STORY: The Claw, The Tail And The Cross (Part 1)

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
suck 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…