Halloween Scarecrow

"Who is this?" Violet asked with a gesture to the strange companion.

"Oh, this is Manhattan. He helped me earlier."

Violet nodded and turned her attention to Manhattan. "How did you come to be here and what is your purpose?"

The will-o-the-wisps which had been tracking between Violet and Philadelphia focused on Violet. She found his gaze unnerving.

"The Magus made me..."

"Magus? You mean Mr. Campbell?"

He nodded. "Yes. He made me to keep the house and the front grounds. I was to stay out of the back. He was very nice to me." The will-o-the-wisps brightened as his gaze intensified. "May I ask, who was that meant to be?"

Violet regarded him for a moment before answering. "Aidan, my mate. He died two Halloweens ago."

The scarecrow paused, a hesitant question hovering. "Does...does it ever get easier?" he asked, the shape of the eye sockets sliding slightly, an expression both hopeful and desperate.

Violet sighed. "It gets bearable, in time."

The jack o' lantern turned downward as the eyes and mouth shifted to the expression Philadelphia had seen when she originally came upon him. It was strange yet fascinating to watch the alterations of the jack o' lantern's features shift smoothly from one expression to another.

"I had hoped..." he softly replied.

Philadelphia drifted over to him and gently set her hand on his shoulder. He looked over to her, then laid his hand on hers.

Violet broke the reverie. "We have to keep moving, we're on a hunt. Do you know where the others are?" she asked of Philadelphia.

The black she-wolf shook her head. "I don't know."

Violet nodded as she again took the wolf form. Fur covered her body's changing dimensions, the primal power welling up within her. Transformation completed, she stood tall and determined to call her pack and finish the hunt. She took a moment to focus the power she carried as alpha and as chosen of the moon then tipped back her head and howled long and fierce.

Channeling her will and authority through the howl, she called her pack to her. She felt tendrils of mist surround her, challenge her, smother her. She shook her head sharply but continued to howl, her power savage inside her, demanding the release of the hunt. Her howls echoed through the night, reaching the ears of her pack and taking to them her strength and her demands.

***********************************

Marcus cursed himself when he lost Philadelphia, as well as the rest of the packs', scents. He cast about, hoping to find at least Philadelphia's scent as she was the closest to him. Instead, he found a scent he would never have expected here: Wyatt's. Marcus shook his head to attempt to clear the the scent and cast about again. He found the same scent. Snarling, Marcus set to following it. He wanted to get to the bottom of this.

The trail led through the woods in back. In the distance, through a break in the mist, he thought he caught a glimpse of all-too-familiar brown fur ahead. Damn it! What could he possibly be doing here? Marcus howled softly and listened for a response.

A response came to him, unmistakably Wyatt. Marcus moved cautiously towards the spot and howled softly again. Again, a response came back. But this time it was high-pitched and wavering, a frightened sound. Marcus quickened his pace. When the third howl's response was choked silent, he broke into a run.

He reached a clearing where the mist was a bit thinner. In the center was Wyatt, fearful and trembling. Marcus stepped guardedly into the clearing. Mentally, he was thinking back to the map and trying to calculate how far into the raven's land he had to be. Did it go this far back? "Wyatt, what are you doing here?" he asked.

Wyatt looked over to Marcus, his eyes wide. "I wanted to show you I could hunt. But there's something dangerous around."

Wyatt's fear called to Marcus, his every instinct to protect the weaker wolf. But things just felt wrong.

"Wyatt, how did you get out here?" Marcus asked, circling the young wolf.

"I took one of the other pack house cars," he explained, his head lowered in shame. "I wanted to help."

Plausible, thought Marcus. He closed the distance in a lose spiral towards the center, hoping to see something in Wyatt that would definitively convince him of the truth. When he was approximately half way to him, maybe a few yards away, Wyatt's trembling became more pronounced.

"Marcus," Wyatt's voice was barely above a whisper and sliding towards a whine. "There's something out here. Please, hurry!"

"It's OK," Marcus responded, projecting as much calm to the frightened young wolf as he could. "I'm almost there."

As soon as Marcus finished speaking something seized Wyatt's leg and drug him towards the woods on the other side of the clearing.

