Must Read: The Claw, The Tail, And The Cross. - Season 1 - Episode 16

Episode 7 years ago

Must Read: The Claw, The Tail, And The Cross. - Season 1 - Episode 16

INTERMISSION

He had decided to go hunting on his own, his friend having called earlier in the day that he would be occupied with office work.

Good riddance as far as he was concerned. His friend seemed to like these night excursions a little too much. Even though it was true that he was the one that did the killing, he didn’t really relish it. As far as he was concerned he didn’t have a choice, he had to feed the beast in him otherwise he would go berserk and totally lose control. He had seen it happen to his grandfather.


His grandfather had suffered the curse but had managed it admirably. Grandfather fed on a lot of cooked meat and all was well until one day in his youth when he was involved in a fight and accidentally tasted human blood. After that episode the beast had become voracious and cooked meat no longer satisfied it. Grandfather had tried to suppress the urge by feeding on raw goat meat and drinking its blood.


At first it had worked but then the beast’s appetite grew insatiable, it needed more blood and even when it was fed two or three goats it still languished for more. Soon grandfather started missing from his bed at night and the next morning the heart rending cries of people in grief would indicate another victim, torn to shreds and drained of blood. Grandfather tried to prevent these incidents by asking his son to tie him up with strong rope and drop him in a pit. It worked but the effects began to tell on him. He became progressively more aggressive during the day and at a ripe old age of 70 had attacked, fought with and killed a young man in broad daylight. Those who witnessed the fight said the old man had fought like one possessed, like he had the strength of ten men. The village elders pronounced him a wizard and declared that he be put to death. Even then, it took the combined effort of three native doctors to finally subdue him before he was killed with a spear through the heart.


Father had watched all of this with terror.



The same native doctors had examined him and declared him normal. But no one had remembered to ask if Father had a son at home…

He was 7 when his grandfather had been killed, and he was 12 when the beast in him stirred. He had been in the forest plucking mangoes and after all his hard work, the village bully had pinned him to the floor, sat on his chest and poured sand on his head as payment for not giving him a sizeable share of his bounty. He had blacked out for a short time and when he had awoken the bully was dead.

Blood oozed out from his jugular where a claw mark had opened the blood vessel to the elements. He had run home, screaming for his father and when he told his father what happened his father had made him swear never to tell another soul. His father knew what had happened, and he intended his son would not share in grandfather’s fate.

They had sought knowledge.


They had sought a cure or at least control for the young beast had tasted blood and time was short. There was a legend of an herb that could restrain the creature, subdue its vicious tendencies and prevent total transformation.


Father and son had travelled far towards the west to find the medicine man who knew about the plant and as luck would have it, they had found him. The herb was administered and the beast was put to sleep once more.

And then, one day while working in the farm together, his father got bitten by a snake.


Tradition had taught him to sU-Ck out the bad blood in a bid to remove the venom and he put his lips to his father’s wound without hesitation. He didn’t even swallow the blood, only tasted it, and immediately a familiar and terrifying stirring occurred within him.


The beast was once again awake. This time their journey was not so fruitful, as the native doctor that once helped them had died.


On the way back he had suddenly transformed one night and killed his father. Terror and shame prevented him from going back to his home, and he sought solace in the big modern cities. He took the odd jobs to survive; a bus conductor today, a laborer tomorrow, and by so doing he eked out a living. The hunger of the beast had grown within him and every fortnight the beast would take control. He would take the necessary precautions, locking himself indoors and chaining himself heavily to the concrete beam of the house he had chosen for this particular purpose. He would buy or steal a live goat on occasion and keep it in the room with him to appease the beast when the transformation occurred. However he could never fully transform, whether this was a side effect from the herbs he had taken or because of some vital information his grandfather had not been able to pass across he didn’t know.


Months had passed, years, and the transformations became more frequent.


