”For thou didst cast me into the deep, into the heart of the seas, and the flood was round about me; all thy waves and thy billows passed over me. Then I said, `I am cast out from thy presence; how shall I again look upon thy holy temple?'!” – Jonah 2:3-4
Silhouette Street was about as run down as the middle class section of Corentine could get. Its sole residents were peeling old apartment buildings, which, apparently, were free of pests and had good plumbing. Their appearance, however, was far from appealing, and Crispin realized that anyone who lived here would have to be either very pressed for money or out of money all together. Well, and too arrogant to live in a place with pests and bad plumbing.
Crispin looked down at the address scrawled on the piece of paper he had been given. “188 Silhouette Street. Apartment B-13,” it read. He quickly found that Number 188 was at the end of the unpaved, unkempt street. Upon his approach, he also found that Number 188 was an old, brown building, with what looked like a horrible sunburn. Peeling paint had spread like a plague, and Crispin wondered if the building was brown because it was supposed to be, or if it was because the paint had peeled just that much, revealing the wood underneath. He took a deep breath. ‘ What have I gotten myself into? Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh! Lord, please watch over me in this time of need…I really don’t want to be eaten by giant spiders!’ And with the addition of a small whimper, Crispin entered the dilapidated old apartment building- without guns blazing, obviously. That would just be unorthodox.
The inside of the building was- interesting. It was the very picture of a horror movie cliché, with spider webs clinging to every visible surface, and innumerable layers of dust coating the hardwood floor and stairs.
“How, is this…this...dump middle class?!” Crispin said in a loud whisper, and immediately regretted it. Upstairs, he heard a soft thump and a grunt, as if something up there was alive. Well, it was an apartment building; of course something alive would be up there. But Crispin, in the middle of a deranged fantasy involving evil man-eating spiders, did not allow that logic to reach him.
“Oh no, they’re going to eat me…I just know it! Oh no, no…I don’t think I’m quite ready to die…” He proceeded to grab the large, ornate silver cross that hung around his neck. It was inlaid with many small lapis lazuli stones, and held a diamond in its center. The diamond was no modest stone, either. Many people asked Crispin how he obtained such a valuable item, but he never responded to them. He had no need; his past was his own, and they wouldn’t like the story anyway…
Crispin’s attention was drawn back to the next floor. ‘You can do this Crispin…’ he thought to himself, and began to climb the stairs. His feet made barely a sound due to the dust covering, but that same covering made his visibility level wane. Soon he found himself blinking and snuffling several times per second, and was sure that any moment now this noise would give away his presence.
But he was soon standing at the top of the stairs, looking down an uncarpeted hallway lined with green, peeling doors and broken lights. The door at the end of the hall was opened slightly, and the voices beyond it made Crispin remember why he had come. There were no werewolves here! He had come to meet the Werewolf Hunters!
“Excuse me, good sirs!” He called out to the door at the end of the hall.
“Huh?” he heard a grunt, “What was that? Damain, go check it out.”
“Why me?” Came the low, slimy, yet somehow familiar drawl. “You do it, Eugene!”
“Damn, rat. Make me do all the work. You’re useless! Don’t know why I teamed up with you…” The voice faded into a low grumble, and Crispin heard footsteps approaching the door. By now, he was shaking in his skin again.
‘Oh no, oh no….this is worse than giant spiders!”’ Crispin took a step backward, ready to descend down the stairs and run out the door. ‘No, Crispin…you have to see this through. They’re human, they won’t hurt you….won’t hurt you..’
The man reached the hall, and it was too late to run. “Hey, lookie here, Damain! We’ve got ourselves a bit of fresh meat! A tender little priesty!”
“Uh…um…” Crispin started, and backed up a little more.
“Aw, you don’t have to talk, priesty! It’ll all be over soon…” said Eugene, as the other man arrived in the hall.
‘Oh boy.’ Crispin thought. For the second man was none other than the one who had given him this address and told him he’d find hunters here.
“Aw lookie here!” Came the man, Damain’s, slimy drawl once again. “It's the priest I found on the street the other day!”
“You know the preisty?” asked Eugene.
“Met him in town the other day. Tricked him into comin’ here. But I didn’t think he’d be so stupid!” The two men broke into incontrollable laughter at this point, providing Crispin with an opportunity to escape. But, as soon as he made the move, Eugene was right upon him. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and put himself between Crispin and the stairs.
“Now, now priesty, let’s not get feisty.”
‘This is it. I’m a goner. Oh lord, forgive me for all of my sins. Please, please, I want only to be your faithful servant and-’ Whack. It looked like the kind people were going to beat him around a little before they delivered the final blow. Crispin now lay sprawled across the floor, and was looking up at the ceiling hopelessly.
“You guys aren’t…hunters, are you.” Crispin said. Though it had the makings of a question, his monotonous tone made it sound more like a statement than anything else.
“Hunters? Are you kidding me? We’re the real thing!” sneered Damain.
“We be the wolfies, priesty.”
“Oh.” The room was spinning, the corners of his vision going black.
Then a shot fired. Once. Twice. Damain fell, and Eugene screamed. Crispin turned his head, and saw a tall man in a tan coat aim a gun at Eugene. “God...?” Crispin whispered. But the man didn’t notice, and everything went black.
----------------+++-----------------
Two werewolves today. It was less than he had wanted, but as long as at least one werewolf was dying, he was okay. The first werewolf had fallen with his initial shots, but one was still standing. He aimed his silver plated pistol a second time.
“Please..please…” the werewolf whimpered. “I..m….s…so…”
But he only grunted and began to pull the trigger.
“I’m sorry! I won’t hurt the priesty!” screamed the werewolf. “Please, don’t shoot me!”
And it was over. The werewolf lay on the floor, silent and lifeless, as it should be. He looked down at the still figure of the black haired man who had been attacked. He checked the man for a pulse, and found one, beating strongly.
‘He must’ve just passed out from shock. But what in the world would a priest be doing in a place like this?’
The tan coated man took out his silver-colored cell phone and dialed the first number on his speed dial.
“Yes, it’s me. I’ve defeated the two werewolves. They had a human with him. I’m bringing him back with me, so get a room ready.”
“Room, why?” said the woman’s voice on the other end of the line.
“He…passed out.”
“I see. I’ll get it together right away.”
“Thank you.”
“Be careful, Clancy.”
“Hm.”
Then the line went dead.
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