"Marcus!" he screamed as he was being drug away.

"Wyatt!" Marcus threw himself forward, assuming the quadruped wolf form and running full speed towards Wyatt. Marcus could neither see nor scent whatever had Wyatt. His eyes only saw the mist enshrouded landscape and his nose only picked up the mist and Wyatt. Whatever had him, it was fast. Marcus was running as fast as he could and was losing ground. He saw Wyatt disappear into the woods on the far side of the clearing.

Marcus was close behind, but running as fast as he was he didn't see the gnarled tree roots reaching up from the ground. His foreleg didn't clear one, causing Marcus to crash into the ground and slide, his breath knocked from him on impact and his side flaring in pain when he struck the thick trunk of a tree. He rose, stumbled a bit with pain, and resumed the chase. As the mist closed in around him, all thoughts of whether Wyatt was real or not vanished. His only thought was to reach Wyatt before it was too late. Wyatt's screams suddenly echoed through the area, high-pitched and filled with terror. Marcus lost his footing again and the ground surged upward to further abuse his body.

He rose despite his injuries, the screams compelling him onward. However, in the fall Marcus briefly lost the scent adding time he couldn't afford to lose. The screams had faded when he located it again. Marcus followed it as swiftly as he could allowing for the terrain.

An ancient tree, thick and twisted with moss and mold covering it, stood apart from the other trees. Marcus smelled blood, both old and fresh. Bodies hung from this tree, obscene fruit awaiting a vile harvest. Most were long dead and bones littered the area around the base of the tree.

One body was fresh, one very human body. Blood dripped languidly down hanging arms. The torso was ravaged, the ribs showing through. The hair been torn from one half of the skull. The face was frozen in a look of horror and as Marcus caught a glimpse of the eyes as the body swayed and twisted slowly, they were wide and bulging.

Marcus stood frozen for a moment, the rage in him too profound to allow him to move at first. Then he threw himself at the tree, again and again. He tore it with his claws and bit chunks out of the trunk. Eventually, exhaustion drained him. He slid down the tree, the skin of his now-human body being scraped the rough bark. As much as he wanted to bury his face in his hands, too look away from his failure, he couldn't. Some unknown impulse forced him to watch the body twist and turn. The hideous expression broke his spirit more every time the eyes came into view.

This was surprisingly not as good as the obsession had hoped. The wolf broke too quickly. The despair was dark and thick, pain for the taking, but over too quickly. The reaping should have been prolonged.

A howl came on the wind, a summons at the depth of his soul. He wanted to rise, tried to will himself up, but the sight of those eyes weighed him down. The howl repeated, louder and stronger, demanding the pack gather. Against the great pressure holding him down, pinning his spirit to the tree, Marcus rose. The struggle was immense, his muscles straining to stay upright. He focused on the howl, let it wash over him, fill him, strengthen him. He took a step, it came easier this time.

Stay. The sound was so low he sensed more than heard it.

"No. I must go."

Stay here. You must stay with me. Please.

Marcus turned his attention back to Wyatt's corpse and caught the slightest of movement. He cocked his head, studying the body. Did he see the mouth move? He took a step back, concentrating. He didn't hear anything further, but he could have sworn the expression had changed from horror to concern. What was going on?

As another howl sounded, the expression changed to one of anger. Marcus felt a matching anger swell in him, enlarging his body into his bipedal wolf form. How dare this thing use Wyatt to deceive him? How DARE it! Marcus growled deep in his throat and would have attacked the tree, but the howl summoned him.

Marcus located the direction of the sound and with a final look and obscene gesture to the tree, ran off in full wolf form.

*********************************

Ballard shuddered when he lost his pack. He looked about, searched carefully, but could find not a trace. Fear chewed at him, fear for his pack. Something was happening, and he had to determine what it was and how to stop it. He was about to tip his head back and howl, hoping the primal urge to respond would help him locate the pack when he felt a hand gently lay across the small of his back. He turned.

"Socorro?" he asked. Confused, he regarded his mate in her human form.

