Declan hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t take the risk of another event like the kid clambering through the window. If it hadn’t been for the shape of the crossbow, his bag and the poultice would be well gone by now, and he’d have to do some severe head-scratching about what to do.

Declan slowed the car as the familiar turning came into view. It had overgrown since the last time he was here, yet as a kid, he’d seen it in every season, and he'd always recognized the track leading to his old home.

He wound up the windows and turned the radio off. He drove slowly as his headlights bounced off the trees. Rabbits darted in front of him, but he wasn’t sure if it was him that had scared them, or something else that was in the undergrowth, watching. He rounded the final bend and the house stood in the eerie darkness. As the lights hit the front of his old home, it took on the appearance of a large clown face staring back at him. Two, large, upstairs windows as eyes, and the door as the nose. As a kid, it had freaked him out a couple of times, and more often than not, when he was coming home on his bike, and the small light struggled to light anything. Anything, apart from four feet in front of where he was going.

Declan always entered the house from the rear door. He knew it wasn’t a large clown, but just to be on the safe side, he entered the same way. That was what he'd always done, and that was what he was going to do now.

The car ground to a halt, and he grabbed his backpack and his lantern. He stepped onto the gravel and crunched his way to the rear steps. The thud of his boots and the creak of the warped, half-rotten wood filled the clearing where the house stood. He pulled the screen door and held it with his foot as he pushed his hand against the faded blue paint. As he stepped through the doorway, his eye caught the markings on the door frame where his mom measured how tall he was, and his age at the time. Declan ran his fingers over the faint grooves as he remembered.

He stepped into the dark kitchen and placed the lantern onto the kitchen table. He spotted an old kerosene lamp by the sink. He shook it to see if there was any fuel remaining, and he heard a slight slosh. He lifted the glass and found a box of matches. At least they still work.

Declan struck the first match and held it to the singed wick of the kerosene lamp. It fizzled as the match went out. He tilted the lamp to the side and could smell the kerosene rising up the wick. He held the second match, and the wick began burning as the acrid smell of burning kerosene wafted over to his nose. Declan closed the glass cover and placed the lamp on the old, log, burning stove.

Shadows danced around the dark hearth of the stove as the small flame flickered inside the glass. He walked back to the kitchen table and sat with his hands clutching at the backpack. I’m not letting this poultice out of my sight, no fricken way.

Declan sat in the dim lights of the lanterns and waited. He breathed slow and quiet, and listened to all the noises he could hear from the forest. Owls hooted in the wind that blew through the treetops. Declan heard a tapping at the window. He knew this was the branch of the tree outside. He was always tasked with trimming it back as a kid, because it freaked his mom out the first time she'd heard it. “Declan can you get rid of that branch,” she had called. Declan was only too happy to oblige, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his mom.

Declan sat for what felt like an hour. He lifted his head as he heard a creak from upstairs. Now that’s not a regular sound from the wind. Declan reached into his backpack and pulled out the small crossbow, then he fastened it to his wrist and pulled back the string. He took one of the bolts and clipped it into place. Declan slipped his arm through the sling of his backpack and stood up from the table. He took hold of the lantern and crept toward the bottom of the stairs. He stood with his ear cocked upward.

He heard the creak again. It was coming from his old room. The first door on the left. Declan placed his foot on the bottom step and lifted his weight. If things hadn’t changed —he knew all the creaks on the stairs, and he could go up and down with his eyes closed, and still remain silent. Now his eyes weren’t closed, they were wide open and bulging. Declan’s heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline ran through his veins. He could hear the blood being pumped into his ears. Three more steps and he’d be facing his old kitchen door.

Declan reached the top step. He held his arm in front of him with his finger ready on the trigger-string of the bow. He saw a faint light flickering from inside his room. His hand rested flat against the old drawing he'd made as an eight-year-old. “Declan’s Room,” he'd drawn in crayons which had now faded almost as much as the paper had yellowed. He pushed against the door. It began to creak, but then it fell silent. Now, the gap widened, and Declan leaned in, peering into the room. He saw a huddled figure sitting on the edge of his old bed —facing away from him.

His arm shook as he pointed the bow in the direction of the figure. “Psst,” Declan whispered.

The figure shifted and rested a hand on the bed. It turned its head to face Declan. His finger tightened on the trigger, and he could feel the tension building under his touch. He held the lamp high, and the light began brightening the room. The figure raised its hand and pulled at the hood. It slipped from its head as Declan saw the face.

