5. An Unwelcome Gathering

Silent shadows flitted across the room, illuminated by the streetlamp just outside the cemetery gates. It was an otherwise dark night, the waning crescent moon nearing its third quarter. 

Bjorn lay quietly, sure he had heard something. Yes! There it was again– the ringing squeak of rusty iron hinges straining to open. But why? 

The cemetery had several large family vaults, little stone houses built in various interpretations of Greek architecture, where multiple members of a single family could be buried. Each had an iron gate but all were padlocked.

Save one. The Hertford Family Vault.

The Hertford lineage was rumored to stretch all the way back, over a thousand years, to the very founding of England’s modern Hertfordshire, a literary and movie hub of contemporary storytelling. 

It’s all the place riddled with werewolf tales.

Bjorn lay listening, making sure of the sound. He reached out to rub Chelsea, and found her side of the bed warm…and empty.

He sat up. Where was Chelsea?

From the Southeast corner of the caretaker’s bedroom he could see the Hertford Family Vault. He crept over, as if trying not to be seen, waiting for his eyes to adjust in the darkness. Yes, there was the vault, gate held open by a large shadowy figure. Several other shadows ducked around the gate and into the vault itself. 

Bjorn was sure that the last shadow, the petite one, was Chelsea. Even in the shadowy night he could recognize her flowing curls.

Bjorn hurried to dress. Just a quick toss on of his work pants and boots and yesterday’s t-shirt. He scrambled down the stairs as quietly as possible, snatched a flashlight from the supplies in his downstairs office and slipped out the door. 

His heart was racing as he scurried from headstone to headstone, desperately trying to conceal himself. The shadow holding the gate open had stolen away inside after Chelsea’s entrance, so Bjorn was alone. He was sure there were lookouts though, what with how sneaky this whole thing had gone down.

He drew up short a few headstones away from the Hertford Family Vault, spying to see if the coast was clear. He wasn’t able to see inside and there didn’t seem to be any movement. Cautiously he crept forward, one hand on the ground as stealthily as he could muster. 

The gate had been partially closed, a problem as it would squeak again if he opened it. He could see through the gate’s bars though, and he immediately noticed the light coming from a back wall panel. Most family vaults are shaped like Greco-Roman temples, a single gate enclosing an open space for gathering and tombs lining the walls. The coffins would be slid into the walls themselves, with a marble plate covering, incised with the deceased’s name and dates. 

But there was light coming from the back wall panel, as if a secret door couldn’t contain the gathering behind it. 

Ever so gently, Bjorn opened the gate just enough to slip through. A slight dusting of dried glass clippings and leaves crunched gently under his feet and he snuck to the back panel. Ear against, he could hear the distant sounds of a deep voice.

Bjorn ran his fingers over the wall panel, searching for a latch or handle. There was none. He tried gently pushing the door instead, and sure enough, it bounced back at him. 

A wooden door layered in smooth marble swung open when he pressed. It opened just enough for him to slip a hand in, cautiously pulling the door wide. Light poured forth from a smooth path sloping gently down into the earth. He took a deep breath and headed in– where though was anyone’s guess.

Perhaps fifteen steps down the path, the walls peeled away into a large cavern. Apparently this was a subterranean grotto that had been carved out of the limestone bedrock in some iteration of the nearby river. Now it seemed to be an illicit gathering place, as a crowd of around forty people circled around a raised stone dais gracing the center of the vaulted cavern. Torches burned brightly, their glare dancing across the walls. Drums sounded, a rhythmic beat that matched the torches’ gambol.

And all those bodies were naked. 

Forty bodies of various ages, shapes and genders, all gyrating and grinding together to the beat of the drum, moaning guttarly in unison and creating a thrumming hum across the chamber. 

Bjorn spied Chelsea, naked, perky tits and little butt wiggling and jostling amongst the crowd. She seemed not to care if the body rubbing against hers was male or female. Bjorn lustfully drank in the sight of her, watching with fascination as she circled the dais. 

Several moments of rapt allure passed before Bjorn noticed that all these naked bodies were covered in a thin layer of hair. This was an animalistic gathering of wild people, those who must also be afflicted with lycanthropy. The moon would not be full for another few days, so perhaps this was in anticipation of that coming lunar event.

Bjorn realized at that moment that his beautiful young girlfriend was about to experience something profound. What was he going to do when the moon was full? Would she tear him apart? 

Bjorn was lost in thought, snapping back to reality when he realized the drums and the chanting was growing louder, more frenetic. A solitary figure– tall and muscular, stepped  onto the dais, stretched his hands above his head, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. All hands in the room raised above heads, reaching towards the cavern’s ceiling some thirty feet up, heads tilting back, eyes closing. The humming and drumming reached a crescendo pitch, then suddenly stopped. The room was drowned in silence.

The dais figure then spoke, a rich, throaty sound that washed over the room like a comforting duvet. “My friends. My family. The full moon is coming.”

“The moon is coming…” the crowd groaned in unison.

“Tonight we gather in preparation for this divine blessing, this power of nature that sets us apart from the world.” 

“We are apart from others. We are special.” The crowd muttered together.

“But tonight we are not alone. There is one amongst us who should not be here.” 

Bjorn’s eyes flew wide. The leader could only be describing him. Everyone else was naked. Everyone was…hairy.

The leader then pointed to the top of the stone stairs that led down to the cavern’s floor. Bjorn was at the top of those stairs. The leader was pointing at him! 

All eyes in the cavern swung towards him, flashing hungrily at their prey, Chelsea’s included.

Bjorn, crouched until that point, turned and ran.