A lunatic moon

Chapter 5 - Mike-boar, The Fish & Sneaking Out

He slept deeply and dreamt of the boar. It was completely surreal, as only dreams have the power to be. This time he was free of fear and the sickening sensations delivered by a fever and there was no sign of Jean Duhamel. Danny stood in the clearing, in the woods. The sun was shining, birds were singing and even the deer that were once just bones on the ground were alive again. A mother deer and her two fawns. Instead of urging Danny to run, the boar was conversational this time, but it spoke in the voice of his friend Mike. Danny thought that was weird, but he was happy to hear Mike's voice again. The boar stood in a patch of sunlight casually chewing on some fiddleheads growing in a patch of ferns. The Michael-boar imparted knowledge to Danny in Mike's friendly voice and some kind of telepathy it seemed, as well. The telepathy came in a kind of 'knowing' and brief, but ever-changing images. The images flowed smoothly, which Danny found calming.

"You have been poisoned. You were infected by the cut on your thumb from my knife, you dork! Way to go spaz..." Michael-boar joked.

"Do you remember seeing blood on the blade when you found my knife by my body? Well, That wasn't even my blood! That was the monster's blood. Jean Duhamel's blood. You didn't clean my knife and when you cut your thumb some of it got in ya. That's why you got sick. It infected you. Now that it's in you, you're changing. Look at your thumb you can see it in there. Go ahead, check it out."

Danny looked at his thumb, which had healed quickly. Beneath the faint line where the cut had been, Danny could see a little bit of black stuff under his skin. It sort of looked like a sliver or a thorn embedded in the flesh.

"That's it," Michael-boar said sadly. "that's all it took to make you change."

"Into what?" Danny asked.

"Into the monster. Into him! Into IT! ... Do you know what 'IT' is Danny? you're not gonna believe this... It's a Werewolf."

At this, Danny laughed. Not just because it was a ridiculous thing to say, but partly because it was funny to see the boar's mouth moving and hear Mike's voice come out of it.

"Aw c'mon. There are no such things as werewolves and even if there were, you have to be bitten by one."

"Well, that works too. Its saliva will infect you, but even a scratch from one, or in your case, some of its blood in an open wound will do it. It's a blood curse. An ancient blood curse..."

"This is just a dream. Werewolves are for horror stories and movies, some of them are BAD movies too. I'm not going to turn into a werewolf!" Danny protested.

"No, I'm sorry Danny. Really, man, I'm sorry. I wish it weren't true. You know it is though don't you? This is more than just a dream Danny. There truly ARE werewolves though. They've been around a long, long time. Not many people know the truth, but now you do. Most people who learn the truth, learn the hard way. Like me Danny. I found out the hard way. You won't turn into a werewolf, not yet, not until the next full moon...but there's something different about you...You need to understand...there's something different..."

"What's different about me? Why would I be different? And how come you didn't come back as a werewolf Mike?"

"You saw me..." Michael-boar said, shaking its massive head. It shifted on its cloven hooves, then bent down and started chomping on another fiddlehead.

Danny's head was suddenly flooded with visions of Mike's ruined body. Parts strewn across the tracks. A big piece of his throat missing...

"You have to survive an attack to become infected. That's why there are hardly any werewolves around. Otherwise, they'd be running around all over the place. Most people are torn apart and that's it for them." The boar said around its mouthful of fern.

Then the 'Knowing' telepathically... You weren't though Danny and you aren't. You are different...You were infected during an act of love...Seeking truth and justice for your friend...This makes you very different...Then he was bombarded with a highspeed slide show of images and emotions. Dozens of warm and whirling birds flew around his body, hundreds of buzzing, golden honey bees swarmed his head and frigid pure waters swirled around his knees. Huge shaggy timberwolves howled at him as he soared above massive peaks in some unknown mountain range, rising to dizzying heights on thermal updrafts, now sliding and rolling down gentle slopes, cushioned with soft velvety moss. It came to a stuttering stop in the clearing again. Here he was, in what seemed like such a familiar place now, he felt welcome.