“Dustin, is that you?”

* * *

Edmund followed the same routine to sneak into the rear of the Towers. He stood next to the dumpster and crouched, waiting for the guys to finish smoking. Edmund listened to the pack members talking as the smell of the cigarettes wafted into his direction.

“You ready for tomorrow night?” the first wolf-guard said.

“Hell yeah, you can’t beat watching a couple of females fighting, it’s such a turn on,” the second one replied. “They should include some mud and make it way more exciting.”

Edmund heard the pull of a cigarette as one of them filled their lungs with horrible chemicals. “Now that’d be fun, but better if they were in human form and bikinis,” he said, exhaling loudly.

“I’ve heard different stories, a few of the pack are saying it’s just gonna be until one of the bitches quits, and some are saying it’s to the death,” the first one said. “It’d be a shame if it’s to the death in each round, there are some hot chicks we have living here.”

“I’m with you on that one, it’d be a shame to lose all that poontang.”

“Now that’s a word I haven’t heard in a few years. And you’re right, there is some nice poontang,” the guard said giggling. “Come on, we better go; shut the gate, will ya.” Edmund saw the first cigarette hit the wall and fall in a shower of sparks.

“Right with ya; you poontang-loving, son of a gun.” Edmund heard watched as he tossed his cigarette butt against the wall.

Damn these guys are out of date. Edmund stood from the side of the dumpster and rushed to the gate as it was about to close. He pushed against it and slid through the gap, pushing it closed behind him.

“Have you checked that the gate’s locked?” Edmund heard from inside the large rear entrance door.

“I pushed it closed, don’t you trust me?” he heard the second voice say. “I’ll go and check it. Okay!”

Edmund crouched behind a large crate that sat at the side of the gate. He held his breath as he heard heavy breathing and footsteps pass him by. “See! It’s locked, like I said.”

“I’ll let you off this time,” Edmund heard from the first guy. The footsteps started again then stopped. Edmund could hear sniffing.

“Hey Kyle, I can smell something in the yard, it’s not normal.” Edmund panicked and froze. His breath was firmly locked inside of his lungs. He heard a second set of footsteps approaching. Another sniff, a deeper sniff.

“Ya dumb shit, it’s just those menthol cigarettes you’ve started smoking.”

The footsteps faded into the darkness as Edmund finally exhaled and gasped for another breath, immediately. That was too freakin’ close for comfort. He peered over the crate as the door to the rear of the apartments closed. He ran under the shadow of the wall to the steel cover at the far side of the courtyard. Edmund lifted the rusted chain and slid it from the hoop of the steel cover. He clambered inside, pulling the cover closed over his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a small flashlight and turned it on. It was much better than the dim light he had on his phone last time he was here.

Edmund crept down the hallway and reached the scattered bones. The stench rose, and he covered his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He entered the door and pushed his ear against it to listen for voices. Silence. Edmund twisted the handle and pulled the door toward him. He stepped into the white tiled room and saw the floor an inch deep in water.

They’ve turned the freezers off. It’s already thawing…

Edmund checked the freezers, he poked his fingers against the packs of meat and could feel his fingers sinking into the soft flesh.

I hope I've got enough elixir.

Edmund pulled the packs of meat from the first freezer and dumped them onto the floor. He put his bag on the second freezer and reached in for his bottles and the syringe. One by one, Edmund squirted elixir into each bag. He (quite literally) threw them back into the freezer so the elixir would spread through the meat. Edmund finished the first freezer and began on the second. He emptied the meat onto the floor and reached into his bag. He pulled the last two bottles and glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t made enough.

Think, think…

Edmund started jabbing the meat whilst trying to think how to make sure that only the elixir meat was taken. As Sanders had said, this was a one-shot deal. The solution hit him. He’d just turn the other freezers back on. All that meat wouldn’t be fit to eat. He injected the last of the packs of meat and threw them into the second freezer. To make sure no one noticed, he locked the door with the key he'd seen sitting in the lock. That should stall them for a while.

Edmund exited the way he came in, and made his way down the dark passage. He reached the steps leading to the steel cover. He climbed the steps and pushed at the cold steel. Come on move… Edmund pushed again. He put his flashlight and bag on the floor and pushed the cover with his back, trying to stand. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Edmund sat on the steps with his head in his hands. “I’m locked in a den of werewolves,” he mumbled quietly.

“Be careful making your presence felt when it’s least expected.”