Greg Krojac - WTF?

Hind legs immobilized and teeth no longer a threat, it was a relatively simple task to bind the animal’s front legs too.

Jared, Tyrone, and the priest stood back to admire their handiwork but Trevor was more concerned about the woman in the bathroom.

“Stay in there for a moment, Mrs Leadbetter. My name’s Trevor. We’re in control of the situation.”

Gillian’s only concern was Keira.

“What about my daughter?”

Trevor shouted back, pulling tight on the chain that he had just wrapped around the wolf’s neck.

“Keira’s fine. She’s safe inside one of our cars.”

The wolf continued to thrash around, even though its arsenal had been neutralised. Another chain was wrapped around its body and it was carefully hauled down the stairs – not for fear of hurting the animal but for fear of it escaping – and the chains were hooked onto the tow bar of a pickup truck.

Still struggling to free itself, the wolf continued to snarl as it was dragged away from the house.

Trevor went back into the cottage and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Mrs Leadbetter? It’s safe to come out now.”

Gillian emerged and gave Trevor a huge hug. She had no idea who he was, but she knew that if it weren’t for him, she’d be dead. When she eventually let him go, she followed him downstairs.

“What was that thing? A dog? A wolf?”

She didn’t need to know that it was her husband.

“A wolf, we think. It must have escaped from a zoo or someone’s private collection. But we have it subdued now.”

Keira came running across the lawn and threw herself into her mother’s arms. Neither of them had ever been so grateful to see each other as they were now.

At the Great Oak, the posse watched the wolf intently, an assortment of makeshift weapons ready to strike if he looked like he was going to wriggle out of his chains. As the night passed, he seemed to get weaker, as the influence of his baser wolf nature receded and his human or, in Arnold’s case, his zombie-vampire side began to return.

They watched in awe as the wolf transformed, his muscles twisting and turning, reducing in mass, and his limbs kind of receding into themselves until he had returned to human proportions. His snout withdrew into his face and ten of his forty-two teeth simply disappeared. Soon, the chains binding him were useless as his bulk had reverted to that of a confused man. Arnold looked up at Trevor.

“Did I kill anyone?”

Trevor shook his head.

“No. But not for the want of trying, though.”

“Who did I attack?”

Trevor didn’t see any point in telling him the truth.

“A stranger. Just passing through. We stopped you though.”

The relief on Arnold’s face was visible. Then he looked sad.

“So now, it’s the next stage.”

Trevor wasn’t looking forward to it, but if his own father could do it for his mother, then he could do it for his friend.

“Yes, Arnold. The final stage.”

Arnold was resigned to his fate. In fact, he was looking forward to it – perhaps he might find some peace now.

The chains were removed and Arnold stood up. He walked a few paces forward and then sunk to his knees, not in despair but in acceptance.

Father Pickles handed Trevor a sharp carving knife and an axe. Trevor noticed a bloodstain on the priest’s sleeve.

“What’s that?”

The priest looked at his arm.

“This? Just a scratch. Arnold here nipped me when he was the wolf. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Trevor nodded and put a hand on Arnold’s shoulder.

“Do I need to tie your hands and legs to stop you from escaping or making any sudden movement?”

Arnold looked at his executioner.

“I’m not going anywhere, Trev. And whatever you do won’t hurt me anyway. So, no. Not unless you want to.”

Trevor didn’t want to. He wanted his friend to die with some semblance of dignity.

He took the knife, counted silently to three, and stabbed Arnold by his tailbone, drawing the blade up towards his friend’s rib cage. Arnold didn’t flinch or make a sound. Then he meticulously separated each rib from the backbone with an axe, leaving Arnold’s internal organs on full display.

Once Arnold’s ribs were cut away and spread out like giant fingers, Trevor pulled Arnold’s lungs through his back and spread them like a pair of grotesque wings.

Arnold looked surprisingly peaceful. He took hold of Trevor’s wrist.

“Will it be long now?”

Trevor clasped his free hand over his friends.

“Not long now, Arnold. Your life will just fade away. You’ll be at peace. At last.”

Arnold stood up, his lungs and intestines hanging from his body, like the melted clocks from Salvador Dali’s painting. He embraced his friend and Trevor watched a single tear fall from Arnold’s eye and drop to the ground.

Arnold’s strength had almost left him, but he managed to utter a few final words.

“Thank you for being such a good friend.”

Tracey was waiting on the driveway when Trevor arrived home. She knew how hard it had been for Trevor to perform the Blood Eagle on Arnold, but both of them knew that he had had no choice. She took her husband’s hand in hers.

“Are you OK?”

Trevor nodded.

“I will be.”

“And it went ok?”

“It went fine. Except—”

“Except what?”

Trevor took a deep breath.

“Except now I have to kill Father Pickles.”

I hope you enjoyed reading WTF?If you could write a short review on Amazon or similar site that would mean a lot to me – reviews are especially important to indie authors. Thanks again!

Greg Krojac was born in 1957 and grew up in Maidenhead, Berkshire. He is the author of six published novels: the dystopian Recarn Chroniclestrilogy (comprising of Revelation, Revolution, and Resolution), the post-apocalyptic love story Reality Sandwich, and the first two novels in the Sophont trilogy The Girl With Acrylic Eyesand Metalheads & Meatheads. His story Judd’s Errandis a Mad Max style novella and the first in a series. He has also published a short story Oppyabout the fate of the Mars Opportunity Rover.

He currently lives just outside the city of Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, with his partner, Eliene, and their cat, Tabitha.

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