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Nathaniel's Journal, 1892Chapter 2 free porn video
My brother and I ran on, with renewed vigour and concentration, on four feet. I was unused to such sustained exercise, but the animal forms we’d both taken had greater stamina by nature than our frail human shapes. We ran through the night, and stopped to rest in the morning. I wasn’t used to sleeping on the ground as an animal either, but we were both too frightened by our experiences to risk approaching humankind.
In the afternoon, I woke confused and cold. I’d reverted back to my human shape while I slept, and was sleeping alone and naked under the overhanging rock we’d found for shelter. My brother Pascal was nowhere around.
I emerged, blinking in the daylight, and walked around quietly. If Pascal had gone somewhere without me, it was no doubt either due to danger or prey. Either way, I had to remain quiet.
I followed my nose, which suggested he was nearby to the east. I walked over the rise, peering around me through the thick trees.
There was the sound of a rifle shot. I froze. Slowly, I turned to the right, toward the sound.
There was a man, dressed warmly, clutching his rifle, shaking. He stumbled slightly. I could see the look of terror plastered over his face.
I followed his line of sight. There, about twenty paces away, lay Pascal, still in his beast shape. He was unmoving. I could see and smell the blood. I saw him for a moment as the man did; a thing shaped vaguely like a wolf, but far larger, and thick in the body and legs like a bear. There was no animal on earth like it. The man knew he’d just shot something impossible, like a wendigo or demon.
I gasped, breaking the frozen silence.
The man turned to look at me. Instinctively, I allowed my body to change; growing in size, developing thick fur. I jumped to the left, evading his rifle that was raising to aim again. I dodged again, and ran towards him as fast as I could. I saw his face as I grew nearer, twisted into a snarl. Instantly I was filled with rage for the murder of my brother.
Before he could bring his rifle to aim again, I was already too close. I descended on him, jaws wide, and ripped out his throat. My large, furry body landing against him sent him flying to the ground, sputtering and choking on his own blood. I stood and watched as the life drained out of him, my rage sated.
Returning to my human shape again, I wiped the blood from my mouth and limped over to the dead shape of my brother. My rage had quickly given way to anguish; tears were rolling down my face. I whimpered and howled, feeling like a mess, feeling like this moment was the end of me. Our family had been taken from us, and now we were separated again. As immortals, we rarely thought about or prepared for death.
I was especially despaired that he had died in this form, as a beast. Now his body had to be hidden, lest humans find it and taxidermy it and charge each other to see it. I couldn’t let that happen.
After I let the tears overtake me for a while, I decided to take a better look at the foul man who’d killed the last of my own family. He was old, at least forty, though hard living made him look more like fifty. He may have been handsome once, but decades of anger and hatred had twisted his face. I’d never heard him utter a word, but I could tell by the scent of him that he was a sick and evil man. I felt no remorse for ending his life.
There was something else to his scent, though. A communal bond. I could smell another man associated with him; not someone he touched often, but shared space with often enough. The similarity of scent told me that it was an adult son.
They had to live somewhere nearby.
Unable to move my brother’s body with my relatively weak human arms, I returned to the animal state and gently dragged him with my mouth.
My wolf-like sense of smell led me to the log cabin further upstream. Fortunately, the man with the rifle was close to home, and I did not have to drag my brother far. It was a trapper’s cabin, very small, barely small enough for one- let alone a man and his son.
The fire was lit inside. I had to approach cautiously.
I gently left the body of my brother behind the woodpile. They’d accumulated a good stack of wood in preparation for winter.
I returned to my human form. I’d left my bindle behind, unable to carry both it and my brother, so I had no clothes to change into. No doubt approaching this poor young soul would be problematic, but to see a large, barrel-chested nude man of over six feet coming towards him with news that his father was dead would be a disaster.
Nevertheless, I knocked.
Immediately, a terrified voice replied. “Go away!”
I sighed. “Listen, I need to talk to you. It’s very important.”
“I saw you approaching. I know what you are. Get away from here! We’re God-fearing folk!”
I didn’t see much option; I would have to use a tactic most of my kind deplored. But I was in a desperate situation.
I reached down inside, deeper than my own voice, and summoned a timbre of speech that could bend any human will.
“You will unlock the door. I am going to come inside. You are not going to hurt me.”
The voice worked. I heard two uncertain footsteps, and a shaking hand removing a barricade from the inside. Then two careful steps back.
I pulled the door open. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness inside, lit only by the woodstove and a candle.
There stood the son, his stance wide, his arm raised high, clutching an axe. He was sweating with fear. His eyes were wide, his lips trembling. Having seen me change from beast to man, the fact that I was nude probably didn’t even register for him.
