me was everything I lacked, all of the strength and knowledge that tempted me was out of reach for the time being. I began to shuffle. I slurped the air, devouring the fog until it weakened. Memory is a currency. I am unable purchase my light.
    An algid hand affectionately stroked my back. Oppressive atmospheres mounted the shrinking containment, forcing me backwards. All I want is the aching to be soothed. I do not care for the sentiments; my guidance refuses, and I remain to yearn. Though tender fingers now lull me off, the hunger is still there, clawing at my consciousness. Or lack thereof.
    This is all a dream, after all. All a mere dream.

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #6 on: February 05, 2016, 12:03:16 AM

    The words “Cruther Academy” sound like bells to me. Sometimes, these bells are low and gentle, masticating any sort of meandering inner doubt. Other times, they produce a raspy, unforgiving scream, creating a mind of blank slate, devoid of any rumination.
    Lately, I always hear the raspy kind.
    Journeying into a new school felt like a powerful opportunity for the younger me. I pinky-sweared with Mom that I’d try my best to bond with others. She’d usually be behind me, defending my “astounding” grades, showing me off like a gilded trophy to the troubled parents. She told me to do my best no matter what, even if I didn’t understand what “best” was. Yet, no matter how many people she boasted to, no matter how competitive I behaved with my studies, most people I met thought I was odd.
    “You actually enjoy school?”
    “Why can’t you just be normal and talk to people?”
    “He is such a fucking creep.”
    “What do you mean you don’t ‘get’ people?”
    Perhaps I’m too cynical when it comes to this stuff. Can I really blame others for thinking such things about me? Wouldn’t brushing them off as “mean” push me farther away from truly sympathizing with them?
    For teenagers,  everything’s rote memory. It would have been near impossible to change their views. That’s kind of like what Mom said as the reason I was transferring to Cruther. There was something else about independence, I think?
Was that a footstep?
    Freeze. Movement: cease. Breathing: minimal. Instinct: natural rising rate.
    Just a leaf. Safe.
    He told me something on the lines of, “You’ll be better able to hide this way.”
    I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. All I want is to understand.
    Which reminds me: Mom never contacted me throughout the past week. Is she okay? Then again, they kept all the students locked up in the dorms. Kind of stupid, really. I’m surprised I didn’t just burst right there.
    But...I don’t “get” it. Maybe I’ll never “understand”.

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #7 on: February 10, 2016, 01:24:06 AM

    The moment I arrived at the school’s threshold, had a strange feeling overcame my mind. Not that strange feelings ought to be taken seriously; even so, some sort of virgin air permeated the campus atmosphere. I wouldn’t realize just how long this aura would fluctuate.
    I knew something was weird. People were so absorbed in their conversations that they didn’t even glance at me when I walked near them. It was like I didn’t even exist. Perhaps some little cuntface spread a lie about me? No, that couldn’t be it. They’d definitely look at me if some reputation-destroying words escaped their cage.
    I positioned myself near a sizeable group of underclassmen, ears serviceable. I saw the kids’ faces brimming with fascination and their mouths forming unintelligible shapes. Their turkey-like voices blended with every other enthusiastic noise in the area. I crept closer with my intentions focused, only to hear…
Have I heard that correctly?
“And...werewolf...you know.”
Is that the trendy thing nowadays? Werewolves? Maybe I’m better off asking someone about it.

“Oh, you heard about them, too? Those stories about a werewolf that comes into town at night?”
An undersized senior girl I met after lunch came as my guide. I’m lucky I didn’t have to search to far to find a social butterfly; they’d usually be out with their clique.
“Why the hell are people so interested in all this werewolf stuff?” I queried.
“Well, from what I’ve heard, supposedly, some people who go out at night have seen some odd figure roaming the streets”, she responded. “They describe it as some sort of mutant-ish human form. Some others have said that they’ve noticed a really disgusting smell in the area, like a mixture of wet dog and rotting flesh, and I think someone else mentioned hearing creepy grumbling noises whenever they passed by the school. Kind of like the growl of a wolf. I guess that’s how the thing got termed as a werewolf.”
God knows where she received all this information. I suppose news extends fast when the part of your body you use most is your larynx.
“So basically,” I tested her, “some idiot got drunk and claimed he saw a monster, and everyone else played along for attention?”
She stifled a giggle. “Heh, I don’t know. Even if the stories are made up, they’re fun to tell, aren’t they?”
She had a point. Hyperbolic horror tales are a good way to manipulate people.
“Anyway, thanks,” I said as I turned away from her.
I arranged the key points: claims of atypical humanoid bodies, hideous smells, and growling noises make up the bulk of Cruther’s werewolf legend. The most specific location in which these events were recorded were near the school, and everything else was said to be in the “streets”. I would assume that “near the school” is by the gates, considering the reports came about while someone was passing by. “Streets” is a bit too vague, though.
My point: these “sightings” are incredibly stupid. Juvenile. Clearly, they are beyond my understanding, since so many of those kids are enthralled with them. What, they saw a strange figure at night? People see “extraordinary” things all the time. Snarling, unpleasant aromas? Well...I mean…
I shake my head. This all has to be made up.
Yet, have I heard about these before? Maybe someone mentioned it and my subconscious took notice? It’s probably deja vu.
I refuse to take anything that girl said with any more than a grain of salt.

