Crypto-Chronicles:: Hominis Lupus

By J. C. Sullivan

Cryptozoologist Andrew Selenski had spent his entire career in pursuit of the Hominis Lupus (Werewolves). After discovering a community of werewolves living outside Lancaster Pennsylvania, he gets drawn into their world. Discovering that a large predator is hunting them; he may now be the only hope their race has of survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682227770

Book preview

25-Epilogue

Prologue:

Filthy diseased dogs… They are a plague on this world and I am the vaccine. Everything about them is disgusting; the way they conduct themselves, the way they hunt, the way they breed, their very existence. They hide among us; they can look like us: well, as much as something like them can. Their bones fold in strange ways. Their flesh sheds and grows back leaving a sickening mess. Death follows them wherever they try and hide; regardless of their professed intentions. Intentions to live in peace, to not spread their sickness, and oh how they scream those overtures; oh, how I make them scream them. And worse yet their affliction is contagious; I have seen it spread like a sickness. I would be doing them a favor by wiping them out. I will do them that favor.

1

The Devil You Know

It’s funny I never thought the boogeyman could have a boogeyman. Everyone is scared of something, but in this case I’d think it’s fair to say that everything is scared of something. Creatures know when their extinction is on the horizon; they can smell it, and the acts that follow are often out of desperation. Theirs would have very little to do with us. It started with us, but what they feared most fell more into the category of genocide.

I’ve been a weird kid ever since I can remember. I was always into science and stuff; you might say I was a savant. It kind of makes sense that I would grow up to be a cryptozoologist. That is to also make the broad assumption that Cryptozoologists are grown-ups. I would also grow up to be geeky, scrawny, and slightly balding; did I mention I have allergies? Yeah, my physical disposition does little to inspire the respect of my peers either. I’ve been hitting the weights though and trying to bulk up, but my only result is the realization that most girl scouts can beat me up.

Some things never change.

Among scientists we are the odd ones; the outcasts. But even among my peers I was an outcast, because I hunted werewolves. I’ve taken a whole lot of shit over the years from my colleagues. I’m talking about people who chase Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster. Even the alien hunters get their licks in. The ones who chase vampires and cult phenomenon are the closest colleagues I consider friends, or rather kindred spirits, and sometimes I get the feeling that they even look down on me. You think I’d be used to being on the bottom of the food chain. It can be tough to stomach; being ridiculed by these people. Maybe that’s why I’m developing ulcers.

I’d have them all eating crow but then the shit would really hit the fan. I finally found proof! I was able to verify the existence of werewolves. The reason that they’re existence hadn’t been previously exposed however, quickly became obvious to me. The biggest discovery of modern science and the respect and admiration of my peers was in my grasp, but I was helpless to tell anyone. Werewolves are people too, and the person is not so separate from the wolf. This I found out the hard way. I’m pretty sure though that the person who ousted their secret would not be long for this world.

I was stalking a wolf in Lancaster, Pennsylvania; not all that surprising that one would be stalking the Amish countryside. I was, however, staked out just outside of a Mennonite village; several miles out. Several occurrences had surfaced in local newspapers which would suggest a lycanthrope presence. What surprised me most was that the wolf in human form was no less dangerous than when transformed.

I had been skulking around local farms gathering samples and collecting evidence. So far I had a plaster cast from a footprint, a hair sample as yet unanalyzed, and some photographs of mutilated farm animals. Honestly I didn’t have much to go off of. My big break in the case occurred when one of the farmers started sniffing around.

I’m not speaking figuratively; he was really sniffing. I knew I had to act cautiously; the lanky bearded fellow was likely many times stronger than the average human, and I was many times weaker than average. Once the human counterpart had been established hunting the wolf would get lot easier. At least that was the theory.

The wolf must have gotten my scent from my evidence gathering; or rather it was the man. The man approached me; the look in his eyes was sinister at best. His eyes were steel blue set back into a weathered brow; his skin had deep creases on his forehead, like he wore a perpetual scowl. His gaze was cold as if, like his animal counterpart, he was trying to feel me out; to see if I were prey.