Danny looked around, wondering if this was really and truly a dream. It sure was bizarre and dreamlike, but the certainty of what he felt was decidedly very real.

Michael-boar spoke again...I hope you understand now Danny...you need to understand...it is all very important...ALL very important...important...The boar ducked for another chomp at the fern he was working on. The three deer were still there he saw. Two of them watched the 'conversation' impassively, while the other fawn was nudging at it's mother's teat, nursing. He felt a sudden surge of love for them. Beautiful creatures and the way the dappled sunlight shone through the leaves, illuminating them in a soft glow. He looked over at Michael-boar again, who swallowed his mouthful of fern and appeared to smile...

'Weird.' Danny thought. 'Very weird.'

"Okay, let's say I believe you." Danny proposed. "What makes ME so different than your 'average' werewolf?" Danny asked, using his fingers to quote. Again he laughed, but just a little bit nervous now.

Again the 'Knowing', telepathically...and his view wavered and grew dim...

The beast...the werewolf...draws power from many things...the full moon...hate, fear, despair and blood are some of its sources...You Danny, can do the same but differently...as well as the full moon, you can draw your power from the environment around you...living things...animals, birds and insects...trees...from the very ground you walk on...and love. Love for these things...love for life itself...love for others...this does not make you weak...instead this makes you strong...it can make you stronger and stronger the more you learn how to draw the power from the very air you breathe! ... That is why you are so different...why this is so important to remember...so different...so important...

The boar grunted and came back into focus. It had started working on something else it had uncovered in the soil under its hooves. To Danny, it appeared to be a large earthworm.

"Oh, Mike that's nasty!" He said.

Michael-boar laughed, then let loose with a long rumbling fart. "Now THAT's nasty!" it said in Mike's voice. "Actually, these worms are delicious. Especially the big juicers like this one." And it slurped it into its mouth like a fat pink noodle.

"I gotta go now, Danny. It was nice talking with ya. Don't forget okay? The next full moon is going to be bad for you. It's going to hurt. The turning? It's going to hurt while it happens, so you should probably arrange to be far away from people, outside somewhere. Come back here to the woods, that might be a good idea."

"Am I going to kill someone?" Danny asked fearfully. "I really don't want to kill anyone!"

Michael-boar chuckled softly. "No, you'll have a certain amount of awareness I think. Werewolves can resist the urge to kill, but that urge gets stronger with each full moon they resist. Eventually, they all give in and kill someone. You're supposed to be different though Danny, so I don't know how it works...and like I said, I'm sorry. All of this sucks. I didn't wanna die. I'm glad you found out who killed me. That old fucker, Jean Duhamel? You were right about him. Be careful though, he's dangerous. He wants to kill you and he's been around a long time. Just be careful. You saw what he did to me...so be careful okay? Okay Danny? Okay..? Danny...? I gotta go now...be careful...okay? ...

As Danny reached out to touch the boar, it faded. The sun-dappled clearing grew dark and the three deer ran off into the woods. They felt a threat. Danny felt the threat too, as the clearing grew darker and the birds ceased singing. 'Time to go. I gotta be careful...' He thought...

...and he went too.

By the next morning, Monday, most of everything that had happened over the weekend, including the strange dream from the night before, was a dim memory. Except for one thing, that being what it was that the old man, Jean, had thrown into the field behind his little house. Danny knew it was important and it nagged at him. It nagged at him, as to how he was going to find out what it was. He still wanted to go when it was dark. He still thought it would be safer.