Classes had ended, yet almost everyone was in the same state as they were this morning: bubbly and intrigued. The progeny of an embarrassing cultural arousal flooded their precious minds. I could’ve sworn I felt a dab of sweat trickle by my eyebrow as I approached the main doors.
Wolfgang never showed up. I could only imagine what his reaction would be to a disappointment such as this. It’s kind of a shame, really. He’s missing out on interesting times.
I sighed. It’s still weird, though-why has he been skipping? I haven’t heard anyone mention him in a while. I doubt any of my peers would know anything, but I suppose I could contact some of the faculty. Not that I’m assuming they’d be concerned with my questions, but they’re probably my best hope. Actually, I have some time to spend looking for him right now. I guess I’m off to check the dorms again.
Lifting my head towards the sky, respiring at the mundane sight of decaying architecture that attempted to conceal its bleak truth with a sun-dappled cover. Clouds gazed down at this center of endless prosaicness, answering my eyes with their willowy meandering. My consciousness did not focus on the spiritless life around me, as there was no life around me at all.
No life around me.
I am alone.
My body froze and I lost control over my breathing. A looming presence presses against my back, but I cannot muster the willpower to turn around. The only thing I’m capable of is irregular gasping. Even as the unknown nears me, I am worthless.
I twitch at the sudden touch to my flanks. Cold and slimy. A low mumbling vibrated in my ears. An unfamiliar scent greeted my nostrils-unnerving and putrid. The mumbling is now replaced with watery squishing. The chill and sludge circle my waist. Something has grabbed hold of me.
With all of my stability gone, I let out a short scream, causing me to suddenly jerk. The circling slime vanished from my senses when I staggered around. Regaining my composure, I set my vision upon the thing that had reached me, only to find that the thing was a few feet away from me.
The thing was Wolfgang.

Offline Hyaenidae

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Reply #8 on: February 15, 2016, 05:46:54 AM

     I always seemed to develop those urges around the same time.
    My first experience was about a month ago: subtle, yet insidious. From then on, I had trouble sleeping at night due to those unexplainable new senses. The only thing I was able to make out of them was that they seemed to emerge when it got dark out. After I discovered that pattern, I was better able to control the urges and my existence as a whole.
Until today.
My wriggling flesh trembled at the mere thought of that luscious, gratifying sensation from before. I could almost relive the experience of the feral tendrils on the edges of me ripping into the air as my inner structures contracted as if they were begging for stimulation. A mass of beastly appendages upon my sides ascented above me in a ferocious scramble, leaving me a slave to their primitive desires. Even thinking of it now makes me joltish. It’s a miracle that I can even recall this much emotional sophistication.
I remembered when I first recognized the sense of nearby meat. My form dashed towards the direction of the reaction, my logical capabilities once again subpar. Ravaging the ambiance of my whereabouts, I plummeted into a familiar landscape, ready to snatch anything. I never thought about how it was daytime when those urges surfaced. Every fiber of my being suffocated at the possibility of curing its limitless insatiability.
What lied ahead of me was a mysterious figure engulfed by its lingering motions. Its physical work lazed as it reached for the solemnity of the heavens. Heat emanated from its skin in a snakish wisp. There it stood before me: my defenseless prey.
    I shivered as I ogled it. I struggled to maintain stealth. My rationalizations were disorganized, but it did not matter. All that there was: the naivete of a victim. Innards rumbling. Tendrils twitching. I surrounded the object of my appetite, only to look into its piercing eyes.
    His piercing eyes.
    On this weary, sun-soaked day, I almost devoured my dearest friend.