《Hollowed Out》


 1. Death

    Stumble through life like a drunken man on his way home, with no purpose. Every step faltering with the risk of collapsing in the snow and dying gets higher and higher, like a machine work thoughtlessly and emotionlessly until the day you die. Live without purpose, where creed and cause are swallowed up by apathy and poverty. Where the young die for the old and the old to die from a common cold soon after. Where corruption is allowed because it''s the lesser evil to anarchy, where the common people accept it as a daily occurrence with a sigh and say ''that''s just how things are.''


    A place where you don''t just have to worry about the monsters inside a man''s heart but you need to be weary of every dark corner and street. Where beasts come out to hunt in the night and where men come to prey in the light.


    -----


    Desmond Sixte is afraid, finding a dead body in New Industrial Isabella at winter isn''t a strange occurrence. It''s a lucky one if the body hasn''t already been looted by other orphans. No the reason he is not just afraid but terrified, is the monster searching for him.


    A werewolf.


    When Desmond was walking back from working in the coal mines, he took the usual shortcuts going home. The frigid biting of the cold tormented his skin and the howling wind laughed at him, hurrying his steps to get home to his uncle and aunt. His mother passed away when he was much younger and he never knew his father, his uncle and aunt took him in but not out of benevolence and familial responsibility. No, they would sooner sell him on than keep him, however they care too much for their image and what their neighbours would think if they heard. So they sent him to the mines as soon as they could and they spend the money he earns as "rent". Desmond was glad they don''t share the same surname, even being hit and his mother called a whore by her own sister was better than starving in the cold. After all it had now become a daily life for him.


    And then Desmond saw them.


    Snow stained red with blood, gore and a man wearing strips of cloth who appeared to be a cannibal. Desmond swore he could smell her blood, bones and bowels. However what the man smelled, was Desmond. Hands stained red with blood that went to its nose, it took a deep breath in through its nostrils and sneezed. Then looked at Desmond with its piercing black eyes. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Desmond took a step back and tripped over his own feet. The man began changing, his arms grew longer, his nose elongated into a snout, black hair erupted all over his body. The remaining cloth that the man wore shredded as it gave way to lithe and powerful muscles. The monster released a growl that chilled Desmond''s bones much more than the wind and snow. Desmond couldn''t breath, the cold and dry winter air clogging his throat. He felt lightheaded with his vision already dimming because of fear. He couldn''t stand, he couldn''t even move. The Werewolf bared its fangs as a smile and slowly sauntered over Desmond already tasting the fresh kill in its mouth. It got so close that Desmond could smell it, its smell was akin wet dog and blood. It raised its clawed hand towards Desmond to crush his head swiftly, it was too hungry to play.


    Desmond closed his eyes well before he seen the Werewolf reach for him, and behind his eyelids memories played out in his mind. His Aunt and Uncle, how he would never get the revenge he so desperately craved for. He promised himself one day he would kill them. He wanted them to feel fear for a change but instead he was going to die and be eaten by a monster.


    Why is this happening to me? Why did my mother have to die? Why did my father leave? Why am I denied the Revenge I deserve?


    These feeling building up began to boil into anger, fueled by rage he opened his eyes. He wanted to at least see his death coming to him. The Werewolf was barely paying attention to him now, already sure that Desmond was as good as dead, until...


    A red mist poured out from his body, it''s colour is darker than venous blood, heavier than air and almost seemed oppressive. The Werewolf felt a drastic change in temperature it''s hand heating up and yelped. It''s hand burned by the red air, as the snow around Desmond melted and soon the steam from the water evaporating began. The Werewolf growled, more confused than hurt. Desmond could see the monster debate with itself if killing him worth it.


    The mist began spreading across the snowy floor, melting it and the Werewolf took a step back to avoid it. It made up its mind then and roared at Desmond then leapt onto the roofs, sending slate tiles clattering and falling into the snow below. Desmond continued lying there on his back for a few minutes longer and as he calmed himself the red mist gradually dissipated into the air. When it was all gone he stood up and cautiously made his way to the dead body.


