She staggered into the cottage and gasped. Congealing blood dripped down the walls. Broken furniture peppered the floor. Deep, jagged scratches covered the table. She forced her eyes to look over to the small bed in the corner. Her grandmother’s body hung over the edge of the bed, ripped and bloody.
At that instant she knew what had happened. She remembered. Her head filled with a swimming lightness and the contents of stomach erupted from her mouth, hot liquid and bloody. Margaret sank to her knees and buried her head in her hands.
“No need to weep, girl. You will forget about her soon enough. Come with me now. When you are living with all the finery in my house, this will just be an old, sad memory. I saw your month blood.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. “You are mine now.”
EIGHT WEEKS OF UNBEARABLE torture passed, but Margaret was quiet, calm and obedient. The Lord took every opportunity to force his sweaty, bloated body upon her. When her cursed woman’s blood had not appeared after a month, Sanburne’s eyes had lit up.
“You will bear me plenty of healthy sons,” he laughed and smacked her on her backside.
Margaret just smiled. She smiled and waited.
The only time she escaped from him was late at night, but terrible nightmares followed her into sleep and plagued her dreams. She would find herself running on all fours through the forest. Blood lust coursed through her veins. She followed the familiar twists and turns of the forest but would always end up in the same place. Panting, she rose onto two feet and pushed open the door to her grandmother’s cottage.
“Margaret? Is that you? My fire has gone out, and I can’t see you well. You’re late today.”
The creature that was once Margaret, stepped into the room.
“Would you lay the fire again for me? You look like you’ve grown again and how large your eyes look in this dim light.”
She dropped to all fours and padded over to the old woman. Her new eyes had no problem seeing through the gloom.
“What’s that glistening on your face? Your teeth? What is that?”
The old woman stretched out her hand from the bed. Her fingers touched the warm furry snout and shot back under the covers.
“What’s going on? Who are you?”
The creature that was once Margaret growled.
“Margaret! Help me!” The old woman screamed.
Delicious fear oozed from every pore of her terrified grandmother. The smell fuelled the need to kill. The desire to rip into warm flesh and to taste fresh terrified prey was too great to fight. She tensed her muscles and sprung onto the bed.
Margaret would only wake after she had ripped her grandmother’s body apart and feasted on the warm meat.
Night after night she awoke drenched in sweat and with a heart that threatened to burst through her ribs. The guilt and grief lay deep within her, buried alongside her youth. She knew what she was becoming again and welcomed it with open arms.
As she stared through the window at the full moon rising over her forest, she knew that she would no longer be the downtrodden victim. She would never be forced to do anything against her will ever again. Eight weeks after she had first become a woman, she could feel the familiar cramps once again spread through her abdomen. It was time. No more waiting.
The lumbering footsteps of her vile husband thudded on the stairs. She could never love or desire that disgusting man. Her only love was for the forest and the wolf. The wolf had consumed her body and soul, and the forest gave her a new life.
She turned her head towards the moon and felt its pull on her body. Warm blood trickled down her inner thigh just as her husband opened the bedroom door.
“MUMMY, TELL ME THE story about you and grandma again.”
Margaret smiled at her daughter and pulled her onto her lap. It had been seven years since she had rampaged through Sanburne’s household, tearing every person limb from limb. She only meant to kill Sanburne, but her wolf blood had been in control, fuelled by her anger. She had stalked through each room, ripping through the evil flesh of his entire family until she had collapsed, exhausted back in her room.
As the only surviving member of Sanburne’s family, Margaret inherited everything. No-one even considered such a tiny young woman could have been responsible for the massacre.
She had learned to control the rage. When the full moon coincided with her bleeding, she prowled through her forest, only feeding on the occasional rabbit or fox; and the whole village had breathed a sigh of relief when a couple of violent characters mysteriously vanished one night.
One day she would tell her daughter the full story. She would tell her how about the empowering changes that would happen to her when she turned into a strong woman. But for then, it was time for the censored bedtime version.
“Once upon a time, a young girl walked through the woods to visit her grandmother. She wore a cape of brilliant red...”
Chapter Sixteen
Liam leaned back from the table and ran his fingers through his hair. “Wow.”
Beccy sat in silence. Her head rested on her hands. “I... I...” She looked up. Her amber eyes stood out in her pale face. “So, you’re telling me I’m a werewolf. All the women in our family—you, Mum, Nan—have been werewolves, but we only turn when our periods coincide with the full moon.”
“There’s a folder among this lot that has our family tree going back centuries. All the Sandborn—Sanders women have had girls. Each generation adds to the tree and tells their story. So yes, apart from Louise who was barren and rather resentful from what I’ve read.”
Beccy’s eyes flashed impatiently at her aunt.
“Let me get this right. Usually we have some control over when we change except when the moon is at its fullest and falls on our heaviest bleeding days. That’s the reason for the weird cellar...for the days we can’t control it and why you insisted on locking me in my room. And all this started because Little Red Riding Hood was attacked by a demon—wolf from Hell.”
“That part we’re not clear on. For the first few generations the story was only passed on by word of mouth, and stories become more embellished and dramatic over time. It wasn’t until the eighteen-hundreds that Evelyn Sandborn started to keep a record. So no one really knows, perhaps not even Margaret, what really happened.”
Beccy shook her head in disbelief. “But why haven’t I changed yet?”
Di rested her chin on her hands. “It depends on the length of your cycle. Sometimes it’s possible to go for years without it coinciding with the few days of the full moon. I kept a very close eye on you. Also, valerian root, nettle, raspberry and chamomile delay and reduce menstrual bleeding.”
“The herbal teas you kept giving me.” Beccy looked down at her empty mug.
“I was trying to let you have a normal life for as long as possible.”
Beccy slumped down in her chair and gazed at the heaps of papers on the table.
“So, what happened with that man thing in the house?” Liam asked to give Beccy some breathing space.
“I’ll make another.” Di stood up and collected their mugs. “Thomas Nichols,” she took a deep breath. They’d found his name in his wallet. “I never meant for that to happen.” She put the kettle on the stove then returned to the table. “You see, no matter how much we think we can control this, someone always ends up getting hurt.”