Then...
Church bells sounded. Their hollow ringing drowned out the drone of murmuring people and raven caws. Beady black eyes followed Dakota as he took his little sister’s hand and crossed the dying grass to the church door. The dead trees swayed as a flock of ravens took flight in unison, soaring towards a grey horizon specked with gravestones.
As Dakota passed over the church’s threshold he was soothed by the peaceful atmosphere. The hall was taller than it was wide, each tip-toed step echoed through the expansive building. As the organ began playing Dakota’s little sister turned to him. “We’re late!” she hissed, her blue eyes wide. Dakota almost laughed at how adorable she looked, all panicked about being late for the Sunday service. With her worried face framed with golden locks, she looked like an angel’s child. Dakota scanned the upstanding gathering for their parents and hurried to join them.
At that age most local kids were defying every part of who they once were, rebelling against their parents’ wishes, and being someone they’re not so they can discover who they really are. But Dakota had no problem with attending church with his family every Sunday. Who he was remained as constant and unwavering as his faith.
After the service Father David beckoned Dakota forward. “Dakota, my child, may you give me a hand with the leftovers from today’s holy communion?”
Dakota wandered over. “Father, I was thinking that perhaps these scraps could feed the less fortunate. The population of the homeless in Bemidji has grown these past years...”
Father David chuckled. “Such a blindly loving heart you posses. Those men living on the streets get there by expecting too much from a god who lets his people determine their own fate. They be not the unfortunate, but the unwilling to make something of themselves and the gifts God has given in graciousness.”
Dakota didn’t fully agree, but he accepted it and nodded politely, joining Father David in scraping all the bread onto one plate. The priest began whistling, but the noise sounded distorted to Dakota. His hands shook as he stacked the plates.
Sweat dewed on Dakota’s brow and his heart rate seemed to speed up rapidly, then slow right down, thumping right behind his ear drums. The woollen sweater he wore was too hot, he was suffocating in it. Dakota took a few deep breaths, praying that the grand room would cease in its rotation around him.
“Are you ok?” Father David’s wrinkled face held concern for the adolescent.
Dakota shook his head, slowly as to not provoke the pain. “I don’t know.”
He collapsed forward onto the table, static buzzing in his ears. Rip... tear... kill... devour... the static seemed to hiss. A guttural moan escaped him as his fingernails curled into claws, his teeth sharpening and reforming. The pale blonde hair covering his arms and legs darkened, growing thicker and longer, and more fur-like. “Wha-?” Dakota’s hoarse cry was cut off as he doubled over, screaming in agony. What’s happening to me? He hugged his arms around himself, unaware of his claws gorging wounds into his back, unaware of anything but the excruciating pain throbbing through his entire body.
All at once his clothes ripped as his bones contorted and realigned into the sloped, broad-shouldered body of a wolf, his face tapered into a snout, and his hands and feet reformed into paws. It wasn’t painful; it was like unleashing a dark hidden power from deep within his soul. Suddenly he wasn’t him anymore; he was something better, more powerful.
Dakota’s wet, black nose crinkled and his lips pulled back in a snarl. Rip. Tear. Kill. Devour, the voice increased in tempo.
Father David staggered back in alarm, hitting the altar with an audible gasp. Before he could fill his lungs to scream, Dakota coiled back on his hind legs then lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the priest’s throat. Rip, tear, Kill, Devour! Blood gushed into his mouth, oozing pleasantly between his teeth, down his throat... he longed for something meatier. Rip-tear-kill-devour! Holding him in his powerful jaw, he threw Father David to the ground then bit into his thigh.
The old man tried to scream, but only gurgling escaped his lips, accompanied by bubbling blood. He was choking on it, drowning. The wolf stripped some muscle away from his leg bone and downed it all in one.
RipTearKillDevour- the chant broke off into silence, and Dakota was alone in his mind. What am I doing? he thought, suddenly panicked. What am I? The overwhelming desire to kill faded, and he was slowly filled with dread. Father David twitched, then was still, his eyes like crystal balls – shiny, empty. Dakota scooted back on all four paws, tail between his legs. No... the word echoed through his mind, but it was void of any real thought. Incapable of it. Footsteps echoed ever-closer.
Run.
Driven by the voice in his head, he turned and leapt through the stained glass window, shattering the images of Jesus and his disciples. Shards of glass caught in his fur, making the different shades of brown sparkle with red and green.
The pavement flew under his feet effortlessly as he ran without direction. Where could he go? What was he? Monster, was the word that occurred to him repeatedly, each time splintering his heart. He could never face his family again. He was a murderer, he was out of control; he couldn’t put them in danger.