She smiled up at him, seduction in her half-closed eyes. She drew her hand around his waist to his front and he found himself unexpectedly human. She reached up and drew her hands down his chest. Ballard seized her wrists.

"Socorro, what's gotten into you? We're here on hunt. We don't have time for this." He looked into her eyes, trying to impress upon her the urgency of the situation. The familiar hazel eyes he'd gazed into hundreds of times before seemed slightly fogged over. The mist around them closed in.

Socorro twisted her wrists, easily freeing her hands. Never breaking contact, Socorro began to massage Ballard's member. To his dismay, he felt his body responding. He tried to step away, but his foot caught on something. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground.

Splayed out upon the ground, Socorro was on top of him before he could react. Though his mate was much smaller than he was, Ballard was loathe to try to put too much force into trying to stop her, lest her harm her accidentally. Instead, he tried to squirm out from underneath her.

"We. Don't. Have. Time. For. This." he said, stressing every word.

Socorro merely giggled.

She deftly took his member into her hand and began to stroke it. Ballard writhed beneath her, desperate to escape even as his body responded even more strongly to her ministrations. Then she leaned over and licked his erection. The touch was electric as chills ran up and down his spine. Ballard slammed the back of his head into the ground, focusing on the resulting pain rather than the ministrations of his mate.

"Beloved," she purred. "Why would you rather hurt yourself than let me pleasure you?"

Socorro leaned forward, rubbing herself against Ballard's erect member as an afterthought. She tenderly cupped his face in her hands, directing his gaze again to her eyes. Then she kissed him, long and deep. Ballard tried to resist the kiss, but his will was faltering.

Releasing his head, Socorro again worked her way down his torso, kissing him as she went. She returned her attention to his member and worked her lips and mouth around it. The warmth of her mouth surrounded Ballard's member and he gasped at the sensation. She slowly drew her lips back along his shaft, exposing it to the chill air.

Soon it was warm again, ensconced within Socorro. She rocked back and forth, stimulating Ballard as he fought against the urges rising up in him. He snarled and pushed at Socorro, trying to dislodge her even as his orgasm built. She laughed, mocking, and rode him harder, her body undulating against him.

Ballard felt not only his rising climax but also a feeling he was far less familiar with: annoyance. Annoyance that was swiftly working towards anger. They were on a hunt, this was neither the time nor the place. He bucked, trying to dislodge her.

"Socorro, what's gotten into you?" he demanded.

Looking down, she shrugged, her expression one of utter dismissal. Ballard's anger flared hot.

He surged from beneath her, rising to his feet and grasping her shoulders in one fluid move. He pushed her away, severing the sexual connection. He shook her hard, hoping to snap her out of whatever was going on. Her staccato laughter echoed around them. Before he knew it, he was shaking her violently, snarling at her laughter. The laughter abruptly stopped with a sharp snapping sound. Ballard froze, his breaths ragged.

The body he held at arm's length was still. The head lolled back and away at a disturbing angle. He gathered her close. The neck snapped back and the face was slack though the eyes still stared into him, laughing. He knelt to the ground, laying out the body of his mate.

"Oh, Moon," he moaned, tears gathering in his eyes. "What have I done?"

He tried to look away, bury his face in his hands and cry, but her gaze held him. He knelt there for an unknowable amount of time his loss, and the knowledge he caused it, weighing him into place.

The obsession considered the wolf in front of him. In many ways he was the most layered of the ones running the land. Facets that could be further explored, further exploited. Yes, this vein could be tapped again, and again...

Then, as if from a great distance, he heard a howl. His alpha's howl. For a moment, he couldn't answer it, couldn't consider moving from the place of his pain. But the call was insistent, the pack was being called. How could he answer? How could he answer and bring the news he had killed Socorro? The howls continued. His wolf stirred, demanded he answer. He should, of course. If nothing else, Socorro would expect it of him. His duty was to the pack, to take the sad news, and to bear what judgment would come. In truth, he didn't hope for leniency. He hoped for death.

Ballard carefully slid his arms under Socorro's corpse to lift it up and carry it back. It slid out of his arms. Ballard shook himself. He was bone-tired and nearly numb from his experience, he would have to be more careful. He tried again with the same results.