The only problem was that he had a ten 'o'clock curfew. He sat at the breakfast table with his brothers eating cereal and between slurps of cereal and good-natured banter with his brothers, gradually worked on a plan. He spent the day with his three brothers, messing around in the garden digging up worms and putting them in a couple of old margarine containers with some dirt to cover them. Danny poked holes in the plastic lids using Mike's pocket knife. Kevin watched him do it, but didn't ask him where he'd gotten the knife from. Then they went next door to ask Mrs. Parrish if they could take her dog Alfie fishing with them. Mrs. Parrish had adopted the dog to be her companion, as a widow she lived in the house next door to the Fergusons all by herself and felt better having a dog around too. She said to Danny when he knocked on the side door in her garage, that it was a fine idea and gave them the leash for Alfie. He was a medium size dog, shaggy grey with bright yellow inquisitive eyes. And he was positively ecstatic to be able to go fishing with the boys. They'd taken him plenty of times before and he knew the score. When Danny approached him with the leash, he wagged his stub of a tail ducking his head and moaning with joy. As Danny took him off the chain in the driveway and tried to click the leash to his collar. Alfie kept lunging ready to start and Danny laughed clutching his collar. 'Whoa. Whoa Alfie, hold on!" A Poodle-Pointer, bred to be a bird dog, Alfie had hip dysplasia and wasn't much of a swimmer, but he was a great wader. Bobby and James thought he was a pain in the ass. Once Alfie had gotten tangled in Jame's fishing line and another time he'd kicked the container of worms into the water when Bobby was trying to bait his hook. Danny and Kevin however, loved Alfie and his goofy personality and doggy grin. They thought it was fun watching Alfie wade in the pond, taking great gulps of water and splashing about. They ended up spending the whole day at the pond. Four boys and a dog, catching bass after bass, throwing them back and occasionally taking a break to build a twig fire, have a smoke, or eat some pears from the trees that grew by the pond.

Near the end of the day, Kevin caught a huge catfish that swallowed the hook. Sometimes if a fish swallowed a hook it was next to impossible to get it out without hurting the fish. Several times they'd thrown a bleeding fish back in the water after removing a swallowed hook, hoping for the best, only to have the fish float up dying a few minutes later. Strictly a catch-and-release mission, the catfish might have been the only damper on the day. This time though, Danny asked if he could please give it a try. Even though Kevin had caught and landed the enormous catfish, he happily agreed to let Danny try and remove the hook from deep in its throat. None of the boys liked hurting the fish they caught and always took care to carefully remove the hook and return them to the pond. Danny wet his hands with water first, so as not to wipe off the protective slime coating the fish while he handled it. He sat down crosslegged in the long grass, with the fish in his lap. When the catfish opened its mouth in a gasp, Danny quickly stuck his fingers in its mouth. The catfish immediately clamped its wide mouth shut on his fingers, all the way up to his third knuckle. Danny didn't flinch a bit and just sat there fiddling. Kevin, Bobby and James stood around him, watching silently as if watching a trained surgeon in a life-saving operation. That wasn't far from the truth either. The twins watched wide-eyed, mouths agape, while Danny worked and Kevin squatted down beside him for a closer look. He whispered, "Careful. Careful with it Danny." Danny just nodded, squinting and fiddling. The fish slapped its tail a couple of times against his bare ankle and Danny stopped.

"Is he bleeding from the gills Kev?" He asked, also in a whisper. Kevin checked,

"No. He looks ok." he said.

"Hang on. I think I got it. Come on Mr. Fish, work with me here." Danny said and resumed fiddling. A little slower and a little bit more careful now. The catfish yawned in another gasp for air and Danny removed the hook in one fluid motion. A length of worm hung from the corner of its mouth and Danny tucked it in, saying "There, that's for you, you earned it...I did it, boys!" Its mouth closed with a snap and Danny stood up beaming, cradling his patient gently, but firmly. He took a couple of steps to the pond's edge and slid the fish into the water, watching with a smile as it swam away.

"Nice one!" Kevin cheered. Bobby and James looked at each other, then back at their older brother with adoration.

"Holy shit."Bobby breathed, "I thought that fish was a goner!" He looked back at James again, James just stood there grinning and nodding.