He was running when suddenly the pavement grazed his palms, and his graceful lope turned into something else, as did his body. He was no longer a wolf, he realised. He collapsed to the sidewalk, gasping for air through a mouth that was still crossed with a snout, hairy but human, sharp teeth, long tongue.
He screamed; this form was painful. Bones stuck out at unnatural angles, his skin was taut and still coated in fur. Stumbling to his feet, Dakota clawed at himself, as if he could scratch off the fur, tear away the inhumanity. “Why?” he moaned, but it came out a snarl.
A scream rung clear through the streets. His amber eyes flicked up to see a girl standing on the curb, gaping at him in horror.
“No!” he cried, another snarl. “No, no!”
Dakota covered his face, ashamed of what he’d become, afraid of what people would do to him. The girl screamed again, dropping her bags of groceries. Cans rolled into in the street as she turned to run. Dakota dashed in the opposite direction, heading for the backstreets where he was less likely to be seen.
He only realised where he was going when he found himself in a familiar alleyway. Despite the promise to himself to keep his family safe, he was heading home. The only home he’d ever known, the only place he could ever go, his haven when things went wrong.
He knew instantly he couldn’t stay. He had to grab his things, and leave. And he couldn’t be seen.
But, what if he could be helped? What if there was a cure for whatever on earth was wrong with him? His family had always been supportive of him; they would try to get him help for sure.
You murdered someone. Even if you didn’t mean to, you’d get trialled for man-slaughter, you’d go to prison, he told himself – the clear facts among the confusion.
Water splashed beneath Dakota’s feet. He looked down into the wide murky puddle, and saw his reflection for the first time.
“Argghhhhh...!”
Dakota whipped around and grabbed a nearby dustbin, then slammed it into the ground, splashing water all up himself. An explosion of rubbish decorated the alley, and Dakota was running again. Running from himself.
Monster. Murderer. Unnatural. Evil...
His family wouldn’t recognise him, no way in hell. They would just scream like the girl on the street.
The wolf-boy came to a halt. He was at the back of his apartment block in a deserted dump of an alley, surrounded by reeking dumpsters. He rolled one of the dumpsters away to reveal a door.
Through the door and up three flights of stairs was his family’s apartment, but would they be home? Or still walking back from church?
A siren wailed in the distance. Father David had probably been found by now. Dakota had to move fast.
As he raced through the building, luck was on his side. Not a soul wandered the corridors; he was seen by no one. When he was inside his apartment, he felt safe and relived. But that comfort shattered as he remembered he had to get the heck out of there before his family got home.
It took less than a minute to rummage through the mess in the room he shared with his sister to find the necklace his grandfather made him and his wallet and a jacket. He shoved them all into a backpack and grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge. Dakota had never ran away before, never been camping or had to pack for anything other than a holiday to a beach side hotel. As naive as he was, he knew it would be a good idea to take a knife and his father’s Zippo lighter.
Underwear, socks, jeans, a flannel shirt – he threw them on and then he was out the door.
Dakota fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as he hurried down the silent corridor. He didn’t want to look at his clawed hands, still coated in thick fur. His acute hearing sensed shuffling footsteps approaching - he couldn’t be seen like this, he looked around for an escape.
Praying it wasn’t alarmed, he barged through the fire door and found himself in a dark, narrow room with concrete stairs leading up to the roof. The door clicked shut behind him, locked. The only way was up, and Dakota was reminded of the saying about hitting rock bottom.
Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall and took a few lungfuls of musty air. Whatever he was, it was against God, against nature, against the very laws of existence. But there he stood; half boy, half wolf - one hundred percent monster. A murderer. How? Why?
He ascended the stairs. The door handle was stiff, but it budged after a third try and swung open, flooding the room with light. As he emerged on the shimmering concrete rooftop, Dakota shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun.
The block was in the middle of the small town, but over the many roof tops Dakota could see the forest that the sun would soon disappear behind. At the site of the shadowy trees, something woke inside of him, something more than animal instinct. A greater purpose that he had to find, that this feeling was trying to lead him to. A magnetic pull, a reason to live. Without conscious thought to do so, he began walking across the rooftop. Each stride towards the horizon was a step closer to where he needed to be. Each step the feeling to run grew.
His journey was cut short by the edge of the roof. Wind gusted through his hair as his eyes fixed to the litter-strewn pavement below, struggling with the thought that he could make this feeling stop, end his unnatural existence by taking just one more step.
It was the feeling that stopped him from ending it. The Pull.
Finally the claws retracted, the hair on his arms and legs thinned. He dropped to the ground, beginning to sob as the sun dipped behind the trees, plunging his life into darkness. A single thought echoed through his mind.
What am I?
“Heaven help us now
Come crashing down
We'll hear the sound
As you're falling down
And will you pray for me?
Or make a saint of me?"
Heaven help us, My Chemical Romance
