Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST (9 page)

“You’re crazy...” Robert said.

“You’ve said that already,” Daniel remarked from behind Alexa,
walking to her side over by Robert. “I’m growing tired of your obvious name
calling. Alexa…” He turned to her, a bloodthirsty grin plastered to his tan
face. “Shall we?”

Alexa grinned at Daniel, showing each and every tooth in her
mouth. “Let’s.”

Robert watched as the two lovers closed their eyes, both sucking
in a slow, calming breath. He furrowed his bruised brow in confusion as they
began to sway back and forth, their bodies loose and relaxed. The light of the
moon seemed to grow brighter as the two swayed, rocking back and forth on the
balls of their feet. Robert was about to ask what they were doing, but was
silenced as both of their eyes snapped open in unison.

They turned to him, and he loudly gasped.

Their eyes were glowing
gold
.

“Aah...” Daniel groaned, hunching slightly. “It’s here...”

“Yesss...” Alexa seethed, crossing her arms to grab her shoulders.
“The feast...begins!”

Robert watched in horror as Daniel shot up straight and gave a
bestial roar, his canines lengthening to sharp points. Alexa grunted, her
fingers flexing as the nails turned a deathly black and grew in length,
sharpening into claws. Daniel growled as hair began to sprout on the sides of
his face, his sideburns spreading down his neck under his gray hoodie and turning
to a burnt russet-like color. He reached up and tore apart the hoodie, exposing
the muscle of his torso, which flexed under the skin. Alexa spun her head
around in a full circle, her face distending forward into a broad snout, little
whiskers growing along her cheeks as she snarled.

Robert was paralyzed to the spot as he watched the two transform.
They fell onto all fours, growling and grunting like the wild animals they
were. He stared at the sharp fangs in their mouths, which glistened with saliva
between black, rubbery lips—the knife-like claws digging into the dirt
below their feet—the hard muscles that shifted under their furry skin as
they shook with the final stages of their metamorphosis.

In front of him was not the couple he had been stalking earlier,
but two angry, hungry wolves staring down at him with glowing golden eyes. The
larger russet-colored wolf snarled at Robert, stalking closer, until the
smaller, black-furred wolf gnashed her teeth at him. The male turned to the
female, giving a loud snort before backing up slightly, cocking his large,
heavy head in Robert’s direction as if to say, “
Ladies first
.”

The female, with fur as black as night, made a noise in the back
of her throat towards the male, as if thanking him. She then turned to the
ever-paling Robert as he shook with terror at the sight of the two large
wolves.

“O-Oh my God...” Robert felt tears welling at the corners of his
eyes as he stared down his death. He turned his head away, unable to bear the
sight of the two monsters any longer. His moist brown eyes landed on the white
stuffed rabbit from earlier, its black button eyes seemingly staring directly
at him from behind the tongues of the campfire that blazed strong into the
night. He raised a hand towards the stuffed toy, as if calling out for
help—but it did nothing but stare.

Twin sets of howls pierced the air, snapping his attention back to
the wolves.

Robert’s scream was cut short as the two wolves lunged and began
their feast.

For my beautiful daughters, Racquel & Jacqueline. You’ll
always be my babies.

Bart Hopkins is originally from Galveston, Texas. He has been
serving as an Air Force Meteorologist for over 18 years and is currently
stationed in Germany.

His passions include reading, traveling, photography, writing, and
sharing time with his beautiful wife and three awesome children.

Bart has written two novels: Texas Jack and Fluke.

Website:
www.barthopkins.com/blog

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/barthopkinsauthor

Fluke:
www.amzn.com/B007Y4XDZE

Lenora’s mother had warned her.

That was nothing new. Lenora’s mother was
always
warning her about something, about the many things that
could hurt her. Laying there in her oversized, handcrafted, cast-iron bed,
servants bustling about, she would dole out morsels of wisdom to Lenora, each and
every morning, on the potential dangers that awaited her, crouched hidden along
the path of life.

Her mother was right about many of those things. Mother could be
frightfully intuitive about the ways of the world, which always surprised
Lenora since her mother was an invalid and bedridden. What made her so wise?
Besides Lenora, the only people her mother had contact with were the
servants—and they were all overly subservient…not at all talkative. She
surely learned nothing from them.

Newspapers? Out of the question—no respectable
lady
read the newspaper—that was a
man’s duty. Books? A frivolous pursuit, to be sure.

Yes, her mother had warned her about newspapers and books, too.