I knew what he was searching for; to see if I would startle, to see if I showed fear. I of course showed none, but then again they are also possessed of human intelligence and there was always the chance he’d call my bluff. This also means he knew full well that he could easily kill me and that I was likely mentally wetting my pants. He snaked his arm between me and my little red Chevy Corsica as I was trying hastily to get into; his hand gripping the roof of my car.

You don’t belong here. You should go back home.

The imprint of his hand upon the roof of my car made his message clear, should I be less than adept at reading between the lines. With that he simply turned and headed back toward his farm, about two hundred yards, up the road.

I’m not afraid… I was able to choke out with only a slight pre-pubescent crack in my voice.

The farmer turned immediately and ran at me; smashing me between my car and the door. I gasped and struggled between him and the vehicle I had been pinned to; two immovable structures. His face was only inches from mine and he advanced as I reeled back. He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me in close .

You had damn well be! He snarled revealing no change yet in his dental structure, his eyes glowed dimly; or perhaps it was the light gleaming across choroid layer forming within his eye. If the pack council should find you here…

…The pack council? There were more? A governing structure…this was bigger than

I thought.

I pray you take my friendly advice and go. With that he released his vice-like grip from my throat and walked away quickly.

Wait, I just want to study your kind! Ask you some questions! I mean no harm!

Science is the tool of the devil!

Some would say the same of your people.

With that he stopped again; maybe I had struck a chord. Shivers ran up my spine. For a tense moment I held my breath; would he just break me in two for being too persistent? Had I crossed the line with that?

Follow me. He said gruffly; as if now I’d given him something to prove, or rather disprove.

My name is Andrew… I sputtered Andrew Selinski.

He took me to his barn for a conversation: I learned a lot from our talk. His name was Ezekiel, and he was trying to keep me alive. I learned that each pack has a council. Our country is divided up into territories; these territories belong to one of five large packs.

The wolves govern themselves as far as predation; killing humans is strictly prohibited. However in my case they would’ve made an exception to protect their race from exposure. Every now and then a rogue wolf will kill a human, but the council will send a posse to hunt them down. Of course they haven’t had an occurrence in nearly five years. I’ll admit it’s a lot better than our murder rates.

Lycanthropy is spread by bite, but people are not frequently inducted into their ranks; as the bite typically causes a sickness that is lethal. When new ones are brought in, which is extremely rare, their transformations can’t be controlled and the rest of their pack has to look after them like children to keep them out of trouble. As well as in children, in the later stages the transformations are voluntary, but initially they are governed by lunar cycle, anger, and excitement. In the meantime the rest of the pack makes sure that they do not pose a danger to anyone.

There are small squabbles over territory but that is not what concerns the packs. I learned of a rumor; a rumor concerning some kind of Uber wolf. The boogeyman had a boogeyman.

The story tells of a rogue wolf killing humans in the area around Alaska. When the councils hunting party caught up to him they were too late. Not for his latest victim though; they found the rogue wolf dead in his wolfen form. What was even more disturbing was the pattern of wounds; only several broken bones, and blunt force trauma. The facts implied that the wolf had been mauled to death. The question remained: by what? What on god’s green earth would be powerful enough to maul a werewolf? The answer was more frightening still.

Crime scene evidence collected and then buried by the pack members in the police force showed that some of the blood samples from the crime scene were human. The autopsy confirmed the lacerations around the throat were consistent with a snare and the bruising with large human hands. Their murderer was human. And it was indeed a murder, according to Ezekiel; who insisted that any wolf who took that kind of damage would most certainly be trying to slink away.

So now the regional council had a wolf on their hands that before becoming one of them was able to maul a transformed werewolf to death. Their problems quickly manifested when bodies started turning up. First human bodies, then the bodies of the hunters dispatched to bring him in. At first they believed he was making a bid for power; for territory, but he kept pressing into new territory further and further. The word circulating was genocide. He was hunting his own kind, and he was exceptionally good at it.