    The woman had her stomach split open and her ribcage snapped outwards, the werewolf had already eaten her heart, liver and other organs. Desmond felt bile rise up in the back of his throat, he tried to fight it but that bore no fruit. When he had gotten a grip over himself a second time he did the unsavory act of looting whatever isn''t broken from her mangled corpse. Most of what she had was now useless to Desmonde, a revolver with a bent barrel. He couldn''t even find the extra ammunition. But what he did find was a small vial of holy water used as a necklace, a telescopic spike made out of silver, a standard hunter''s weapon for vampires and werewolves called a needle, the emblem for the Hunters Organisation, they were the ones who helped people place bounties on the monsters that had harmed them or their family.


    And money, just what Desmond needed. She had a single pound, four pence and a shilling. This is the most money Desmond has ever held in his life, it would take another two years to earn a pound working in the mines. He clutched the money in his hand tightly, he couldn''t tell if he should curse or thank God for this encounter.

 Chapter 2. Love

    Desmond stumbled across the wasteland of white, hanging onto the items he had scavenged from the woman like his life depended on it. Each and every step was like torture for Desmond, as he clutched onto his stomach, still tasting the rancid vomit in his mouth. He kept on moving and moving, not paying attention to a single thing around him, with his only goal being to get to a place with warmth, with shelter. The place he was going however, had none of those things, but it was the only place Desmond could turn to anymore, it was either his aunt¡¯s and uncle''s house, or begging on the streets.


    As Desmond struggled to move forward, he could see it, his salvation, and his hell. Desmond knew that if they found him with the money that he had gotten from the corpse, he would get thrice the beating, and they would take all of the money. Desmond decided to pry his fingers away from his loot, and shove them into his cap, which he then tucked deeply into a patch of snow near his house. He had decided to take his loot back and place it into his room, but he couldn''t do that until he got through his aunt and uncle.


    As Desmond pushed through the crooked door, he could see his uncle, taking another shot of his whiskey with his aunt beside him. As they turned to face him, he could see anger in their eyes, but at the same time, a hint of happiness as he knew they would have fun beating him.


    ¡°Where... Were... You?¡±


    Desmond could feel his legs turn to stone, as his lips were glued shut, he felt a different biting cold as waves of pinpricks washes over him, he could only stare at his aunt and uncle.


    ¡°I¡¯ll Ask again, Where... Were... You?¡± Desmond¡¯s uncle Matthew began to get off of the damp moldy wooden floor from beside the fireplace and stumbled towards him, his pupils dilated, he has already had too much to drink tonight, just like every other night. Desmond wanted to run, he had to run, but he couldn''t, he was stuck in place, unable to move. Like a hollow statue made of slate, fragile.


    Mathew raised an empty bottle of alcohol towards Desmond, and let the bottle fall. Once. Twice, and struck Desmond until the cheap glass shattered against Desmond. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain, he felt a sharp pain across his back, again and again, each time the pain increasing. Desmonde continued to huddle in a ball, as his back was continuously struck with the broken bottle.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Desmonde stayed stuck in that position without moving at all and crying. He wished that the heavy smoky fire would once again erupt from his body and burn his uncle Matthew, burn his aunt Beatrice, burn down his home, burn away the fear within him and the evaporate the tears on his face. He faced a werewolf today, but he truly wonders who is the real monster. He did his best not to make a sound, it only makes it worse. Giving his uncle a reaction would only entice his uncle to enjoy it more, hopefully soon his uncle would get bored, hopefully.


    After what seemed like hours to Desmond, the thrashing stopped for now and his Uncle went to fetch another bottle for himself. His Aunt doesn¡¯t drink but she seems to laugh with glee just watching Desmond get beaten, he doesn¡¯t know if that makes his Aunt a worse person for it. Desmond dared not to move, barely allowed himself the risk to breath, he waited patiently. Biting his lip and holding back the reaction to cry out with his voice and blinks away the tears in his eyes. Desmond stayed in the fetal position until deciding to head back into his room, it was when his Aunt went to the toilet and his Uncle was thoroughly enjoying his new bottle. Slowly but surely, Desmond crawled while lying down on his stomach towards his room, he could feel everything. He could feel every splinter from the wooden floor, every bleeding cut, every pulsing bruise, every laceration, every tear and graze. Desmond continued to crawl towards his room until he was able to enter.