"Well it was deep enough," Danny spoke grimly, "but Kev's hook was too big to go all the way down its throat. It also gave me something to grab onto. I didn't wanna hurt it, it's such a big fish. Now it'll live and maybe we can catch it again some other day right?" Although Danny knew the fish had probably learned its lesson and would from here on avoid any tempting bits of worm wriggling on a fish hook. The whole time they failed to notice that Alfie the dog had been standing quietly and patiently, watching Danny too. Now he announced his presence with a groan and growl of joy, ducking his head and wagging his stub of a tail. They all looked around at him in surprise. Even Bobby and James were laughing. "You're a pain in the ass Alfie, but a goofy pain in the ass!" Bobby said.

It had been a pretty good day indeed and a couple of hours after dinner the family gathered around the T.V. to watch a movie. By the time the end credits were rolling and the boys made for their rooms to read before bed, Danny was exhausted. As he lay in bed smelling the clean sheets his mom had put on his bed that afternoon, Danny almost forgot about his plans. He started to doze off into the comfortable arms of sleep when it all came back to him with a jerk. His eyes snapped open and he remembered what he was going to do that night. He lay still listening and thinking. He could hear his twin brothers across the hall and the steady deep breathing that meant they were already asleep. He got up and crept to his door peeking into the hall. In Bobby's room, he could see from the light shining under the crack in the door that he was probably still awake, reading. He went back to his bed, snagging his jeans along the way. He sat on the edge of his bed, pulling his pants on and feeling guilty. He was going to wait until the house was totally quiet and he was sure everyone was asleep, then he was going to sneak out. He felt bad about it too. He felt bad because it had been such a good day. Such a happy day of fishing, followed by a good dinner and a funny movie starring John Candy, one of his favorites. And here he was deceiving his family by sneaking out while they slept. Skulking into the night like a thief while his house and the village around him slept away in their warm cozy dreams. He had to do it though. It was his wont and once he started on something he rarely stopped without finishing it. As he quietly buckled his belt, he saw through the gap in his door Bobby's light wink out. Not much longer now, he thought. His parents had gone to bed as well and barring any hanky panky, they usually read for about half an hour before going to sleep themselves. While he waited, he went through some of the stuff in his backpack. He had a bottle of water from the tap, spare matches, a flashlight, and extra batteries. Both for his walkman and the flashlight. He packed a pair of socks in case he got a soaker and checked that he had Mike's knife in his pant's pocket still. At the last second, he jammed a sweater in there too, just in case it got cold. There. That should do it. He was trying to be quiet, but his heart was pounding, had been for a while now. That sick feeling of guilt stole over him again and he groaned softly, wrapping his arms around his stomach and rocking gently on the bed. Oh god, he couldn't wait any longer. He got up and paced nervously back and forth in his room a few times. He looked at his clock on the wall, the one cleverly crafted from a vinyl record and decided it was time to go. He crept down the carpeted stairs to the second floor and carefully, without waking Kevin, or his parents, nipped across the hall to the guest room. This was going to be the hardest part and he was going to have to be careful. He tested the door to see if it had been closed all the way. It hadn't, so he wouldn't need to turn the old squeaky handle. As he stepped into the dark of the rarely used guest room, the floor creaked beneath him and he froze. Suddenly he heard whispering from his parent's room and his heart leaped into his throat. More whispering, his father. Then he heard his mother giggle. Ugh! Hanky panky. Danny thought and swung the door closed behind him, not all the way shut though. He paused, waiting for his eyes to get accustomed to the dark. He noticed that it was almost instant and although objects were dimly outlined he could see quite clearly. Must be from eating my veggies he thought with an inward smile and tip-toed toward the door. He heard more giggling from his parents, muffled now, through the wall of the guest room. He figured this was probably a good time to sneak out after all, while his parents were otherwise occupied. At the back of the guest room, there was a door that led outside onto a sort of deck. It was more or less the flat roof of the back porch, but from there he was able to climb down the T.V. aerial and into the backyard. He paused again when he reached the bottom of the aerial, listening. All he could hear were a few diehard crickets in the cool night air. He squeezed through the gate that stood hanging open and made off down the driveway keeping to the shadows. The further he got from his house the more the hand that had been gripping the inside of his chest tightly the entire time, loosened. By the time he was halfway down the street, in the direction of Meadow's road, he was breathing easily and jogging nimbly. Just before he got to the corner he heard a car coming and he ducked behind a tree.While he was hiding behind the tree, he pressed his face into its rough bark, deeply inhaling its musty odor. As he hugged its trunk, he felt himself growing stronger and more confident. Suddenly remembering his dream from last night, he wondered if he was drawing power from the tree. It was a queer, almost sexual feeling, but he liked it though! He waited for the car to pass by, watching while it braked for the stop sign in front of his house, then speed away. He came out from behind the tree and ran like a deer up Meadow's road toward the tracks. He felt light and fast now. And free! He'd done it. Somehow that feeling of guilt had been shed and he felt totally sure of himself. He felt like he belonged to the night as if he were part of it. It felt like he was borrowing power from different sources all around him. Like he'd gained a cloak of invisibility and a bit of a boner too. From that tree! How strange, he thought smiling. No time to stop and think now though. He hurried under a single street light in front of the old school. When he got to the tracks, he dashed down them, skipping over the railway ties effortlessly. Far enough, until he felt he couldn't be seen by any cars along Meadow's road. Total darkness. Then he stopped for a breather. He looked back toward the sleeping village, scanning and watching. No movement, no dog walkers, no cars, nothing. He lit a smoke and smiled to himself. He smoked in the darkness, calm and self assured. He was an escapee. A fugitive. A wild critter. An animal of the night and he knew he had all the time he wanted, at least until first light, to get to Ugly and Old's and then back to his bed safely.