The beta-wolf cocked his head. Once he could pass off to his tired condition, but twice? What was it they said? Once was happenstance, twice was coincidence, third time was enemy action. Very well, try for three. This time he didn't slide his arms under her. He grabbed the body and tried to rise upward. The body gripped the ground vines and resisted. He threw it to the ground.

His gorge rose as the wolf shape cloaked his form, his anger channeling itself into the change. He snarled, furious, at this abomination that wore his mate's shape when the howling reached him again. He teetered a moment as his body translated his indecision into movement. Answer the call or destroy the thing before him? The answer came to him as a sudden flash. If Socorro was at all alive and mobile, she would answer the call. He had to go to the pack. He turned from the foul thing in his mate's shape and ran as fast as he could hoping to find his mate.

******************************

Socorro snarled when she lost sight and scent of not only Tobias, but everyone else. She remained still, straining her senses hoping to catch a scent on the breeze, a howl in the night telling her where the others were but nothing came. She shifted to full wolf and began to search in a widening spiral. No matter how far she extended her spiral there was only the mist, as though the world she occupied was made of nothing but that accursed mist. Not entirely nothing else, she realized as the guard hairs on her hackles rose up. She was being watched. She raised her head and snarled again, fangs barred. Nothing happened. She looked carefully around, smelled the air. There was nothing she could find around her. With a final look around, she returned to searching.

She was strong, this one. She owned herself completely. She wasn't as strong as some of the others but paradoxically neither was she as weak. No wounds so obviously worn that they could be picked apart and bled. If it had been at full power this wouldn't have been a problem. But it wasn't. The other had seen to that. The other was destroyed, it was true, but it had taken much to destroy him and little was gained in the process.

It had been a long, difficult battle. Yet it had also been a dark and glorious challenge. It found itself almost missing that. A thought came. Save this wolf. Feed off the others, their pains were already being laid bare and a fine meal it was. Then when strength was restored, play with this one. Maybe not as grand a challenge as the other had been, but it could be an amusing substitute.

Socorro had no sense of time. She could see nothing of the sky and while she felt certain the night was passing, she could find no evidence of how much was passing or how quickly. She knew she'd traveled ground, but her surroundings never changed or altered. As if she was simply treading the same space over and over gain.

The feeling of being watched continued until abruptly it was gone. Socorro stopped in her tracks, the sudden disappearance of the feeling as disconcerting as it's presence had been. Then she heard it: a howl ringing into the night. Violet's howl. Socorro raced to the source.

*****************************

Tobias was upset, but not particularly surprised to be cut off from his pack. He cursed himself for his foolishness. He should have seen this coming. Splitting up made a great deal of sense as there was a lot of territory to cover, but staying together would probably have been a better plan. He only hoped he could live long enough to learn from the experience.

A scent came to him with the smell of the mist. He sniffed deeply, trying to confirm what he thought he smelled. Now he was sure, and he hadn't smelled this in a very long time. Tobias considered for a moment, then closed his eyes and stilled himself. As surreptitiously as he could, he cast a spell of protection and waited to see what happened.

A small girl was walking towards him. He remembered her, a little girl from long, long ago. Memories came cascading into his mind. A dark, tentacled thing, a lonely old house, a little girl crying. He shut them down. The past was over and immutable. What mattered was the here-and-now.

He felt his body start to shift back to human. He could fight it, but decided not to. He wanted to see where this was going. The girl came to him. A little over five, perhaps, dressed in a plaid dress with a satin sash matching the one tied into her long brown hair. She was in her stocking feet, her shoes long lost, as Tobias remembered.

"I'm scared," she said in the voice he remembered so damnably well. "Will you protect me?"

Tobias studied the girl while hiding behind a mask of shock. The energy of the place was overwhelming, but the girl didn't stand in any sort of contrast to it. She should not feel like this place. Tobias crouched in front her.

"I'll do what I can," he said in the most sincere voice he could muster.

He rose and walked around the area, making a show of looking out and around as he covertly drug his outermost foot, making a small furrow in the ground.

"How did you get here?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, starting to cry. "I just was here. But I think I remember you. You'll protect me."