Later that evening, Vincent called me and said, "Look outside your window!" before ending the call.
I glanced out and spotted him waving at me. Sneaking out, I closed the window behind me, catching a brief glimpse of Mr. Darkwood's car stopping in front of his house - my heart began to beat as if it had stopped before.
However, Vincent's voice pulled me out of my thoughts as he called out to me, "Come on!"
Mr. Darkwood exited his car and hurried inside. As soon as he entered his house, he discovered his grandmother on the floor, along with her wheelchair, and Amaya lying lifeless in a pool of blood, her throat brutally slashed.
Rushing to his grandmother's aid, he helped her back into the wheelchair and wasted no time in dialing the emergency hotline.
When the operator answered, "Hello, 911, what's your emergency?" He took a deep breath and began, "My name is Logan Darkwood. I just arrived home, and I... I found my grandmother's caretaker, Amaya, dead on the floor.
There's blood everywhere. My grandmother has fallen from her wheelchair. I... I don't know what happened!"
"Okay, sir. Please remain calm. Can you provide me with your address?" the operator asked.
"Yes, it's 7453 Cedar Lane. Please, you need to send help immediately!" His voice trembled with helplessness.
"Help is on the way, Logan. Are you or your grandmother injured?" the operator inquired.
"No, I am not injured. My grandmother is conscious, but she appears to be shaken. I..." As he turned around, he noticed that she was taking breaths in hiccups.
"Something is happening to her!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with concern.
In response, she reassured him, "I need you to stay calm and stay with your grandmother. Try not to touch anything around the scene. Help will be arriving soon."
"Okay, thank you. Please hurry," He replied, his voice trembling with worry.
He quickly made his way toward his grandmother, and as he approached her, she held his hand tightly.
He stared in surprise, as she poked her finger into her skin and retrieved a sharp needle from her vocal cord.
Attached to the end of the needle was a long chain.
"Take this!" she coughed, her wound miraculously sewing up on its own.
"Listen to me, Logan!" She clutched his arm tightly, her eyes filled with urgency.
"You must keep it safe, no matter what happens. I'm sorry I couldn't explain earlier, but you are not like the others," she stated, but he cut her off before she could explain what she meant.
"Oh, I can see that!" he responded, his voice hoarse.
Taking hold of him, she drew him nearer once again. "You are not an ordinary wolf. You are a Lycanthrax," she announced, her tone still unsteady and shaky.
As he rose and turned away, he began to speak, "You haven't spoken to me in a year, and now all of a sudden you're..." His words trailed off as he heard the creaking of her wheelchair.
Turning back around, he witnessed her rising from the wheelchair. "I regret not being there for you... believe me I do! But believe me when I say this, I had no choice.
On the night of the accident, I fell to the ground and was wounded. Then, a shadowy figure approached me and plunged this into my neck.
He gripped my face, squeezing it like a child, and growled at me, explaining that it was the only weapon capable of slaying a Lycanthrope.
He also warned me that it would leave me paralyzed for life, unable to walk, speak, or even breathe properly, as the needle had pierced both my vocal cords and spinal cord.
I was waiting for the right moment to remove it and reveal everything to you before my final breath!" Pain visible in her eyes and voice, she lowered her gaze while clutching his shoulders.
"What do you mean by final breath? What are you hiding from me?" He cupped her face, seeking answers in her eyes.
"There is a unique poison contained within this needle, they call it Eclipsium. It functions as a weapon, only releasing its poison once it is withdrawn from the flesh or vein," she responded.
"This is why you never told me this before?" he questioned, his voice filled with sorrow.
"It's not just that. Imagine if I had told you back then that you were a Lycanthrax. Would you have believed me?" she inquired, a smile gracing her face.
She turned her attention back to the chair and took a seat, while he trembled in disbelief. Slowly, she began to drift away.
At that moment, the police arrived. He quickly hid the needle in his pocket and dropped to his knees beside his grandmother.
Tenderly, he touched her face, but she slipped away as if she had never been there at all.
"No!" he cried out, his voice echoing with pain, tears streaming down his dampened face.
Meanwhile, the police had reached his house. Vincent and I, on the other hand, were on the opposite side of the park.
This area resembled a dark forest, and as we ventured deeper into the woods, we eventually stumbled upon a chapel after walking a little further.
This chapel stood shrouded in a horrifying silence, its silhouette with its outline glowing in the dark, under the moonlit sky. Trees, their branches twisted like skeletal fingers, encircled the chapel, casting long, shadows that danced in the little bit of light there was.
The building itself was a crumbling relic, with ivy creeping up its stone walls, partially obscuring the stained-glass windows that once displayed beautiful view, but now seemed to glimmer with a ghostly dim light.
The chapel's roof, covered in moss and missing several shingles, appeared to have fallen under the weight of centuries or maybe because this chapel had seen countless storms. The entrance, a heavy wooden door with rusted iron hinges, stood ajar, creaking slightly with the occasional gust of wind. Sense of horror spread out from within, as if the chapel were a portal to another realm.
As we finally made our way inside, we were surprised to see the lightened up gas lanterns, they looked very old yet they were lit.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. Moonlight filtered through the broken windows, casting fragmented patterns on the stone floor, where dust particles floated like tiny spirits. The benches, coated in a fine layer of dust, sat in abandonment, some overturned as if abandoned in rush.