Young Writers Society

Hell found me. Again.

Damn, that guy’s good.

Okay, maybe I should make myself clear, while he's searching for me.

My name is Rhianna Leota and Hell is my worst nightmare. Literally.

Hell was born the one night I slept below a dream catcher.

You know the ones with feathers and beads and string all hanging off it everywhere? One of them. Never again, I swear. I will die before I sleep under the filthy Dark magic spreaders.

I dreamt all about a grey-black werewolf of old coming to life and searching the world for me, killing everyone in his path until he reached me.

And Hell was born that very morning. He was curled up on my front step. Having just had a bad dream about a werewolf arriving on the doorstep, I was careful not to wake him as I slipped out the back door.

Hell is the world’s best assassin. He can sniff out anyone, whether it is Full or New moon, and he can travel long distances unhindered.

The only thing keeping me alive is the fact that I am a werelion.

Werelions are the African equivalent of the werewolf. They can transform, contaminate, all the things a werewolf can do. Except we transform on the New moon, not the full, so I can rip him part every month, run while he’s recovering for a few days, and try to erase my trail. Then he catches me and rips me up. I give him the slip and run again to renew the cycle.

It’s kept me alive for the last year, anyway. And that’s the best thing I can say about this particular disease.

He has killed my friends, my brother and sister, my mother and father, my partner and children.

He has scoured our world of my closest companions and I have to run before he does it to me. For I know he will.

It has been my personal goal these last twelve months to rid the world of every dream catcher I can find. And burn them.

Oh no, he can smell me! Good thing it’s New moon tonight. I feel much stronger than I usually would.

And he knows it. He’s backing off.

Good. I can make a run for it.

I leap and start to run — Argh! He's caught me in my side! I didn't see the metal claws that are attached to his fingers!

"You won't get away from me tonight," he whispers, his voice like tree branches scraping a window. It was a sound that scared you almost witless, especially in the dark hours of the night.

I unhook the claws that are still attached to the flesh in my side and crawl away, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Ah … So that is his game. Tonight after I whip his tail, I'll still leave the trail for him to follow, no matter how hard I try. Everywhere I go will smell of blood.

Smart, for an evil dream.

I run quickly, leaving a sparse trail behind. Only just enough for him to follow me.

Unfortunately.

I run back to my hiding space, the one that is an hour's run from his own. But he now has a better trail to follow. I should get to where there are many with open wounds. That should confuse him enough to let me get far enough away to nurse the wounds.

It will then be back to running until the next New moon. Once again.

And when that time comes, I will tear him apart once and for all.

I spent the next few hours in a hospital, getting my side stitched up. You're probably wondering why I'm not transforming? Because I have no contact with the dark sky. The moon and sun rays, any sort of light rays coming from the sky, no matter how weak or small, keeps me in my human shape. If there is no sun or moon, there is a fully grown Werelion out in the world, attacking all those she comes across.

Just after the doctor stitching up my side left to find the nurse, I hear, from below, a growl asking for me. Hell apparently didn't think I was either conscious or within hearing range, because he wasn't bothering to keep his voice down.

I run to the door. There he is, the arrogant dream, yelling to be taken to the woman who just came in with claw marks in her side. He obviously can’t smell me in here. Good.

I run, careful not to make a noise or move anything that will give me away.

As I look over my shoulder, the doctor runs over and reprimands Hell for yelling in a hospital. Hell just looks at him and throws him across the room. Through my door.

I only just reach the window and jump through when I hear the doctor hit the window sill with dull thump. I think Hell might have looked through the door or caught my scent because as I hide in the bushes he sticks his head out of the window and looks down. Into my eyes.

Crud. He knows where I am. Run.

I sprint out of the shadows, leaving the hospital, knowing I'll need it again soon.

I run down the road, changing as I go, into the Werelion we both know will seriously harm him tonight, injured or not.

I slow to a trot and wait for Hell. I know he will come to get me, thinking that I will be weakened by the holes in my side.

Fool.

I wait. And he appears, trotting, up over the hill in front of me.

He's stopped. I sit. He drops the tools he usually uses for battle. He thinks this will be an easy battle.

Idiot.

I think of all the maneuvers I'm capable of. As I think of them all, he pulls them off.

That's never happened before.

Slowly, I think of a forward summersault. He does it.

What the…?

Triple back-flip summersault.

Wow.

This gives me an idea. I think of the most embarrassing thing I can think of.

Hell does it.

I think of him picking up one of his tools and plunging it into his leg. He doesn't move.

It seem I have to think of myself doing it, not of him doing it, before he does anything.

So I think of myself picking up one of the tools and plunging it into my leg, again and again.

He does it.

Hell suddenly regains his composure to find blood spurting out between his hands, his leg artery severed in three places.

He falls down to the ground, a look of shock on his face.

Slowly he stops breathing.

And I fall to the ground too. It seems my thoughts not only applied to him. My leg is a mess and blood surrounds me in a pool.

I wake with a start. The sun is starting to rise and I'm at home in my bed.

A few hours later, I'm ready to leave for work, having had my morning coffee and eaten my morning apple.

I open the door and go to step out onto the porch.

There, laying on my front step, is a man with a furry fac