Free Wormwood Dawn (Episode VIII) by Edward Crae

His four pets stirred, pressing toward him in curiosity, but blocked by the wooden poles that connected him to them.
    It was a brilliant idea.
    “Now, now,” he whispered. “None of that. No yummy num nums for you.”
    The creatures groaned, gradually losing interest. Maynard continued harvesting organs, finding that this particular corpse was chock full of gooey innards.
    “Aren’t you a hardy one?” he whispered to the corpse. “It’s too bad you couldn’t transform. You would have made a glorious rager.”
    He chuckled to himself, taking great pleasure in gutting the dead. But his pleasure was cut short by that same screeching howl that flashed by him in the blink of an eye. He froze, startled and frightened. He thought he had caught sight of the creature, seeing the vague shape of… a little girl.
    He cocked his head, grinning crookedly. “Interesting,” he said.
    His eyes darted around, searching for the strange being. In his mind he thought of the ancient legends of the old country; those legends of the banshee. Were they real? If they were, why was he hearing the keening? Was he about to die, or was someone he loved doomed.
    The being flashed by again, streaking right across his line of sight. He barely saw the ghastly, twisted face, with its jagged mouth and black eyes. He sighed with a strange pleasure… or was it fear?
    “Aren’t you a pretty one?” he whispered, drool dripping from his bottom lip. “Come to me, my sweet child.”
    There was another shriek, and the shattering of wood as his tethers were severed. He fell back, unbalanced, crawling backward as he realized his four escorts were now free.
    “Damn you,” he growled, struggling to reach his bucket.
    The four creatures fell upon the nearest corpses, munching on their frozen flesh and moaning with the pleasure of a tasty meal. Maynard scrambled to stand, drawing their attention. They stood back up, each of them gazing at him hungrily with blood-soaked lips and hungry, hollow eyes.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” Maynard said, backing away.
    He turned and began running, lugging the heavy bucket with him. He knew he could outrun them, as they were slow and clumsy. When he reached the edge of the road, he spun sideways, skiing down the small bank, laughing as he went.
    Then, he was impacted from behind and knocked onto his face. His bucket went flying, spilling it contents everywhere. He landed on his face, feeling the impact of the rough icy surface as he slid across it.
    “Goddamnit!” he hissed. “Fucking little bitch!”
    He broke through the surface trying to stand, ignoring his bucket and tramping across the snow in his effort to escape. His heart was beating wildly now, and he felt the unusual sensation of fear. Behind him, the creature shrieked again, sending chills up his spine. His breathing became ragged with fear, and his heart felt as if it were going to explode.
    Was he dying?
    “Fuck you,” he whispered, breathless.
    He stopped suddenly as the creature blinked into existence right in front of him. His legs gave out, and he flipped straight onto his back, still locking eyes with the demonic thing.
    “ What are you?” he howled.
    The creature was gone, having blinked away. He wasn’t even sure he had seen it. Maybe his fear was playing mind games. Defeated and on the verge of collapsing, he rolled over and got to his feet, only to be knocked down again.
    This time, the demonic thing had drawn blood. He howled in pain, clutching his shoulder where the sharp claws had raked his flesh. He was bleeding heavily, and the pain was enough to crush his very soul. Crying out in agony, he struggled to his feet again, whimpering as he made his way home.
    He could see the dim lights of his lanterns through the windows, and he focused on them as he desperately ran to reach that safe place. Every breath brought a whimper, and every whimper brought more pain. When he reached the edge of his property, he began crying out, hoping that perhaps