Chapter 8: Blood in the Trap
Chapter 8: Blood in the Trap
Clara crouched low in the underbrush, her breath fogging in the cold night air.
The woods behind Black Hollow were silent too silent. Not even the crickets dared to sing beneath the full moon. The trap had been set hours ago, and now they waited, every muscle coiled tight with anticipation.
She glanced at Liam beside her. His knuckles were white on the handle of the hunting rifle borrowed from Harold Bell, his face pale but calm. He was bleeding again just a little from where the bandage had slipped under his jacket.
“You sure this will work?” Clara whispered.
Liam didn’t look at her. “If he’s the host, he won’t be able to help himself. The curse feeds on instinct.”
They’d followed Evan Rourke for days, watching his habits. He always took long walks in the woods before every full moon. Claimed it helped him think. He never strayed far—but far enough to be alone.
Tonight, they’d made sure he would come farther.
They left a trail of blood and a broken lock leading to the clearing where Clara now waited just like the legends said the werewolf couldn’t resist: the scent of wounded prey, the illusion of vulnerability.
They were the bait. And the hunter.
It had taken every ounce of Clara’s nerve to convince Margot Greaves to give them a vial of animal blood from the clinic. She’d done it reluctantly quietly and handed over a small tin box of silver rounds Harold had once left in her care. “For if the time ever came.”
The time is now, Clara had thought.
The rifle was loaded.
They were ready.
The moon hung high, filtering through the trees like liquid bone.
Then the sound came a low, shuddering growl from deep in the woods.
Liam raised the rifle.
Clara steadied her breath.
Twigs snapped.
Something was moving, heavy and slow, rustling through the trees. The growl came again, closer this time, and Clara felt it vibrate in her bones. It wasn’t natural it sounded like something almost human, straining against the shape it wore.
Then the shape stepped into the clearing.
Clara nearly screamed.
The werewolf was enormous. Black-furred, with a hunched back and twisted limbs. Its snout dripped with saliva, and its eyes
Its eyes were blue.
Liam fired.
The gunshot tore through the clearing. The beast recoiled with a howl, blood spraying from its shoulder.
But it didn’t fall.
It turned toward them, snarling, eyes glowing like cold fire. Then it moved fast, faster than anything that big should be able to move. Liam fired again, but the shot went wide.
The werewolf crashed into him, knocking the rifle from his hands.
Clara lunged, grabbing the weapon, fumbling for another shot. Liam screamed, kicking at the beast, but it was on top of him now, claws flashing, teeth bared.
Clara fired.
The silver round hit the creature’s side—and this time, it screamed like a dying man.
The werewolf staggered back, swaying, limbs twitching. Then, right before her eyes, it began to shift.
Bones cracked. Fur receded. The monstrous form twisted and collapsed into itself until, gasping, bleeding and naked, Evan Rourke lay shivering in the dirt.
Clara stood frozen, the rifle still aimed.
Liam coughed, crawling away from him, blood on his face. “It’s him.”
Evan looked up slowly. His face was pale, sweat beading his forehead. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Not at first.”
Clara didn’t lower the rifle. “When did you figure it out?”
He swallowed hard. “A year ago. Maybe more. I’d wake up in the woods, covered in dirt. No memory. At first, I thought I was sleepwalking. Then… then I saw what I’d done.”
“You killed people,” Liam said, sitting upright against a tree, clutching his ribs. “You knew, and you didn’t stop.”
Evan shook his head violently. “You don’t understand! I tried I locked myself up, drugged myself during the full moons. But the beast is strong. It… it wants out. It hates being caged.”
Clara’s hands tightened on the rifle. “So you left a threat on our truck. You tried to scare us off.”
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone else,” he said. “I just if you exposed me, the town would come for me. Torches, bullets. I didn’t ask for this!”
Liam laughed bitterly. “Neither did we.”
Silence fell.
Clara slowly lowered the rifle. “What do we do now?”
Liam looked at Evan, then at Clara. “We can’t let him go.”
“I’ll leave,” Evan said quickly. “Tonight. I’ll run. You won’t see me again.”
“You’ll kill again,” Clara snapped. “You can’t control it. You said so yourself.”
Evan looked at her then truly looked and something in his expression broke. “Then end it.”
Liam stared.
“I can’t live like this,” Evan said, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. “I see their faces when I close my eyes. I see what I’ve done. Please. Just end it.”
Clara looked at Liam. “It has to be you.”
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he took the rifle from her hands. Evan knelt in the grass, breathing heavily, staring up at the moon.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Liam said nothing.
The rifle cracked once.
And Evan Rourke slumped forward, still.
They buried him near the Warden Tree, far from town, with no marker.
Just three people, standing in the fog, haunted by silence.
The sun was rising when they returned to Black Hollow.
Clara felt hollow inside exhausted, but not at peace.
Because even though Evan was dead, and the killing had stopped…
The curse wasn’t over.
It never ended.
It only waited for the next moon.