 
“Sweet Lenora,” she
always began, “my sweet child. You have always needed protecting, haven’t you,
dear? Come sit down with your mother. I’ll tell you what to watch out for…”

Then her mother would fill the following twenty or thirty minutes
with passionate descriptions about what existed in the world solely to poison
innocent, naïve young daughters. Like her.

“Oh, of course, yes, Mother,” Lenora would reply dutifully,
whatever the topic might be. Sometimes it was interesting, such as when her
mother described how they all fit into the pyramid of society. Other times it
was boring, covering everything from home economics to education to charity
work.

There was an ornate iron clock on the mantle of the marble
fireplace in her mother’s bedchamber. When the clock struck seven o’clock each
morning, it signaled the end of their morning conversation. Lenora would kiss
her mother on the cheek, near the top of her prominent cheekbone, and wish her
a splendid day.

After leaving her mother’s suite each morning, Lenora would make
her way into the kitchen for breakfast.

“Good morning, Berta.” Their cook was a curmudgeonly woman of
about fifty.

“Miss,” Berta replied.

“Can I have pancakes today, Berta? I am just famished.”

“Hmm.”

Sometimes Lenora wondered if Berta’s vocabulary consisted of just
two words: “miss” and “hmm.”

After breakfast, Lenora would brush her teeth and finish getting
ready for school. She wasn’t allowed to wear makeup, but she could do different
things with her hair, and she could wear just about any clothes she
wanted…well, within the guidelines her mother had established. But that really
just meant that she couldn’t expose too much of herself, which she didn’t want
to do anyway.

Most days Lenora lost track of time while she brushed her hair or
picked through her dresses. She loved dressing up and some days she imagined
she was a princess locked in the tower of a castle with only her clothes and
beautiful hair for company. She would inevitably glance at her clock, realize
her tardiness, drop her brush on the table, and rush hurriedly from her room.

Josef wasn’t a chauffeur, even though he drove Lenora to school
each day. His duties were much more than that, though it was hard for Lenora to
put into words exactly what he did. He was like her mother’s Aide de
Camp—her lieutenant—for both household and personal affairs. Almost
every day she saw him hunkered down next to her mother’s bedside, receiving
whispered instructions. Lenora hadn’t a clue what they could possibly be
talking about. As Mother spoke to him, Josef would nod curtly, but never write
anything down. He was stoic, efficient, and discreet in all of his doings.

Josef’s life was a mystery and his dedication baffled Lenora, but
she was thankful that her mother had someone to help her. She sometimes
reflected on the matter this way:
Mom
needs him, I suppose...and it leaves me free from having to do it!

Yes. Josef’s presence was good. She couldn’t imagine the
misfortune of carrying out all of her mother’s requests.

“Good morning, Josef,” she called to him.

“Goot morning, ma’am,” he always replied in his clipped manner.
His accent piqued her curiosity; he was obviously foreign. But…from where? She
had asked her mother once, who replied only vaguely that he was acquired from
afar—that it was none of our business—and we should
mind our manners
.

“Oh, of course, yes, Mother,” Lenora had promptly replied.

Still, from time to time, she wondered…

“Pleez, pleez…” he would urge her, bowing slightly, hand turned
palm upwards, pointing toward the door that led to the garage and stables. Of
course, that was only on days she was running a little behind schedule, which
was only two or three times each week. Josef was very punctual; Lenora figured
that was part of his immigrant, working-class upbringing. She wouldn’t know
anything about that, to be sure!

Despite the company, mornings were an absolutely splendid part of
Lenora’s day. Just a few years before, Mother had sent Josef off on one of his
little foraging trips. He was gone for several days.
Just like a little squirrel tucking away nuts and berries for the
winter
, she thought. Mother sent Josef off to get little odds-and-ends all
the time, so it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Except…this time it was. It was completely out of the
ordinary—Josef returned with a 1936 Mercedes Benz 260 D!

Lenora could hardly contain herself. They had an older vehicle, a
Buick, but it was uncomfortable. The Buick had
riding
boards. Driving in the Mercedes was an absolute dream. She
loved the rev of the engine—the feeling of raw power beneath her
body—it was exhilarating.

After her first trip in the Mercedes Benz, she had run excitedly
to her mother’s room to tell her about it.

“Mother! Mother! Oh, have you seen it? Have you seen the
Mercedes
?”

“No, dear, I have not. I’m sure it’s nice. That’s why I bought
it.” Lenora hadn’t stopped to consider that her mother rarely left her bed.