He wouldn't though. Not before first light. And definitely not safely.

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Jean Duhamel sat at his dirty kitchen table. The edges were scarred and scalloped with numerous cigarette burns. All kinds of objects cluttered its surface. None of which held any consequence to him or his life. Old newspapers, some torn and ragged, others stained or yellowed with nicotine and age. Empty cans that once held ham, spam or other tinned meat were now filled to overflowing with cigarette butts. A few empty whiskey bottles stood like drunken, misguided sentries, unsure of where to march to next. These were the lucky ones, the bottles that had escaped his rage. The unlucky ones lay scattered on the floor in broken fragments. Their jagged edges gleamed dully in the sickly yellow light of a fly specked forty-watt bulb, dangling overhead from a cobwebbed cord. The weak bulb used to have a partner once, but that was now just a pronged, dead root in it's receptacle, like a busted tooth in a rotting gumline. Long ago when the bulb's partner had been whole, they had been covered with a cheerful shade, that featured chickens and other barnyard animals. Shade and bulb were long gone now and lying on the floor with all the other broken glass. Hiding in the corners like frightened children in the presence of an angry father. Chunks of rooster and goat kept each other company, somewhere in this mess. Jean had a violent habit of flying into sudden rages. Especially if he'd been drinking, as he was now. During these fits of anger, he liked throwing things at the wall. It helped quell the anger, not much, but a little at least. Sometimes whatever happened to be within reach, if it didn't break against the wall, it would rebound instead and if luck would have it, break something else instead. This usually resulted in Jean uttering a bitter laugh, more like a bark. A loud and rough, "HA!", nothing more. Tonight though, he hadn't broken anything. Yet. There was still time, it was before midnight after all and his bottle was half empty. He'd never been the 'half full' type of guy. He took a belt of whiskey and lit a fresh cigarette. Even though one still burned on the table. Somewhere under all of this..."Crap!" he yelled and swept half of it onto the floor. Sparing his half-empty bottle of whiskey, as well as one of the empty ones. Two other empty sentries met their fate on the floor under his feet. One of them broke. "Well there you go..." He muttered. His accent was thick with booze. Sometimes if he got drunk enough he'd lapse into his native tongue altogether and storm around the little house, swearing and cursing his luck in French. Not Quebecois commonly spoken by Canadian Francophones, nor modern French as you might hear it today if you were to visit Paris. This was very old French and much of it was slang. Just because he'd been captain of the guard, it didn't mean he came from royalty and spoke with poise and eloquence. He'd come from the street and learned his French from parents who swore and drank, begged and robbed, fought and fucked. Just as everyone else from his part of town had. Even though he'd been captain of the guard, that made him no better. A slight elevation in social status was all that rank had afforded him. Now he was nobody. An exile, a murderer with a monthly curse. He'd kept it well hidden for a long time, but he was getting tired. He was getting sloppy too and he knew it and felt his time was short. It was all the booze making him sloppy and careless. Just as well. He thought bitterly. What was the point of going on, he couldn't die, the curse made sure of that. But this was far from living either. It wasn't even a matter of feeling remorse or guilt for all the lives he'd taken. He reasoned that it hadn't even been him responsible for the killings. It was the beast. 'The devil made me do it!' That old chestnut. He'd long since learned how to put all those victims to rest in a place so far removed from his conscience that he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Not even for the women and children. Mostly women and children. They tasted best after all.