    Desmond¡¯s room was nothing but a small enclosed space, which one might presume to call a ¡®small closet.¡¯ Desmond leaned up against a corner of his wall and put his knees to his head and stayed there, waiting, waiting for the next hit, waiting for the next assault, the next injury, the newest harrowing and beating. Desmond clenched his fists as he realized that he had wished to hurt his Aunt and Uncle when he was before the werewolf, wished. He would no longer wish, he will and would. He had the key to his salvation it was taken in desperation to begin with but now everything is a weapon or item to be used for this purpose. His purpose is yet to be known to him, but it is much more than this, whatever he has released from the streets was still with him, and with that and the money he had gained from the dead woman. Desmond would escape his Uncle Matthew and his Aunt Beatrice. He would rise above them and make them beg, then he would burn it all, everything they owned, everything they were.


    Desmond would burn it.


    All of it.

 Chapter 3. The Hunt

    When Desmond woke up from a sleep he wasn¡¯t too sure he had fallen into, he already had his agenda planned. With the money he looted he could rent a small apartment for a month and have enough food to live on, getting away from his ¡®family¡¯ took priority. His goals in order were: One, Find somewhere else to live. Two, discover how to use his ability. Three, Begin to hunt monsters for money.


    Before entering the house, Desmond had stashed the valuables he had looted deep in the snow, in the distance he could hear a clock tower chiming and he counted to work out the time. It was five o¡¯clock in the morning, his Aunt and Uncle were never normally awake by this time and everyone was still getting ready for work. In a twisted way Desmond was lucky, he had no ways to prepare himself in the morning aside from fetching water and trying to grab whatever food he could from wherever he could find it. He wouldn¡¯t be doing that today. Today his Aunt and Uncle can go fuck themselves, having a small amount of trinkets and of those small amount he took nothing. Today he was a new person. He simply walked out the door and began digging in the snow in a frenzy to find his loot.


    Desmond¡¯s body ached and he debated drinking a little of the holy water to soothe the pain, but then he deemed it too important to waste frivolously. When he found a new place to live he would heal there. He wandered for hours seeking and searching for someone to take him seriously, no one would believe that the young man in front of them had the money to rent a room alone and even if he did, it wouldn¡¯t be legal money. With the sun setting in the afternoon Desmond needed somewhere else to sleep, he would never admit it to himself but he was afraid of going back and facing death.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Desmond then met a landlord called Geoff, before Geoff could shoo him away Desmond had slammed money onto the man¡¯s chest from his jacket pocket, as well as shoving the hunters guild emblem that he had looted from the dead woman along with the money.


    ¡°A room¡­ Please.¡± He tried to sound authoritative but his voice cracked on the last word.


    ¡°At once Hunter.¡± Geoff handed the emblem back to Desmond with all the correct change and leapt into action showing Desmond his room. Truthfully there was a reason Desmond had seen Geoff near the end of the day, the rooms aren¡¯t as nice, it¡¯s a bit farther away from the town center and he¡¯s unfamiliar with the area.


    Next on his list was to learn how to control his ability, Desmond knew it had something to do with his emotions, the problem with it was replicating the feeling to trigger the ability. He sat on a hard wooden chair for the next few minutes thinking about his uncle and aunt. All the beatings they had given him, the words that had hurt him, but nothing happened. He still continued on, trying to persevere the feeling but it bore no fruit. Frustrated he went to sleep for the night, unused to having such a spacious place to sleep.


    When Desmond awoke he had a plan brewing in his head from sleeping, he would go to the Hunters Guild and collect a very easy bounty to begin with, the money he had now wouldn¡¯t last forever so the quicker he acquainted himself with the job, the easier the transition. In the evenings he would practice some more and if not then fingers crossed maybe a bounty will give him an insight.