All Howlow's Eve (M/M)

[bigsmile21]

A quick Halloween Tale. Enjoy!

The year was 1803, and Athelstan Morton was chained to a wall in the town jail. He had been dismissed from work to make room for a younger, more spry miner, so he found himself drinking excessively during the day for hours at the inn, causing a commotion. His conduct was unbecoming. Officers of the law helped Athelstan out of the bar and into the back of their wagon, where he promptly collapsed, sound asleep. When he awoke, his head throbbed from the spirits consumed, his eyes blinking to center on his surroundings. Around him were walls of stone, cold to the touch. He was in jail, on tonight of all nights: All Hallows' Eve.

Around his wrists in front of him were iron manacles, heavy and smudged with dirt. A long chain ran from them up to the wall he was leaning against, with slack enough for him to move his arms up and down. Around his boots were another set of iron manacles, one foot of chain between them. He was still clothed, wearing his rough brown pants, worn leather boots, and ragged shirt, the top buttons undone during his transfer from inn to jail. He was not paid enough to afford a hat.

As he looked around further, on the opposite wall Athelstan made out the shape of a wooden door, with no handle on his side and a sliding latch for outside observation. The latch was open, but he could see only darkness of the hallway on the other side. He stood, slowly as to not trip and still tipsy from the drinks, and crossed the room. Well, crossed as far as the chain would permit him. The chain on his wrists pulled taught after he was halfway across the room. He looked back to the wall and tugged a few times, the iron chain holding fixed to its place.

Looking down in frustration, Athelstan saw something else, something he did not wish to see. Mere inches from his boots, pale moonlight shone brightly through a barred window on the right wall. He jumped back like a spooked alley cat, clinging against the same wall he woke up against. Not here. He could not be kept here. Not tonight. Not tonight of all nights. He yelled for someone, anyone, to come and release him. Silence. The wooden door remained closed across the room. Athelstan pulled frantically at the chain once more. And once more the chain did not yield.

Already he could feel the twisting in his stomach. The moonlight remained in the center of the room, but its brightness seemed to pulse with the beating of his heart. He pulled back his sleeves, as best as he could with the manacles clamped on his wrists, and saw that his hairs...were they always that thick, or had they grown thicker? He shook his head. He had to focus. He had to get out. He had been through six full moons this year already since being bitten by that cursed Beast. Each time the change became easier, overcoming will to resist the gruesome change. Each time, though, it was still painful: his bones twisted, his muscles enlarge, his snout elongated, until his form took on that of the same Beast that had bit him. If he changed here, bound and inside a jail cell, instead of out free in the woods, Heaven help those he came across.

Footsteps approached, and through the latch slid on the door a set of eyes were lit by a candle. The jailor scoffed at Athelstan's drunken state and said a judge would see him in the morn. Before he could plead for release, Athelstan saw the latch slide close and head footsteps walk down the stone hallway on the other side of the door. He wailed for his jailor to return, that he could not stay the night. There was no response. He looked to the floor in front of him and the moonlight had grown larger, filling the cell as the moon rose in the night sky. The twisting in his stomach grew larger, the beating in his ears almost deafening, and he could feel his wrists expanding inside his manacles. Once more he stood and pulled against the chain. He could feel his blood surging as the change encroached. He let out a roar, an immense howl, as the chain creaked, bent, and finally snapped at its weakest link.

The release of tension sent Athelstan's arms flying over his head, and he tripped over his short ankle chain. His head collided with the cell floor, his vision went white. White from the pain, but also from the bright moonlight now filling his vision. His eyes locked onto the moon, and he lost all sense of control. Whatever strength of will he had left that was holding the Beast back had dissipated, and the Beast burst through the door of his mind. His back arched, his joints tensed, and he writhed on the floor as the change took hold. The iron manacles popped open like wine bottles, clanging to the cell floor. Perhaps if they were silver, they might have held him. But the Beast smelled no silver nearby, and knew the wooden door would easily give way to his weight.

The man Athelstan Morton was gone. In the cell now was a massive creature, with fur as black as the iron chains that once held him. Athelstan's clothes were ripped to pieces, remnants clinging to his limbs. The Beast let out a blood-curdling howl at the moon. It was hungry, and it knew where to find food just down the hall.