These days he wished he could die. He'd welcome death with open arms. He was so tired. He knew what it would take to kill himself and he'd tried. He had tried many different ways to end it, but nothing worked. The only two ways that would absolutely ensure his death, were impossible for him to accomplish. Decapitation and piercing his heart with pure silver. He'd once tried to stab himself with a silver dagger, but something had stayed his hand. He'd tried falling on it, but couldn't. He'd bought a gun and silver bullets, six of them. A .357 magnum with six, pure silver, hollow point bullets. Every time he pointed the barrel at his heart and tried to pull the trigger, he couldn't do it. He'd tied some string around the trigger and wrapped the other end around a doorknob, to see if he could get the gun to fire by kicking the door closed. Nothing he did worked. He hadn't been afraid to die, no he'd welcomed death, begged for it even. But it seemed he could only be killed by another person's doing. Another soul's hand and deliberation. Otherwise, it was quite impossible. He'd actually walked out back of this squalid little house and lying down across the tracks, waited for a coming train, at the last second some other force took over and he rose from the tracks and leaped to safety. He had marveled at this other force. If it could be beaten, then a whole host of opportunities would avail themselves to him. Hell, if he wanted, he could even go down in a blaze of glory at the police station. Stroll in with his .357 blazing and eventually some cop would blow his head off, no matter how many bullets he took to the chest. If he tried though, that 'unknown' force would prevent him from committing such an act. He would be forced to turn away at the very door to the police station. After all, this was a curse and curses had to be broken with a secret method. A special key. And always with someone else's help. He was just a puppet. A puppet with its strings tied to the moon and when the full moon shone, like a spotlight on the stage of the earth, he would dance. The moon puppet would dance. And the audience? They would die. One by one. Month by month. The price for each performance, another life. Come one, come all!... The whiskey and cigarettes weren't going to kill him either, they were just making him sloppy, that's all. Maybe if he got sloppy enough, someone would piece it all together, all the killings, especially so close to home lately. They would solve the mystery and come with their guns drawn. They'd have to kill him though, putting him in jail did no good.

Once shortly after he'd first come to America, he'd been jailed on suspicion of murder. Although he'd had no memory of his escape, on the first full moon he'd found himself running through the thick woods of eastern Quebec. A bloody trail of death and destruction lay twisting in agonal death throes in his wake.

Maybe one of those two cops that came nosing around his house would do him the favor. Shoot him through the head with their service gun, or better yet a shotgun. He took another pull from the bottle. He dragged on his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke at the dirty lightbulb. One could hope. Yes indeed, one could hope for something like that to happen and maybe someday something like that will, he thought.

