Chapter 1
The whisky-bile cocktail smacked the concrete with a violent splatter. The man composed himself. Until another curious glimpse at his neighbour's exposed ribcage induced more hot vomit.
Helpless, he could no longer stomach kneeling next to the goulash of bloody intestines stewing in the warm evening air. His hands were lathered in the sticky wax of his friend's blood, the same blood that slithered across the concrete, soaking his jeans; blackcurrant knees sticking to his skin.
Climbing the porch steps of his static caravan, the man stumbled, partially due to shock, partially because of the bottle of Ardbeg he had glugged that evening. He left a bloody handprint on the wooden beam as he attempted to steady himself.
A shrill cry from a grieving mother diverted his attention back to the cul-de-sac corner of the caravan site. Quivering as he took a deep breath, the man scanned the horror show from right to left.
His dead neighbour's wife was entombed within the collapsed roof of their porch. The support beams buckled under the impact of the assailant as easily as a sledgehammer colliding with a shinbone. Whether she was slain by the killer or crushed by the roof, death was the outcome.
The man burped whisky molecules, which were spiralling within his mouth like fireballs. He regained focus, following the carnage trail to the roundabout at the end of the cul-de-sac. A new resident, one he did not know, lay dead with his shotgun aside. The first shot did not hit its mark, and the attacker moved swiftly to maul the unknown neighbour as he flustered reloading the gun.
Next to the swing set, the hysterical mother was attending to her unconscious daughter, who fainted upon seeing her brother being swiped from the swing and transported into the forest behind. A splintered gap in the flimsy wooden fence, the size of a compact car, showed the attacker's escape route from the caravan site to the forest.
The man shivered while staring into the deep black abyss, imagining that the attacker was lurking, waiting to pounce again. He never believed the rumours that Bannock forest is cursed. It may boast a deadly history, but he never believed it was the forest manifesting the violence, malevolently luring victims into its wooden tentacles. Now, he believed. He believed in the forest of damned souls.
Staggering into his caravan, the man paused. His head was spinning. Booze and horror twirled his cognition into a cocktail of confusion. He dialled the police on his mobile. The call failed. He had fumbled a wrong digit. He tried again.
'Hello, emergency services. How can I help?'
'We need help.'
'Okay. Can you...'
'Theres been an attack. Folk are dead.'
'Are you at the crime scene now?'
'Aye.'
'Are you in a safe place, away from any danger?'
'No one is safe.'
'Please move to a safer location, sir.'
'I'm in my caravan. Im okay for now.'
'What's your name?'
'Henry Burke.'
'Okay, Henry. You said there's been an attack. Is the attacker still in the area?'
'I don't think so.'
'How many people are injured?'
'None. They are all dead.'
'How many are deceased, Henry?'
'Four, well three definitely, one maybe. The wee lad was taken away. I suppose I don't know if hes dead, but I guess he probably is. If only the wee ones had gone inside when the attack started.'
'I can see you are calling from Dalmally caravan site, Henry. The police and ambulance services are on their way. They wont be long. Stay in your caravan until they arrive, okay?'
'You'll need the fucking army, love.'
'I'm going to ask you a few questions about the incident, so I can provide a more detailed update to the inbound officers.'
'Okay.'
'Do you know who the victims are?'
'Yes, well, I know Jim and Mags across the road. They visit their caravan three or four times a year. I don't know the guy at the end of our street. I know the wee lad, though. He was with his family. They only visit once a year. If only they came a different week.'
Burke whimpered as if starting to cry, but the call handler maintained his focus.
'Do you know the person who attacked these people? Did you see the incident?'
'Person? This was no person.'
'Oh, was it an animal?'
'Animal?'
Burke stumbled. His mouth moved further away from the phone. To the call handler, he sounded like he was whispering from a deep well, and all she could discern was the faintest word: wolf.
'Can I confirm it was a wolf that attacked these people?'
'Naw, wolfs dinny attack humans. This was something bigger, deadlier.'
'Could it have been a large wolf?'
'You dinny get wolves like this in Caledonia, love. This was something we've never seen before.'
'Can you describe the animal to me?'
'It was a werewolf.'
