Camille

by Brandi Espy 2 years ago in fiction

"Her screams became louder."

Camille

I only come out when the sun goes to sleep; that's when dark and mysterious things happen. I've seen many things. I'm as old as the Earth itself, for I was created at the same time as our planet. I see the night, and I watch everything ominous. Such was last night.

The year is 1635. I was full on this night and I shone brightly into a broken window that belonged to a log cabin, where it was so deep in the woods; it was covered in moss and spiderwebs, and no one resided there except for a young woman with her sadistic husband. They're not there every night, just on the nights of the full moon — and I watched the most horrifying scene. Inside the ragged home were rusty manacles bolted to the floor, ripped clothing scattered everywhere, along with a dimmed fire in the fireplace.

I watched them enter. The young woman had long, matted hair, wearing a four-day worn dress; her bare feet were almost black. She had a pretty face and piercing green eyes; it was also full of scars. The husband was loosely holding a bottle of rum and held a nasty smirk on his bird-like face — he had a sharp nose and a thin mouth, which was full of sharp-edged brown teeth.

I was coming from behind the clouds as I saw her seducing him, then I shined brightly through the broken window and their hearts stammered. He set his rum down and pushed her on the splintery floor. She let out a small yelp, which pleased him. He tightened the chains around her wrists, and she looked pale. She was used to this, like a routine, yet she was always nervous; she hated herself. She watched the man in front of her rip his shirt off, and he howled like a wolf.

The clouds were gone, the night was hot and humid in Louisiana, and the night animals were playing their song. I could see sweat dwell upon her skin, her muscles and joints beginning to roll, widening themselves for her transformation; she began to growl and pull on her manacles. Her mate darted to her. He had begun to transform, but only barely, and he sounded a satisfying rumble in his throat. He bit into her neck, putting more of the nasty virus into her blood to make her stronger. The woman screamed and fought against every supernatural ounce of blood in her weary body to not transform.

"Hurry, Camille. We can have it all; destroy and conquer everything and everyone that's against us. We can accomplish it all, my love. Let's kill those who despise us!" He explained. All the while she grit her teeth, shaking her sweaty head, and growling like a feral dog. He was enjoying himself. He could totally control his transformation now; he was born werewolf, she was made — whilst watching her suffer from the white-hot pain of her bones breaking and healing over and over.

Her screams became louder. She pulled and pulled, trying to break lose, blood oozing from her wound in the neck; tears formed in her eyes. Breathing heavily and cracking of body, fur began to replace epidermis. Rocking her head back and forth, as if she was trying to shake it off. Her husband laughed.

"Once you've done this plenty a time, you can learn to control it. Don't give in, Camille. I am your leader, your alpha. Do as I say, or suffer the consequences."

Camille spat at him in anger. "Go to hell, Thackery." He snickered and took a swig of his rum, getting drunker by the minute.

Camille screamed as if being killed, pulling on the chains like she was being possessed by something evil, fighting and fighting. I felt sorry for her; I wanted to hide behind the clouds and save her, but I could not.

An hour or so passed, and she had completely transformed into her wolf form. I had watched her spine stretch, her fingers elongate, breaking then healing, her bones moving like snakes inside her body. She had cried out in agony, and it had turned into an angry howl.

On four legs, her height was 45 inches, her fur black as night, shoulders wide and strong. Her green eyes in contrast. Once she had turned, Thackery was a lost cause; he was caught off guard and didn't have a chance to change.

Camille knocked him down. Standing on his chest he could barely breathe. There was a moment of mercy and he begged like a dog. Then she ripped his throat out, his head completely departed from his body. I watched her lick the blood from his severed head for a moment, and then she left. Camille never returned to that cabin again.

fiction
Brandi Espy
Brandi Espy
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