Danny moves at ease in the dark. He marvels at how well he can see, even without a moon. When he reaches the woods, he slips through the barrier of raspberry bushes without getting hung up on their pricklers. The going is easy now, so he sprints. Suddenly he senses something ahead and slows to a brisk walk, though it seems more like he's floating. There are things alive in the dark with him, hearts beating. He nearly bumps into one, so well camouflaged it is. It is a large buck with a small group of does and he stands at the side of the creature's left flank. He feels the heat of the animal's blood and reaches out touching the soft fur. The large deer is startled and snorts. The group of deer alerted to his presence now, run off into the night. He is amazed and wonders how such a thing could be possible. They didn't even know I was here! He cautions himself to be careful. I have this ability now. I have to watch how I move because HE has the same thing. Only HE's had it longer...

He quickly comes upon the clearing where the bones are and so he stops to gather his thoughts. He kneels in the dirt in front of the boar carcass and pulls the skull free of the leaves and roots. The dried hide slides off easily and he holds the bare skull in his hands. Gazing upon it reverently, it appears to glow from within, which is odd because there is no light. The woods are dark as black velvet at this hour. The bony ridge of the brow gleams mellowly, its tusks white sabers in the night. The skull is cradled in his lap. Danny is entranced and he hears his friend's voice.

"Just be careful. You saw what he did to me...so be careful okay? Okay, Danny? "

"I will Mike. I'll be careful." Danny says. His eyes are rolled all the way back in their sockets. Only the whites show. A silver stringer of spit hangs from his chin. Various creatures of the woods, a family of raccoons, two skunks and a lone pine Marten warily watch from a safe distance, as this scene unfolds. He shudders involuntarily, the dream comes back to him now. Rocking him gently on his knees. The boar's skull shines softly.

A sound comes from his mouth, a guttural, "Uh!", as he hears the voice, swaying...

...you can draw your power from the environment around you...living things...animals, birds and insects...trees...from the very ground you walk on...and love. Love for these things...love for life itself...love for others...this does not make you weak...instead, this makes you strong...

Danny's lips move, the words scarcely audible, "... love...not weak...strong..." The silver stringer of spit sways with him, stretching, getting longer.

so be careful okay? Okay Danny? Okay..? Danny...? I gotta go now...be careful...okay? ...

'Time to go. I gotta be careful...' He mutters. The stringer of spit falls to the earth, the skull slides from his lap and the connection is broken.

Danny stares through the woods, through the dark, through the trees and in the distance he can see a dimly lit bulb glowing. It vaguely illuminates something evil, but Danny knows how strong it is. He doesn't plan on facing that evil tonight. He just seeks an answer to a question. He doesn't really need to know the answer. He thinks he already knows, but something is urging him to see. Some other, human part of himself, still fails to believe without actually seeing with his own eyes. Eyes that are no longer cast back in his head, but staring straight into something much darker and more ancient than he can yet fathom. He carefully places the talking boar skull at the base of a tree and rises, brushing dirt from his knees. He trots off towards the light. Towards the darkness.

Inside the little house, Jean stops cursing at himself and listens. Voices. He thinks he hears voices in the night. "What's this?" He slurs. "Have you come back for another visit boy?" He smiles and takes another drink, waiting. He's in no rush, the boy will come to him. After all, he is seeking something. Exactly what, he is not sure, but he doesn't think it matters anyway. He intends to catch the boy and ask him personally. The boy will tell. If he resists, Jean will drag it from him, like so many entrails. Oh yes, the boy will tell him everything. Jean is excited, he hasn't felt a challenge like this in a long, long time. The boy is brave and seems to carry some type of power, but nothing as powerful as his own. No, Jean has yet to encounter anything as powerful as his own. So he rubs his gnarled hands together and chuckles to himself... 'clotted bloody bone in a blender'.

"What?" Jean gasps, startled. Where did that voice come from? It was so strong and clear. His anger flares and he rises to the occasion.