I stepped inside, closed the door behind me.
“Stay back, demon,” he hissed.
“I’m no demon. My name is Nathaniel. What’s yours?”
He crossed himself with his spare hand. “You should never tell a demon your name. Mother Mary and all angels, protect me.”
If his accent hadn’t given him away, I’d know now he was a good French Catholic boy. I mused that I was one once, over a century and a half ago.
I stepped forward slowly. I wasn’t worried about his axe; I’d already given him the suggestion that he wouldn’t hurt me. It would be practically impossible for him to override that instruction. I could use the voice to get through this situation with relative ease, but it was against my ethic to bend his will more than I needed to.
“I’m not a demon. I think you already know that. You saw an animal change into a man; is that really so strange? Haven’t you ever seen an animal change before? Maybe a butterfly?”
His eyes narrowed. He was trying to figure out my strategy, my manipulation.
“I suppose,” he said finally. “There are many moths around here. Some years, there are so many caterpillars that their stench and their ichor get everywhere.”
“Is it so strange to imagine, that there might be animals you have never heard of, who are like men but can change like the moths do?”
“I’ve only ever heard of demons who can take the form of men.”
“Or angels.”
“No angel ever looked like...” he gestured toward the door. “Like that thing.”
He was starting to lower his guard now; I could feel the smell of fear beginning to fade. Being in such a small space with him was difficult; the full moon was only a few hours away and the lust it brought would need to be sated soon.
I looked around the cabin, hoping to understand him better. There was one small, crude bed against the wall opposite the cookstove. It had a crude wooden frame, and no doubt was stuffed with straw. I could guess that this was where the father slept. It was topped with a warm-looking and relatively new Hudson’s Bay Company blanket.
On the floor next to the bed was where the son slept; a simple pile of old blankets over top of a small pile of straw.
Everything I had guessed about father and son was confirmed for me by this sight.
“Your father is dead,” I said plainly. As I’d suspected, his expression did not change.
“How did he die?” He asked, his voice suddenly calm.
“I killed him. I’m sorry. I saw him murder my brother, and in a rage I took his life.”
He nodded slowly. “Your brother ... was he-” he cleared his throat. “Was he that thing you were carrying?”
“Yes. That ‘thing’ was my brother.” I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. “I loved him dearly. He was like me, he could stand before you looking just like a man.”
The young man nodded again. “I see.”
“You don’t seem very upset to learn that your father is dead.”
He said nothing, but I could see his raised arm slowly lowering the axe.
“I suppose your father didn’t treat you very well,” I continued. When he said nothing, I ventured further. “I suppose that in a sense, you are now free of him.”
He set the axe down, leaned it against the wall. His untrusting eyes were still glued to me.
“I’m sorry that you had to live like this. It’s over.”
I could see a tear forming in his eye. Not a tear of mourning, but release.
“You deserve a better father than the one fate gave you.”
He nodded slowly, and wiped away the tear with the back of his hand.
I reached out my arm. “Come here.”
The last of his fear broke away. He might not understand the situation, but he gave in to it. He rushed into my arms, and I held him tight. I could feel his sobbing face against my bare chest.
After I let him cry it out, and comforted him in my arms, I looked down into his eyes. His eyes were beautiful, brown to match his scruffy hair and beard.
“You know what I am. I could make you like me. I would become your father, and your life before you met me would be forgotten. You would forget your old father, and I would take care of you. What do you think of that?”
He thought for a moment. I knew that moment; I’d seen it before. That measuring of one’s life versus the uncertainty of what one would become. Only certain kinds of men said yes to this offer.
“Yes. I want to be like you. I want to be your son.”
I smiled, and kissed him gently on the forehead.
“You haven’t told me your name, son, and that’s okay. Your old name will be gone soon. I am going to baptize you with a new name.”
I gently lifted the shirt off of his torso. He didn’t object or ask why, just raised his arms.
“How does it happen?” he asked.
“Well son, it’s very simple. I’m going to give you the love and touch that your father denied you. I know what you’ve always craved from him, which he was too cruel to provide. Do you understand?”
He flushed deep red. “We can’t. It’s sinful.”
I put my arm around him and held him tight. As I did so, I felt the strange texture of the skin on his lean, muscled back. I looked down with anger and sadness to see the complex criss-crossing of scars. Some of them were deep, some were recent. What kind of man does this to his son? Especially once that son was old enough to be leaving to start his own life. Among my family, we played with pain sometimes. But pain that was welcomed and enjoyed was different. This was barbaric.
I hadn’t felt any remorse for killing the man before, but now I felt a strong satisfaction from the fact that his body was lying cold on the ground.
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