That’s when things began to make sense for me; creatures know when their extinction is on the horizon: they can smell it, and the acts that follow are often out of desperation. This, talking to me, was an act of desperation.

He’s here now. He said soberly. My kind have been turning up dead; mutilated.

I pop a few Prevacid; I have a gastro-intestinal problem and its being aggravated. I get the feeling that he’s going to ask for my help. For the life of me I cannot imagine how I could be any help in this.

My wish is to bring you before the council; to ask them if we can enlist your assistance. Being so weak and harmless you would not alarm the rogue; probably.

So you figure I could track him… hunt him, because he probably wouldn’t pay me any attention?

Yes, probably.

I’m not sure I’m comfortable with probably. What if I choose not to help?

Maybe we decide to reconsider eating you?… He said with an exaggerated and almost comedic gesture.

I’m suddenly more comfortable with being a hunter.

He grins at me with gleaming, yet human, teeth. I thought you might be.

That’s how I came to work for the boogeyman. Ezekiel convinced the Council to enlist my services and now I’m hunting their boogeyman. I try to convince myself that I’m a detective hunting an elusive and extremely dangerous serial killer. That helps to take the edge off a little for me. Everything is scared of something; these days I’m scared of a lot. Being at the bottom of the food chain makes me a little jumpy. Better the devil you know…

2

Scary Shit

I’m farting. That’s all I remember thinking: I’m seconds away from being brutally disemboweled and probably eaten and I can’t stop farting. I clench the earth and pine needles tight in my hand as I cower with my back to the pine tree that I scurried under; its thick low lying branches thinking it would be the perfect spot to evade the incarnation of death that was hot on my trail. Oh god it stinks so badly: I’m a dead man.

My story is interrupted by Ezekiel and Jeddah’s furious laughter. Haha… oh, oh… saved by the devil’s wind. Their laughter continued for several minutes; Ezekiel slapping his hand on the table jarring the tobacco from the pipe he held in that hand. I’d have probably been cracking up too if I hadn’t just almost died.

It was shortly after my conversation with Ezekiel and my meeting with the council that I began my hunt for the rogue wolf. I was also shortly thereafter able to stop shaking and quit breaking down into hysterical sobbing. I wasn’t used to dealing with that kind of pressure. Do this or we’re going to eat you kind of loses its comedic value when the people you’re dealing with are serious about it. Only one thing is for certain: I would not have died with dignity. In fact I think they might have even felt guilty about it; I was acting pretty pathetic.

Ezekiel and I determined that the rogue wouldn’t be able to control his transformations yet and therefore must still be relying on the lunar cycle. Humans get a little testy on a full moon; werewolves on the other hand, well you get the idea. It is without a doubt the most dangerous time to hunt, but it was also when the wolf would be most careless. In retrospect I don’t know how the hell Zeke talked me into it; maybe he threatened to ingest me again.

So there I was… every good hunting story starts with that. Good however depends on your definition. I will not start my story with so there I was…

"So I’m out there…and I’m parked in my little red Corsica, because I’ll be damned if I was getting out of my car on a full moon. All the lights are off and I’ve got a white rag hanging from my window. It’s as close to camouflage as a red Corsica gets.

I’ve got hot coffee and donuts to try and keep me awake throughout the night. Don’t worry I remembered to roll the windows up: I’m not stupid. I was staking out a stretch of road just outside of town. It was nice because the full moon gave me all the visibility I needed to see practically all the way to town.

Three hours had gone by since nightfall, and the moon was high in the night sky. I plainly saw three young bearded gentlemen carrying a lantern sauntering merrily away from town."

Probably on the way back from the bar, or pub or whatever Mennonites call them: did I just say merrily? I’ve definitely been hanging around Zeke too much. Do they drink? It’s not like it matters, they aren’t really Mennonites anyway; they’re just posing as a Mennonite community.

"So they’re wandering around looking like lamb chops on a plate garnished with rosemary, and I saw this large hunched back lumbering across a field to their right. I began to panic; I started fumbling through my thoughts: should I try to yell and warn them? No, what the hell could they do? I grabbed my car keys. I couldn’t believe what I was getting