He started to become reckless, forgetting to restrain himself, and would sometimes wake up in his room with a half eaten corpse by his side. It initially sickened him but he soon got used to it. He was a survivor. He reasoned that he was doing what every other normal creature including humans did, hunt for food, kill and eat. The more he fed the beast the more his consciousness and control over the beast improved, and the more he could select his choice of victims. They were usually those that kept late nights, homeless people, prostitutes, drunks that stumbled home from way-keeps, armed robbers hiding to escape from the law. He stopped carrying them to his home and fed on them on the spot, burying the unfinished parts in shallow graves. His prey came out at night and he thanked providence for it.


One night, while out hunting, he came across a drunk sleeping in his car on a deserted street.



The car was a blue Camry and the driver was so drunk, he hadn’t even woken up when he was dragged out of the car. It was when he tried biting into his arm that the man stirred.


He went for his neck, intent on silencing him before he could shout out when the man spoke:
“My friend, behave now…why are you trying to kill me?”


He stopped short. No one had used the term “friend’ on him before. Even though logic told him it was the alcohol talking he was still enthralled by the prospect of having someone to share his problems with. With his guttural, beastly voice, for he was in his transformed state, he whispered:
“Are you talking to me?” The drunk had turned to face him, a glazed look in his eyes.
“Me-en, are you ugly.” He said. “Is it money you want? Here, check my back pocket, take it and leave me alone.”
“I don’t want money.” The beast had retorted. “I want your blood”. At that the drunk had struggled to a sitting position and the glazed look left his eyes. He took in what was before him, a badly deformed looking creature, with knobby joints and patches of fur.


Two tails swished excitedly behind it and the face oddly resembled half a leopard and half a man’s.
“What are you?” The drunk said trembling. “I don’t know.” It said.
“What do you want?” he said, almost crying.
“I told you already. Your blood. I need it.”
“Find someone else’s blood! Mine is important to me!” The beast was silent for a while and then it threw back its hideous head and burst into laughter. The drunk had no way of knowing it was a laugh for it sounded more like a mixture of a roar and someone with a bad cough. He panicked and tried to run. In one swipe of its claw the beast had him on his back again and he raised his hands defensively.


“Please,” he burbled, “Please spare me; I will help you find the blood you need!”
“Fair enough,” the beast growled, “But first I must mark you; a reminder to let you know that you are mine.”


And he bit down on the drunk’s arm, easily fracturing his humerus and drinking from the blood offered by the blood vessels therein.


And so an unlikely friendship was formed.


He followed the drunken man back to his house and they lived together from that day onwards.


His friend was strange, the beast had instinctively known. Maybe that was what had brought them together, because despite the numerous chances the man had of escaping or exposing the beast, he never did. Rather he helped the beast in its hunts and relished the hunting, the killing and the spilling of blood.


And when the beast transformed back to its human form in his presence for the first time all the man had said was “Interesting” and that was it.


Initially, he worried that this drunk he had made friends with was not altogether sane, but since he had accepted him for who he was, he had decided to ignore his excesses. Together they had forged on in life, slowly climbing the social ladder, the drunk had cut down on his alcohol, and he had gone into the construction business. They were always on the go, moving to a new town and leaving when the killings started causing too much noise. Finally they had both gotten a job in the same firm and were sent to asaba to work on a project. It was new ground, and the beast was happy.


Lately however, his friend had begun to enjoy the killing too much, if such a thing was possible. Sedating the victim was no longer interesting to him; he now wanted to see the beast in action. The drug they had found to prevent the victims from screaming worked perfectly but its duration of action was short.



Any slip-ups and the victim would scream for help. The last meal he had lost was too close a call, the ravishing hunger that followed almost driving him mad, and for the first time in a long time the beast was thinking of going solo again.



And so tonight when his friend called to say he would be busy, he had welcomed the development although he had feigned annoyance. He felt he would do better on his own. No mistakes, just good old fashioned stalking and pouncing.


As he walked down the cold and desolate streets he came across an interesting scene.


Five vigilantes were harassing two people in a car. He was grateful for the distraction and hurried past them. As he walked a few yards more, he felt the first signs of transformation, like a dull ache in his bones. The pain in his chest slowly began and that insatiable hunger deep within came to the surface. He quickened his pace and ran a little further, clutching his abdomen, trying to ignore the crackling and popping as the beast came forth. He glanced around desperately, seeking whom he would devour…


And then his keen nose caught her scent…